Page 36 of Crown of Olympus
Apparently, the liquor has loosened my tongue too.
She pursed her lips, then nodded sharply once. Her head snapped towards the god at my back — the one I thought I’d struck earlier. He pulled back his hood, revealing the glint of gold I’d detected. But it wasn’t ichor — it was the eerie golden gaze of Apollo.
I’d always had immense respect for the god of healing — even more so after his trial — so I immediately felt awful for lashing out at him, whether he was restraining me or not.
“Sorry about earlier,” I said gingerly, enunciating each word. With my hands still cuffed behind my back, I was unable to sign.
Apollo’s expression morphed into one of amusement. He nodded to the third assailant, who followed suit and lowered his own hood, revealing a familiar god with an unfamiliarly broken nose.
Archimedes grimaced, rubbing the back of his neck. The lower half of his face was painted gold with blood. I was torn between satisfaction and mortification at the sight. I hadn’t intended to breakhisnose; however, Ihadintended to cause damage.
“Sorry,” I murmured.
“My fault! Sorry about your head, too.”
Apollo chose to break the awkward silence by raising his umber fingers.
The prophecy spoke of a new ruler — one who would either save the realms or doom them.
“What prophecy?” Aros asked, exasperation filling his tone.
Apollo’s fingers recited the words.
“Beneath the eyes of the sleeping Titan,
Where Selene does not dare tread,
The heir of death shall rise,
And life shall soon be bled.
Kings and kingdoms shall fall,
After the eagle takes its last breath,
Many hands will reach for the crown,
But its bearer must be death.”
“Nyssa,” I breathed.
“Yes,” Athena confirmed. “We have watched her since birth. She has been raised well, despite her upbringing being rooted in tragedy. She may be selfish at times, but not enough to sacrifice entire realms.”
Hers is the head that must bear the crown. Hers are the shoulders that must carry the weight of all our futures. Fate has predetermined it,Apollo signed.
“As I said before, we have already infiltrated the Rite.” Athena gestured to the others, and the remaining nine figures revealed their faces.
Some were familiar, if unexpected: Hephaestus, Hestia, Demeter, and Thallo. Others I recognised only by name: Nike, and Dionysus. And some I had recalled seeing earlier that night, though I had no idea who they actually were — the satyr who played his pipes in the tavern, and the demigod who accompanied him.
And lastly, a creature I had never seen with my own two eyes: a cyclops.
They were a strange collection of beings, all bound by the same goal: getting Nyssa’s perfect ass on the Olympian throne.
That was a goal I could get behind.
“What do you need from me?” I asked, lifting my chin.
“Fromus,” Aros corrected.
