Page 105 of Crown of Olympus
Caelus visibly prickled, until Aros leaned in, speaking just loud enough for the two of us to hear.
“Leave it. God of war remember? He thrives on dissent, so don’t give it to him.”
“But Apollo?—”
“Can handle himself.”
The coins joined their brethren on the ground with a metallic clang. Ares plucked out a fifth and sixth coin.
“Athena, goddess of warfare and wisdom, will battle…” a hum of surprised delight escaped before he finished, “My own son and champion, Aros.”
Shit. I couldn’t predict the winner of that match. Both godspossessed an enhanced level of knowledge and skill in battle, not to mention power.
That left Caelus, Leander, and me. And I desperately didn’t want to have to fight the storm-wielder. I didn’t want to be the reason he failed. I didn’t think I could stomach actually hurting him.
Because Iwouldwin against either of them — my father and Charon had made sure of that.
“Which leaves…” He flipped his helmet right side up, catching the final two coins. “Caelus, son of Zeus, to face…”
Not me. Not me.
Ares drew out the tension like an over-tuned lyre string, eyeing us both malevolently.
“…Leander, son of Poseidon.”
I sagged with relief. I wouldn’t have to fight Caelus. And he could take Leander. In fact, I’d wager he was itching to avenge the mortal soldiers just as fiercely as I was.
“Who do I face?” I asked.
The Primal smirked.
“You’ll see.”
He spun to address the group. “You have one hour to prepare, then return to the arena for your ninth trial.”
CHAPTER 32
Nyssa
In the end,none of us opted to leave the arena. Instead, we sharpened blades, donned armour, and prepared our minds for battle. When we emerged from the underground barracks, we did so as a united cohort of champions — into an arena packed to the brim with cheering spectators.
I was genuinely impressed with how quickly Ares had managed to fill the stands. They overflowed with gods and creatures alike — centaurs, satyrs, sprites — anything with a shred of comprehension between their ears.
At the front, set apart from the rest, sat the Primal Council — those not still competing — alongside their eliminated champions. They were dressed in clothing fit for a ball, adorned with various expressions: Hera’s bored indifference, Diana’s scathing disdain, Hephaestus’ tempered calm.
The remainder of the front rows were filled with our non-council family members and loved ones. A bevy of red-headed gods erupted in cheers as Aros raised his axe, roaring with bloodthirsty anticipation. Their raucousness and number were outmatched only by the many children of Poseidon.Demigods, cyclopes and an array of scaled or finned folk screamed for Leander, who relished it.
I looked past the thousands of spectators, searching for one particular pair of blue eyes in the sea of unfamiliar faces.
Charon launched out of his seat as soon as I spotted him, elbowing through the throng of Ares’ brood as I ran towards him. We collided in a tight embrace, his strong arms holding me tightly like a shield, fending off my building anxiety.
Charon knew all my tells. My triggers. My fears. Every shortcoming I tried to hide. But he was also the only one who knew how to keep me glued together.
“Who did you get?” he asked, voice urgent. The champions were being summoned — we had mere seconds to speak.
I shook my head.
“No one.”
