Page 123 of Crown of Olympus
Where Charybdis was the stationary danger, Scylla was the huntress preying on everything that circumvented her sister.
“That bet still on?” I asked Aros casually, forcing down my worry.
He smirked, flicking a glance at Caelus. “Darling, bets are never off where you’re concerned.”
I huffed a laugh, surprised to hear an echo from Arch’s direction. I quirked a brow in question, but the god with the talented hands merely shrugged.
“Alright,” I began, signing as I spoke. “In the likely event this goes terribly, I’ll meet you all on shore. I expect payment to be made at your earliest convenience, since I’ll have outswum every single one of your fine, perky asses.”
Apollo barked a rough, rasping laugh that surprised everyone — especially himself. Four stunned faces snapped to his. He was a portrait of shock, as though the sound had been dragged from somewhere deep inside him without permission. Clutching his throat, brows drawn, a slow, lopsided grin tugged at his lips.
True to character, Aros harrumphed first. What started as a single huff, turned into a series of hums, then outright cackles. One by one, we all broke. Even the brooding Caelus cracked a grin at Apollo’s continuous harsh barks of gravelly amusement.
I should have known the joy would be fleeting. That Poseidon would not stand for even an ounce of it in his trial.
The moment fractured when something large slammed into the ship from below — an ear-splitting impact that had the boat lurching sideways. The deck tilted violently, throwing me off my feet and sending me careening towards the mainmast.
My face slammed into the pole. White-hot pain split my skull open like a firework. Air whooshed out of my lungs and I fell into a crumpled heap at its base.
Dazed and gasping, I looked around. Aros had hit the railing with a loud curse. Apollo and Archimedes were tangled in the rigging.
And Caelus…
My heart sank. I couldn’t see the storm-wielder anywhere on deck.
Has he been knocked overboard?
Frantically, I scanned the ship again, then turned to the turbulent waters.
Where is he?!
No glint of white hair. No sun-kissed skin. No hulking figure bobbing in the sea or disappearing beneath it.
Am I already too late?
I refused to accept that possibility. Panic had me lunging for the railing beside Aros just in time for a second blow to strike. My feet left the deck, and for a moment, I was airborne — sailing over the balustrade in slow motion.
Then a blistering-hot hand clamped around my arm, searing the skin and wrenching a scream from my throat. Time snapped back to full speed and I ricocheted off the ship’s edge, boots dangling above the dark waters. I locked eyes with thegod of war, his hair aflame, grim determination scrawled across his features.
Aros hauled me up effortlessly, and I had never before been happier to have my feet on a rotting deck in the middle of a turbulent ocean.
“Thanks,” I breathed, gingerly inspecting the hand-shaped welt on my arm.
“You know,” he purred, “there are easier ways to fall for me, darling.” He glanced down and grimaced at the mark he’d left behind. “Sorry about that.”
“Don’t be. I’d be shark bait without it.”
“I have a feeling sharks are the least of our immediate concerns,” he replied grimly, his brow furrowed as he scanned the water for our sea-dwelling assailant.
I was about to ask if he’d seen Caelus when the words fizzled off my tongue. A horrifying realisation struck: the anchor chain had broken, likely on purpose. The ship was no longer secure, no longer moored a safe distance from the whirlpool. No. It was gaining speed in one gods-damned direction.
The first impact had torn the anchor free. The second had launched the vessel into motion — straight towards Charybdis.
The blood drained from my face.
“Aros…” I whispered, pointing ahead. He turned, assessing the disaster in two seconds flat, and immediately began shouting orders.
Do all Olympians receive sailing classes?
