Page 158 of Crown of Olympus
“Last night, my dear mother admitted to the murder of our late King Zeus, Lord of Lightning. My father. Her husband.”
The blow hit softly.
Then detonated on a delay.
Gods flew to their feet shouting arguments and disbelief. Animal companions added to the cacophony with a chorus of screeches and roars. Hera shuffled backwards, genuine fear in her icy blue eyes.
And Charon watched it all unfold, with a shit-eating grin spreading across his face, from his front-row seat in Caelus’ throne.
Poseidon launched his trident through the air, snagging on Hera’s gown and ceasing her graceless exit. She wailed, struggling to extricate herself as the god of the seas prowled over and climbed the dais steps.
“You dared murder my brother? Your own husband?!” he roared, backhanding her. A red welt blossomed across her cheek as she dropped to the floor. “You sank a Titan dagger deep into his heart — and for what?! Because he dared sleep with someone other than you?”
“There were thousands of them!” Hera cried. “Do you have any idea how humiliating it is to be the goddess of marriage — devoted to worshipping and cherishing your husband — and know that he still chose to sink his dick wherever he damn well pleased?”
Caelus huffed a quiet noise of disgust.
“So your solution was to murder him?!” Poseidon bellowed, spittle flying out of his mouth in his vehemence. “You committed treason against your King. Brought ruin to our doorstep — and that’s without considering the compounded effects on the mortals! Give me one reason why I shouldn’t kill you where you stand?” he seethed.
Hephaestus, who had crept up beside him unnoticed, laid an enormous hand upon the sea god’s shoulder.
“Because she deserves to suffer for her actions. A swift death — even with a sentence to Tartarus,” he paused to dip his head respectfully in my direction, “is far too lenient for such a crime.”
From a deep pocket in his chlamys, Hephaestus pulled a heavy-looking, bronze set of cuffs. The air around them crackled, and my instincts screamed not to go anywhere near them.
He crouched beside the cowering goddess and forcefully snapped the cuffs around her wrists. Then leaned in, his voice deep and deliberate, rolling across the floor as he spoke.
“Zeus was like a brother to me, Hera. In his honour, I will personally oversee his justice. These cuffs were forged by my son.”
I glanced at Arch, who offered me a sad smile.
“They are made with a new kind of magic and an old kind of power. You will not break free. Nor will any powers you still possess be able to save you. You are, in essence, no more than a mortal.”
Once Hera had finished thrashing and raging like an overgrown toddler, Hephaestus deposited her in an empty corner and stood guard, watching over the murderess like it was his sole reason for existing.
Hermes took it upon himself to continue the ceremony, hurrying up the dais steps two at a time.
“Now thatthatugliness is settled — for the moment — let’s get back to the reason we are all gathered. Champions: one at a time, approach the crown and offer it a drop of your blood. Archimedes, let’s start with you.”
Arch strode to the pedestal and pulled a dagger from the sheath at his hip. With no hesitation, he pricked his finger, and we all watched with bated breath. A bead of liquid gold fell through the air, landing on the crown’s gilded surface.
Nothing happened.
Well, that was anticlimactic,Velira sniffed.
“Apollo, your turn.”
Thankfully Apollo had learned to lip-read sometime during his long life, because Hermes never deigned to sign. I wondered how isolated Apollo really felt. No music, no laughter, no conversation unless someone consciously decided to include him.
Apollo repeated Arch’s actions. Again, nothing.
Velira huffed a faux snore, which ricocheted around the inside of my skull, tickling uncomfortably.
“Aros.”
The fiery son of Ares stepped forward, disappointing Velira yet again.
Honestly, Vel. You have the patience of a child.
