The Reign of Olympus (Shadows of Olympus #3)

Chapter Nine

The knife? My mother’s blade—he thinks I still have it? We have already told him once that it is lost. Right now, looking into those dark, narrow eyes, I rather wish it weren’t.

“I have not seen it for a year,” I raise my voice. “We told you! As for how my mother came by it, I do not know. I wish I did.”

“I can tell you how she came by it: she stole it.”

“My mother was not a thief, nor a fool,” I snap. “Only a fool would steal from the gods.”

“I couldn't have put it better myself,” Hermes says dryly. I am sick of this—of having to answer for myself, and for my mother. In Sikyon they called her names. Later they called me those names, too.

“I’m sure you know the story,” Hermes goes on. “Those adamantine blades are quite famous here. And only three were made.”

“That you know of,” I interject. He smiles at me, a humorless look.

“Yes,” he says. “That I know of.”

I fold my arms.

“My mother was from Atlantis,” I say. “It’s where the Cyclops built their forge and hid their ore, is it not? Likely as not, she found it there. Or her mother or father did, or their parents before them.” Buried in Atlantis’s green earth, or dredged up in a fishing net, many centuries after it was lost. Why not?

But Hermes shakes his head, his jaw tightening. Despite the fire, I feel myself turn cold. I remember him looming just this way when he found me in Hera’s orchard, before he cast that sleep-spell. What right had he to cast it?

“What I think,” he says now, “is that your mother was a thief and a liar.” He leans closer. “And I think that her daughter is much the same. I do not believe any ordinary mortal may eat at will from Hera’s garden and emerge without a scratch. And what’s more, I suspect you have the knife still—or if you do not, you know where it is. It wasn’t in that little peasant shack of yours. It wasn’t in that saddlebag you rode here with. So where is it? And do not keep feeding me your nonsense about throwing it in the sea.”

He’s near enough that I can feel his breath—warm and sweet, but it chills me just the same. I pull back, trying to regain some distance between us.

“Where did you say Athena was?” My skin prickles, my tongue feels thick. It’s not only that he suspects me. It’s the admission in what he just said: he’s searched Ajax’s saddlebags, and somehow, even worse, he’s searched our home. Did he do that in the night? Or perhaps just now, after finding me in the garden. I had not thought him very trustworthy before—but it is only now that I’m beginning to fear him.

“Athena has many roles to attend to. She cannot stay at home all the hours, watching over you.” He sits back. It occurs to me that he has had this plan since the start. Wasn’t it the first thing he asked me when he sat at our table? He is obsessed with my mother’s lost blade. That’s why he hunted us down, and why he followed Eros home to meet me. He thinks I know something Eros does not.

This news of Deimos, this mission to serve Zeus by recovering the blade…perhaps it matters to Athena. But I don’t think it matters to Hermes at all. It was just the pretext he needed to bring us here…and then to get Eros out of the way, and make a captive out of me.

My heartbeat quickens. How did he know to be there in the dark of night, as the raiders struck? Is he in touch with Deimos somehow? Or…a cold suspicion comes over me. What if the raiders were never sent by Deimos at all? Hermes is the only one who knew where we were. After all these months, what are the chances that Deimos, too, would stumble upon us, mere hours later? And if he had found us, wouldn’t it have suited him better to attack with stealth, quietly and alone? The more I think about it, the more certain I am. Those raiders were brought there by Hermes himself. All to put us in his power.

“Athena hates liars, you know,” he muses aloud. “Zeus isn’t too fond of them either. I wonder what he’ll say when he hears about your adventure in Hera’s garden.”

“But you said you wouldn’t tell anyone I was here. You promised Eros you’d keep me safe.” I try to rise from my chair, but Hermes’s hand clasps over mine, stronger than I could have imagined.

His lips draw into a thin line.

“And would you expect me to lie to Zeus, my own father? To conceal a lying traitor in our midst?”

“I’m not a liar!” I shout. The strength of my own voice shocks me, and perhaps for a moment it shocks Hermes too.

“I forgot to mention one little thing about this fire.” He recovers quickly, gesturing at the blue flames beside us. The cool flicker reflects in his eyes. “It is a fire of Truth. Liars burn in flames like these, my girl.” He blinks at me. “So tell me again: where is the blade?”

And he grabs my hand and steers it toward the fire.

He will not hurt me , I tell myself. He will not dare . Eros is still his cousin, and Hermes must answer to him. But I am not sure if I believe my own assurances.

“No harm will come to you, I promise.” He smiles. “Only do not lie, and you will suffer no pain.”

My mind floods with panicked thoughts. I try to find a path through them, a plan. I could tell him the truth, as plain as I’ve told it to him before—but what then? He’s so convinced that I’m lying, I fear the consequences of his anger. But if I could spin him some story…something that takes him away from here…

I just need him gone long enough for me to disappear. Because it’s becoming all too clear: I am in danger if I stay. But I cannot lie to him. Not outright. Not if what he’s said about the fire is true.

He holds my hand in a tight grip, my fingers only a hair’s breadth from the flame now. I see the blue light quivering in the flames, seeming to reach for me. And yet I feel no heat from them. Not yet, at least.

He plunges my arm deep into the fire, up to the elbow.

“Tell me, girl. Where is it?”

I take a deep breath.

“Buried beside our old home. At least, that is where I left it. I have not moved it since.”

It’s true, technically. Atlantis was our home. And the waters beside it are where the blade lies buried. I wait, breath shallow, glancing at my hand in the fire. The flames flicker around it, but don’t burn. Is that it? Has it accepted my words? I look back at Hermes and his hungry eyes, and emboldened, take another breath.

“Look under the oak tree where your hawk built its nest. Dig down beneath its roots.”

As for that, it’s just a suggestion. I’m not telling him it’s where the blade is buried. If he chooses to interpret it that way, it’s up to him.

I feel a quick pulse of heat, but manage to stifle the gasp in my throat. I can’t show any pain; I can’t let him suspect me. And the heat doesn’t get any worse. It was just a flash, perhaps a sort of warning. But it dies away again, as though the fire is appeased. Still, I know not to push my luck.

Hermes pulls back, regarding me. His lips purse tight as his gaze moves toward the fire, studying it. The flames give a sudden stutter, a rush of embers up into the sky, and slowly, he lets go of me.

It seems I’ve learned a little something, these past few years. The oracles aren’t the only ones who can tell the truth without telling a lie.

“That wasn’t so difficult, was it?” He is pleased with himself, and his dislike of me has only grown. “See? I knew I’d get it out of you in the end.” He rises from his chair. “I should waste no time. But meanwhile, I know you have a tendency to go wandering, and I do not think Athena would be happy with me if you were gone when she returned.”

With one hand still pinning me to my chair, he casts around as if seeking out some tool to bind me with.

“Let me go!” I protest.

He sighs and rips a strip of fabric from the base of his robes. “ Iron ,” he whispers, and twines it around my hand. I try to yank my hand away, but the silk is suddenly as unyielding as any metal.

“I am not your prisoner!” I hiss. “Eros will hear of this!”

He looks at me, amused, as he ties the other hand.

“I am not afraid of your husband. I am a god too, or have you forgotten? And my poor cousin is weak these days. Besides—it’s for your own good.”

With that, he strides away from me, his footsteps echoing on stone. I breathe in the silence of the empty rooms, trying to steady my thoughts. He will not find the knife. He will be furious with me. And if I am still here when he gets back, I will be in even worse trouble than before. He will wait till Athena’s back is turned, I suppose, but I do not doubt that he will punish me cruelly.

But how to get away? I look down at the bindings, test them again. The blue flames hum before me, and a thought crosses my mind. A fanciful thought, maybe…but maybe not. I scuff the chair closer to the fire, nudging my way awkwardly until my arm rests right next to the soaring flame. It did not burn you before, I remind myself. But still, it goes against all my instincts to do it again. I take a breath, and tilt the chair—I cannot move my arms independently, so I must rest the whole arm of the chair in the flame. I wince, seeing my hand engulfed again, but no pain comes. I coax myself to breathe. I tug at the silk binding—still strong.

“Hermes’s words are a lie,” I say aloud.

Of course they are . That’s what enchantments are: lies.

But I persist, making my case to the fire as though it’s listening to me, because part of me feels as though it is.

“You heard him. He called this bit of fabric iron , so now it behaves like iron. Perhaps it even thinks it is iron. But it is still only silk. That is its true nature—silk. The iron is just a pretense. A lie.”

The blue flames burn higher, and seem to stretch. Like a yawn, almost—or perhaps a scream. Who am I to command Athena’s flame?

But then the silk around my wrist begins to singe and catch fire. I cry out, jerking my hand back—but though the fabric against my skin is turning to embers, my skin is untouched. Panting, I gather my nerve again. It did not burn you , I tell myself, and force my hand back in the flame.

When the strip of fabric falls in cinders, I manage to turn my chair around, then reach my other hand into the flame. The silk band turns orange, then red, then black. The second shackle falls away in a dusting of ash. I am free again.

“Thank you,” I say aloud, feeling foolish to hear myself addressing an elemental force. But a debt must always be acknowledged. The flames spark and swell, and send their gust of embers toward the sky. I take one last breath, then hurry toward the door, leaving the cool, echoing rooms behind me, the sound of my pounding footsteps the only thing to break their silence.