30. Nyssa
Nyssa
“Good evening, champions,” Hestia greeted, her long red locks rippling softly in the candlelight as she moved. “Welcome to my trial.”
She stood at the centre of a small circular room no bigger than my living room.
There was nothing grandiose or sparkling about it — just grey stone walls and floors, a faint earthy aroma, and a low, dusty ceiling.
In fact, the taller gods, like Caelus and Leander, risked concussion if they dared jump.
Not that any of it mattered to the five-foot goddess of hearth, family, and sacrifice.
Behind Hestia, hewn from the same dull stone as the walls, stood three large, arched doors. They, too, were plainly built — just smooth granite with a single brass doorknob along one edge.
“I thank you for leaving your bonded companions behind,” she said, leaning forward with a grimace.
“I detest the use of that horrid dampening potion. And the state of your animals when you leave…” Hestia straightened, shaking her head as if to rattle the memory loose.
“The cleverest among you have likely deduced that today’s trial centres around the three do orways behind me.
You would be correct,” she smiled. “They lead not to another room, but to three predetermined tests. One for hearth,” she murmured.
“One for safety.” Then she looked directly at me. “And one for sacrifice.”
Great.
Hestia’s smile fell, before turning back to the others.
She knows about the prophecy.
I was sure of it.
“What was that about?” Aphrodite whispered.
“Nothing good,” I replied just as softly.
“You may have noticed that each door bears no markers — intentionally so. Part of this trial is to test your instincts. Choose whichever you feel most drawn to.”
Leander scoffed. Hestia pinned him with her hazel gaze. I stared at the unassuming first doorway. Something behind it whispered to me — so faint I couldn’t quite make out the words.
“Keep in mind that if you fail your test, you will forfeit your place in the rite,” she warned ominously. “In hearth, you must keep a torch lit for the entirety of your journey.”
The word ‘journey’ didn’t sound particularly thrilling, especially given the dangers I’d faced in Apollo’s trek-based trial.
“In safety, you must guard against danger,” Hestia continued.
“Guard what?” Tychon interrupted.
“You’ll find out if you choose that door,” the goddess replied unhelpfully.
“And in sacrifice — well, I’ll leave that to your imagination,” she chuckled softly.
“However, once a door closes behind a champion, that option cannot be chosen by the next. You must choose from the remaining two. Good luck.”
Immediately after Hestia’s farewell, Apollo strode forward and walked through the door on the right. I exchanged raised brows with Aphrodite — he’d been unfathomably quick to choose.
Tychon approached the doorways next. He twisted the handle and tugged on the same door Apollo had vanished through, but it didn’t budge.
“It’s really not opening,” he said, surprise colouring his tone.
Hestia merely raised an eyebrow, as if to say I told you so. Tychon shrugged and lumbered over to the middle door, wrenching it open instead. As it drifted shut behind him, pulled by some invisible force, a distinct “oh, what the fuck,” slipped out.
I couldn’t help the snort of laughter that followed. Slapping a hand over my mouth, my wide eyes refused to make eye contact with any of the three gods now staring at me.
Aphrodite bit her lip, staving off her amusement and nudged me with her elbow.
“Apollo’s done well thus far,” the goddess said loudly, drawing attention away from me. “I think I’ll go join him behind door number three.”
“Even if you choose that door, Aphrodite, you will not be entering the same trial as Apollo,” Hestia replied gently. “Each doorway resets after it closes.”
Aph merely nodded and selected it anyway.
Something tugged at me — an urge, a pull — and suddenly I needed to go next.
With the third door off the table, my choice was between the first and the second. I looked again at the one on the left, and before I realised it, my fingers were closing around its tarnished handle.
I pulled the door open resolutely — it was surprisingly light for solid stone — and stepped through.
I immediately wished I hadn’t.
I was woefully ill-prepared for the wintry tundra I’d just waltzed right into, already freezing my ass off in nothing but a thin layer of leathers.
No more than two seconds had passed before something hard crashed into me from behind, knocking me face-first into the snow.
“What the fuck?!” I screeched, twisting to face not one, but two sheepishly grinning idiots.
I blinked snowflakes from my lashes as Caelus and Aros both giggled — no better than tiny children.
“How did you?—”
“Jumped right through before the door closed,” Aros preened.
“Hestia didn’t seem to mind,” Caelus added.
I sighed. “Only in Tartarus would I escape you two.”
“But why would you want to?” Aros grinned ruefully, while Caelus tilted his head, considering. He took a moment to speak, but when he did, my stomach dropped, and words fled me.
“I’d follow you there too.”
Aros immediately gagged and clapped his friend on the shoulder as he stood. “Not bad, lightning! You’re learning,” he winked.
Caelus scoffed, grumbling something unintelligible before holding out a hand to help me to my feet. I took it, relishing in the heat of his skin while it was pressed against mine. Still such a foreign feeling — touch, without fear of causing their demise.
Caelus’ face hovered over mine, his silvery eyes scanning my face, a small smile on his lips. He raised one giant, warm hand to my cheek and tenderly brushed snow from my eyebrow with his thumb.
His gaze dropped to the pendant resting against my chest. I grasped it unthinkingly, my thumb rubbing against its smooth surface like I’d done at least a hundred times since he had given it to me.
He leaned in closer, smiling softly, and for a heartbeat, I thought he might kiss me.
Then Aros shouted.
“Well, here’s our torch! This should be a breeze.”
The fire-wielder grinned and picked up the torch by its long wooden handle. He clicked his fingers, and the oil cradled within the steel cage ignited instantly.
“There’s only one, though.” His brows quirked in confusion.
“Probably because my trial has been hijacked by the likes of you two,” I snarked, though even I could hear the amusement weaving through my tone. “In any case, I’ll take that, thank you.”
Reaching out, I plucked the surprisingly heavy source of light — and more importantly, heat — from his grip. Aros clutched his chest, gasping.
“Did you hear that?! The lady of death just thanked me!”
Caelus chuckled softly at his friend’s antics. I groaned and rolled my eyes.
“Let’s get going,” I said, stepping out onto the snowy plain and straight into the frigid wind. One hand bore the torch; the other shielded its struggling flame. It flickered and sputtered, fighting desperately against the same frozen temperate we were battling.
My teeth chattered painfully. My hands shook. And the torch was doing absolutely nothing to keep me warm.
Before I could complain, a warm cloak was gently draped around my shoulders.
It immediately dulled the ache in my bones, blocking the wind, feeling like it had just been removed from a drying rack beside a hearthfire.
Assuming it had come from Caelus, I turned left — only to see his pursed lips and still-cloaked shoulders.
My head instead whipped right, to where Aros now walked with nothing but a white tunic and leather breeches, his sandaled toes covered in snow.
“Aros, I can’t take this. You’ll freeze!”
The god shot me his best shit-eating grin. “Flame-wielder, remember? My blood runs hotter than most.” He leaned in to whisper in my ear. “But you’re still the hottest thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.”
The sound that came out of my mouth could only be described as a guffaw — inelegant, graceless, and as savage as a wild animal. But it was real.
Caelus and Aros were both powerless to resist my womanly charms, joining in with their own howls of laughter. The only thing that silenced us was a heartstoppingly lengthy sputtering of the flame — and the subsequent jolt of fear that we might have already failed.
Aros wiggled his fingers at the torch and it roared back to life, the flames burning higher and brighter than they had before. And somehow, as we trudged through the knee-deep field of snow, I, too, felt brighter than before. Lighter. Warmer.
No monsters greeted us on the plain.
No rain doused our flame.
No wind could snuff out our fire, not with Aros’ gift keeping it alight.
And not even groans or pleas could stop Aros from serenading us with his god-awful attempts at singing a bard’s ballad, one that chronicled a fire god ploughing his way across battlefields and ending up in the beds of pretty young maidens.
We simply plodded our way across — with Selene’s moon as our guide and footprints marking how far we had travelled — until we reached the base of a mountain.
Hermes met us there, huffing and shivering, shifting from foot to foot.
As soon as we reached him, he grabbed hold of our arms and whirled us back to the Parthenon.
Sounding like the start of a bad joke: a manticore, a giant wolf, and a cat-sized dragon rushed at three shivering, snow-capped gods.
I scooped Velira up into my arms, scratching her head with relief. Her flame-filled belly warmed my arms, and her quiet hum echoed in my mind.
Hello, mine, she trilled.
Hello, Vel, I echoed.
She climbed up to her usual perch around my neck, her tail wrapping possessively around my upper arm as I surveyed the space.
Night had fallen. The sky was clear, moonlight silvering the marble. Selene glowed bright above us, with Astraeus’ twinkling stars surrounding her.
Aphrodite sat against a marble pillar, arms wrapped around her bent legs as she looked up at me in horror.
“Aph? What happened?” I asked, rushing across the room to sit in front of her.
“That was the most horrible thing ever,” she whispered. “I don’t know how you do it.”
“Do what?”
“Battle monsters.”
“Oh. Well. Self-preservation plays a big role in that…”
“It’s more than that though,” she argued. “You’re only in this because—” Aphrodite cut herself short. Curiously, I noticed Athena and Caelus both not-so-casually playing close attention. The only two within earshot.
That’s when it hit me. Aphrodite knew. Somehow, she knew about the prophecy too. Rage flooded hot under my skin.
How is it that every other god in this damned building knew about the prophecy before I did?
Did Zeus just have a big mouth? Or had they all been plotting, planning, expecting the worst of me — trying to thwart my attempts before I could prove I was no realm-ending threat?
Velira’s throat rumbled, her body tense. Her head whipped back and forth as the bond between us tugged, her agitation pooling with mine.
“I had to protect a mortal child from a lamia, Nyss,” Aphrodite whispered.
My brows rose, shock stalling my anger. I’d never seen one in the flesh, much less bested one.
“At first I wondered what the point was,” she admitted.
“He wasn’t going to live very long anyway.
Mortals never do,” she explained matter-of-factly.
Disapproval burned at the back of my tongue, the words longing to be flung free. Life always mattered, no matter how small.
“But then I realised that was the point,” she continued. “A Queen’s job doesn’t just extend to Olympians. She must protect all who reside in her domain — including mortals. Even tiny ones.”
“So you killed the lamia?” I had to ask, curiosity momentarily overpowering my anger.
“Furies, no!” Aphrodite laughed, paling further. “She gutted me with her talons and started devouring my innards,” she whispered with a tremor. “It was horrible. Hermes grabbed me a minute later.”
As if summoned by the power of his name, Hermes reappeared with a snap , dragging a shivering Leander behind him. He dropped Poseidon’s son to the floor with a loud thud, a sneer twisting his lips as he marched over to an open hearth.
“Next time any of you think to include snow in your trial,” Hermes hissed at the council members, holding his fingers over the flames, “You can retrieve your champions yourselves.”
Muted laughter trickled through the room as Leander crawled over to join him near the flames.
“And you!” Hermes shouted. “The next time you see fit to collapse like a frozen little godcicle twenty metres from the finish line, I shall leave you where you lay!”
Leander rolled onto his back, his still-lit torch raised in triumph.
“I passed, though, didn’t I?” he sneered. “Made you hike through waist-deep snow to retrieve me, too.”
The sea god smiled. Haughtiness turned his features a sickly shade of you’ve-got-to-be-fucking-kidding-me.
We had come so close to being free of dick-stick junior. Why in Tartarus had Hermes intervened?!
Something didn’t feel right about this Rite. Gods were passing when they shouldn’t. I was fielding sabotage attempts when the trials were already dangerous enough. At this stage, I’d need to be wary of everyone — even allies.
The Crown of Olympus was mine to claim.
Or there’d be no realm left for any of them to rule.