35. Caelus
Caelus
When I strode into my bedchamber an hour later, after tucking Nyssa safely into bed, I was met with the view of my mother’s back, framed against the ocean from her vantage point on my balcony.
“Do you understand, my son, exactly how it looks for you to be carrying Hades’ daughter around like that?” she said quietly.
Quiet was bad. Quiet meant she was furious. And furious meant she’d wait for me to step into my own noose before she hanged me with it.
“I merely carried an injured warrior off the battlefield, Mother.”
I met her gaze unflinchingly. She arched a brow in return.
“Did you now?” she hummed. “And tell me, dear son— do you think Olympus saw it that way?”
She prowled closer, pinching the shoulder of my ruined shirt and wrinkling her nose at the bloodstains. Nyssa’s bloodstains.
“Do you think the gods and lessers in those stands looked at you and thought ‘Oh, what a noble hero he is?’ Of course not,” she scoffed. “You carried her not just out of the arena, but to the Underworld , Caelus!”
I clenched my jaw, saying nothing.
“You chose to help the goddess of death, who has no right to compete in these trials. And she is steadily dislodging the crown from your own stupid head, boy.”
“She was dying,” I ground out.
“ She was dying, ” Hera mocked. “If it had been anyone else, it might have been a show of mercy. But because it was her , all they saw was your weakness.”
“And if I’d done it your way? You’d have me leave her out there to drown in her own blood? Maybe get stomped on by the roaring crowd, or drown in Poseidon’s rage?” I clenched my jaw, determined not to let her sharp eyes see the effect she had on me.
“You act as though your hands were tied,” she said, voice tightening. “You had a choice, Caelus. And you made the wrong one — just as your father did,” she seethed. “And where is he now?”
My fingers twitched at my sides, itching to become fists. The storm within me sizzled its way to the surface. The air began to smell like petrichor, and I was about to give myself away.
Do not let her see , Lykos growled. Rein it in, Godling!
How had the best kiss of my life led to this?
“You are still so young, my darling,” my mother said, her voice saccharine sweet.
“So allow me to share one of Olympus’ many secrets: they do not care for your noble ideologies.
They only care where your loyalties truly lie, and whose bed you lay in at night.
” She pinned me with her glare, nostrils flaring.
But I forced my power down and exhaled sharply through my nose.
“My loyalty is, and always has been, to Olympus, Mother.”
“Is that so?” She tilted her head, studying me. “Heed the warning, boy. Consider who you choose to help… who you ch oose to protect… and who you choose to bleed for. Because blood will always leave a trail. As do other” —her nose screwed up— “bodily fluids.”
Her lips curved, but it was nothing like a smile. She strode past me towards the grand marble doors, her pristine white gown trailing behind her. Just before she crossed the threshold, before I could freely breathe, she paused to face me once more.
“Olympus needs stability now more than ever.” Her gaze flicked down, to where the throne sat empty three floors below. “And I will do whatever it takes to ensure that happens.”
Then she left me standing in the cold, empty room, with a feeling of dread sinking deep down in my gut.
My mother had all but declared war on anyone who stood between her and the crown.
Including, it seemed, me.
And with Nyssa already in her sights, I had no choice but to keep my distance. I would not draw further attention to her; would not paint a larger target on her back.
Even if it hurt.
Even if it shattered me.