Chapter 7 Lyssa
Lyssa
Istand, relieved my legs are steady, and climb from the longboat onto the platform. Epizon follows me, pausing to help Lucas and Len out. With the huge black tear in the otherwise vivid skies of Olympus below us, I don’t blame them for accepting his steadying hand.
The only reason the Void exists is so that the gods can demonstrate the limitless extent of their power. They can create and destroy anything. The fact that they can also sling anything that displeases them into it is a happy bonus.
My heart is skipping in my chest, my skin tingling, as I make my way slowly into the throng of people.
He’s here somewhere. I know he is.
I’m looking so intently for him across the far rows of benches that I don’t see the muscular, white-haired man until I’ve walked straight into his chest.
“Shit!” I stumble, and my boot catches his.
“You kiss your father with that mouth?” The clear aristocratic voice accompanies strong hands gripping my shoulders and stopping me from falling.
Little does he know, he couldn’t have chosen a worse thing to say.
“Who I kiss is none of your fucking business,” I snap as I shrug overly hard out of his grip.
He steps back, holding his hands up. “Got it. No kiss-and-tell here. Sorry.”
My retort dies on my lips as I look at him. Holy Hades, there’s no way this guy isn’t a demigod.
He’s six feet tall, and wearing a long red coat with no shirt beneath it. The chest I walked into is solid, packed muscle. I scan the expensive leather trousers, finely made belt, exquisite gems set into the dagger at his hip, and fancy gold trim on the shoulders of his coat.
He’s rich.
And unnecessarily gorgeous.
He’s smiling, and his eyes are smiling too. Big brown eyes, sparking with life and laughter. Full lips, a strong, square jaw, and silver-white hair to his shoulders pushed back from his face.
I scowl. Men who look like this are an instant red flag. Rich and attractive means one thing. Entitled. They expect the world to fall at their feet because it always has. I’ve known plenty of people like this peacock.
“Who doesn’t wear a shirt under a coat?” I ask aloud.
He raises his eyebrows and his smile widens. “My attire offends you?”
“You’re showing off.”
He glances down at his hard, smooth chest. “Perhaps.” He grins. “But folk rarely complain.”
“Well, I’m not ‘folk,’” I say, rolling my eyes.
“No? Special, are you?”
“No! I’m just not as easy to impress as all these other sycophants,” I mutter.
He puts his hands on his hips, eyes shining. “So, you’re not special but you’re better than everyone else here. Got it.”
I grind my teeth, and turn to look for Epizon before I punch this idiot. He’s a few feet behind me, and I can just hear Lucas talking at a hundred miles an hour next to him.
“So, which god invited you here, special girl?”
I snap back to the peacock. “What?”
“We all got invited by a god. Which one invited you?”
It hadn’t occurred to me that the idiot might know something helpful. Epizon steps up beside me, and the peacock nods at him. “Good day.”
“Good day,” Epizon answers. Lucas and Len peer around my huge first mate. The peacock smiles.
“Who invited you?” I ask.
“My father.”
I knew he was the son of a god. Nobody carries this much confidence if they can’t back it up to some extent. “And who is your father?”
“Dionysus.”
This guy is definitely trouble. Everyone knows you stay the fuck away from the god of wine’s followers—especially if you still have your virginity, dignity, or a desire to remember your own actions.
My reaction must show on my face, because he gives me another lip-quirk grin. “Wow. You are incredibly judgmental.”
A growl rumbles in my throat. “Go find some clothes,” I mutter, deciding that whatever use he might be for finding information, he’s not worth it.
“Tell me who invited you here,” he says, and the lightness is no longer in his tone. He’s not stern, but something has hardened.
“Why do you want to know?”
“Because, as you’ve so succinctly pointed out to me, you don’t fit in here. You or your crew.” He smiles at Epizon, as if to say “no offense,” and Epizon shrugs. It’s quite difficult to offend Epizon. Me, on the other hand…
“My crew are none of your business.”
“Prickly.”
“What?”
“You’re so prickly.”
“And you’re a prick.”
Epizon leans across me. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, son of Dionysus.”
The peacock holds out his hand. “Alexios.”
Epizon shakes it. “Alexios. Do you know why the gods have brought us all to this place?”
“No. I just know that it’s invite only.”
He’s lying. He’s looking at Ep, but I can see the shifting in his eyes.
“Let’s go,” I say, and before Epizon can say another word, I stride away.
I’m short enough that I can get lost amongst the much larger creatures here, but my flame-red hair means I’ll be found eventually. I make the most of the few moments to cast my eyes around.
I still can’t see him. Which is a good thing. If he was here he’d be surrounded by fawning assholes, booming away about some horseshit feat he’d achieved.
Alexios the peacock is of his world, and I want nothing to do with any of it.
“Captain, he could have been useful.”
I sigh and see Epizon stepping around a centaur, trying not to stare and failing. Centaurs are rarely seen in Olympus, living only on Artemis’s forbidden realm of Sagittarius.
“I don’t care. He’s an idiot.”
“He’s a famous idiot,” says Len.
Lucas nods. “I’ve heard of him too. I think he has a—”
I hold my hand up. “I don’t care what he has. I don’t care about him at all. I care about why we are here, and which god is responsible.”
“Citizens of Olympus!” The voice booms through the space, and at least half the folk present startle. “Please be seated.”
Murmurs start, mostly about which way to face. I sit on the bench right next to me, facing the stage with the thrones. My crew do the same. I glance at Lucas. He’s wide-eyed and alert, but he doesn’t seem frightened. Or acting suspicious.
“Consider yourself honored and humbled in the presence of your gods!” the voice roars suddenly, and my attention moves off Lucas as the red curtains lift.
My gasp is lost in hundreds of others.
All twelve gods of Olympus step out of the shadows of the temple entrance and move to their thrones.
The awed silence breaks as one centaur starts clapping. Within seconds, the applause is deafening.
I clap along with them, heart racing. All twelve gods? Fuck, whatever this is, it is big. They don’t get together like this often, and not in front of Olympus’s finest. Plus me.
A compulsion to kneel and wave and bow washes over me. Doing my best to ignore it, I try to concentrate on the details, take in the images of the infamous gods who rule the world I live in.
Zeus is in the middle, with Hera on his right. His bearded, handsome face is the most recognizable, given that he is the lord of the gods. Hera stands out next to him, her dark skin and black hair contrasting with the glittering teal and blue jewels she wears.
On Hera’s right is Poseidon, distinguishable by his long silver hair and beard.
Next to him is Aphrodite. She is harder to recognize, as she changes her appearance regularly, but her beauty surpasses the others’ at any distance.
Today she has dusty-pink hair flowing to her feet, merging seamlessly with her dress and warm brown skin. She’s one of the few gods smiling.
I assume the stooped, broad, dark-haired god wearing a leather tabard at her side is her husband, Hephaestus. He’s rarely seen, and I try to study his scowling face and oil-covered clothes.
On his right, in the last two thrones, are the twins Artemis and Apollo. Artemis is smaller than the other figures, lithe and young-looking, with blonde hair in thin braids. Apollo is as blond as his sister and is smiling broadly and waving to the crowd.
On Zeus’s left is Athena. She’s dressed in a traditional toga, her long braid wrapped neatly around her head like a crown.
Next to her is Ares. He’s the largest of the gods, larger even than Zeus, rippling with muscles.
He wears an ancient-style plumed helmet that covers his face and, as far as I know, his face has never been seen by a mortal.
To his left is Dionysus. He’s the antithesis of Ares’s solid seriousness, smiling and waving, slouched in his chair.
By a long way, he looks the most normal of the gods, wearing human-style clothes and sporting a mop of messy, dark hair.
Hermes is next to him, looking restless and bored.
He has red hair and a red beard, and my eyes are drawn to his famous winged boots.
Last in the row, and by far the most interesting, is Hades.
This is a god whose realm, Virgo, is hidden in the core of Olympus and is almost impossible to get to.
Many images of Hades are in circulation, but even those who live on Virgo don’t know which are accurate.
It could be all of them, or none of them.
Today won’t be the day Olympus finds out—the being in the last throne is nothing more than a swirling mass of black smoke.
It’s humanoid in shape, but it doesn’t settle long enough to give any indication of features.
“Your gods!” the commentator booms. “You are here today to witness something never seen before in Olympus! Are you ready?”
I tense. I’m ready to be done with this infernal, sycophantic game-playing horseshit and go back to finding out what the fuck I have swimming around on my cargo deck.
“The gods have chosen to bless us with an opportunity never before possible!”
The crowd cheers and whoops, until Athena stands from her throne, and a hushed silence falls over everybody.
“We have agreed, citizens of Olympus, to bend one of our most sacred rules.” For a beat I swear her eyes find mine in the crowd. “We have decided to grant mortals immortality.”
Instant uproar occurs. Gasps, cheers, loud chatter.
“I thought the gods weren’t able to make people immortal,” I breathe.
“The gods are able to do anything they like,” Len says, excitedly. “They choose not to do some things for prosperity. The gods tire of the same company quickly—if they all went around making their favorites immortal, it would only take a few millennia for there to be no mortals left.”
Zeus stands, and silence falls again.
“Mortals will have to earn this revered prize, and it will not be easy.” His voice is like liquid silk, deep and soft, and in that moment, it’s all I want to hear for the rest of my life.
“Each of the twelve gods has devised a Trial in their own realm that will kill all but the strongest of heroes. Only four may compete, and after much deliberation”—he casts a dark look at Athena—“we have made three selections.”
A new, sick feeling spreads through me.
If Zeus has chosen his son to compete for immortality…
No.
No, there’s no way they can give that monster a chance to live forever. Surely not.
My head spins at the horror as it filters through me.
I’ve spent my life wishing my father were dead.
There surely can’t be a version of this world where he not only gets away with what he did, not only becomes celebrated and admired, but then gets to live forever?
To have an eternity to cause pain and harm and inflict cruelty?
No. No, they can’t do this.
I almost stand, but Epizon’s large hand shoots out, pulling my shoulder down.
“Lyssa, no. Twelve gods are up there—what do you think you can do?”
His voice is in my head, and I can’t come up with a response. I’m spiraling, fear, anger, injustice—
“You don’t even know if they’ve chosen him.”
I suck down air. This hits home. It’s true. He may not even be here.
Hera stands, and when she speaks I think her lyrical voice might be even more beautiful than Zeus’s.
“The fourth hero will be chosen at random from anybody who chooses to enter their name here today. Be aware that these Trials are deadly. It is highly unlikely that all will survive. The prize of an eternal life must come at great risk, and only a hero will be worthy.”
Poseidon stands. He looks bored and annoyed. “Without further delay, meet the heroes already chosen to compete.” He holds his hand out toward the other stage, and everyone turns.
The gleeful roar of the commentator rings out. “Presenting your first hero, son of Zeus, captain of the Hybris, the mighty Hercules!”