Chapter 9
Lyssa
“Len, when I put my name in, it’s just for me, you understand? You are in no way obligated to enter.”
The satyr blinks up at me. “Cap, are you kidding? Of course I’m coming too. Imagine being immortal!”
I shake my head and point at the stage, refusing to look at Hercules. “Those are real heroes, Len. Not a diluted descendant with a damaged smuggler’s ship. We’re entering to try to sabotage and stop Hercules. We’ve got no chance of winning, and every chance of dying in the process.”
Len stamps a hoof. “Then you can’t possibly expect your medic to abandon you.”
I glare at him. “Len.”
“Captain,” he answers, “I’m a member of this crew, and you know as well as I do that you’ll do better with me on board.”
He’s absolutely right. His knowledge alone has got us out of more scrapes than I can count, let alone his very valid healing skills.
“If you die—”
“Then I’ll find a way to haunt you and ensure your eternal guilt.”
I pause and glance at Epizon. “It’s up to him, captain. He can make his own choices,” he replies.
“Len, if you’re sure…”
“One hundred percent. No doubt at all.”
“Fine,” I say, folding my arms.
“Erm, Captain Lyssa?”
I look at Lucas. “Oh no, buddy boy. Not a chance.”
“You wouldn’t have to pay me! And it’s not like I’ll live long on Libra anyway! And technically I should have died in Lady Lamia’s ship, so I’m already on borrowed time! I’m a good worker, and I can help with repairs, and—”
“You’re a child,” I half shout at him, cutting him off. “I can’t let you enter a deadly competition for immortality, for Fates’ sakes!”
“If he gets to make his own choices, why can’t I?” he says, folding his arms and scowling.
“Lucas, you’re not old enough to do this.”
“I wasn’t old enough to be a kidnapped doulos for a vampire either,” he retorts.
Gods above, but I can’t help admire this kid’s tenacity.
“Fine! I’ll think about it.” I throw my hands in the air. “Just stop talking until we’re off this horseshit platform, and I’ll think about it.”
His face lights up. “I will, Captain Lyssa! I promise I’ll—”
“I can still hear you, Lucas.”
He mimes zipping his mouth, his pale lips dry and cracked.
I fist my hands on my hips and close my eyes. “Epizon, find out where I’m supposed to put my name in. Len, tell me about the other two on stage.”
I know I’m going to have to look properly. I can’t avoid seeing his face forever, not if this is really happening.
The cheering has died out but the excited buzz of chatter still fills the air, and when I force my eyes open and focus, I see all three men on the stage are still preening and waving.
Well, the enormous figure at the end isn’t preening, exactly. More shaking his fist awkwardly.
“I don’t know much about the giant Antaeus. I know that his whole crew are giants or half giants.”
“His ship’s a Zephyr, then?” asks Lucas, then looks apologetically at me and re-mimes zipping his mouth.
“Yeah. He’s a good guy, by all accounts. World famous for boxing.”
I force my way through the crowd, moving closer. Len and Lucas hurry after me.
Antaeus is about ten feet tall, and he’s covered in muscle.
He’s shirtless, and wearing green canvas trousers tucked into huge black boots.
As I get closer I see that his torso is covered in tattoos of snakes, all different colors and sizes, slithering across his skin, their long bodies entwining and curling around each other.
I’ve seen moving tattoos many times but never with such lifelike quality.
If he’s a boxer then the scars on his face and the clearly previously broken nose are no surprise. There’s no doubting he’s a son of Poseidon when I see his bright blue eyes under heavy black eyebrows.
I move my gaze to Theseus, trying to keep my breathing level, and keep up a steady flow of Rage to hold the fear at bay.
I’ve not been this close to him since that night.
“Well, you’ve heard of Theseus, obviously,” Len says.
I have. Everyone in Olympus has.
Theseus lives with the favor of Aphrodite, and everything comes easily to him.
He’s outrageously good-looking, blessed with rich brown skin and dark, wavy hair that falls messily to his shoulders, interspersed with braids. Warm brown eyes crinkle when his full lips smile, and his easy confidence only increases his appeal.
“He has a Typhoon, but it’s set up as a pleasure cruiser. He’s not known for sailing with a crew, so I don’t know who he’ll have with him. Perhaps Hedone, the goddess of pleasure? She’s often with him. And likely Psyche, his bodyguard.”
“Theseus needs a bodyguard?” I frown as I look at his body, packed with muscle, his gleaming sword, and his shining slingshot.
“No, probably not. But Psyche is famously fierce. I wouldn’t mess with her.”
I glance down at the tiny satyr. If I were his size, I wouldn’t mess with anyone. The fear pierces the barrier again. Please, Athena, don’t let my friends die for this.
I swallow hard, then look back at the stage. At the last hero.
Hero. The word churns my already roiling stomach.
He looks the part. Dark, huge, handsome.
I look away, feeling a surge of relief when I spot Epizon pushing through the crowd.
He passes me a small scroll when he reaches us. “Just sign your name, captain, then drop it in the urn at the end of the throne stage.”
Len yanks a small pencil from his belt pouch, and I write, Lyssa of the Alastor, on the paper, puncturing it with the lead more than once.
“Here goes nothing,” I mutter, dragging my resolve around me and making my way toward the opposite stage.
I feel eyes on me as I move, but the crowd doesn’t seem remotely interested in a small, red-headed human in their midst. I keep searching until I find my watcher.
Alexios, the peacock. He smiles as he watches me reach the urn, and when I scowl at him, he gives me a wave.
I shake my head. I wonder if he put his name in? I wonder if he even has a ship? He must do—he’ll be wealthy enough.
With a last breath, I close my eyes and drop the paper into the tall vase. There’s a popping sound and I open my eyes, seeing a puff of pink smoke.
There you go, Athena. I did it. The rest is up to you.