Chapter 12
Lyssa
Zeus claps, and everyone falls silent. “Go back to your ships, and await the longboats for the feast this evening. Heroes, use this time before the commencement of the Immortality Trials well.”
With a white flash, all the gods disappear. I hurry down the steps at the front of the stage immediately, to where my crew have gathered. I avoid looking at anyone, ignore the shouts and calls of the people around us.
“Come on, Zeus is right. We need to get every drop of use out of this time.”
I force my way through the crowd—easier when the huge Epizon is waving them out of the way, and we make our way to one of hundreds of waiting longboats at the edge of the platform.
I need to be back on my ship. I need to work some of this emotion out of my body.
As the longboat sinks below the platform edge, I get a glimpse of the peacock, still watching.
“Epizon, I need you three to make sure the hull repairs are as tight as they can be. We can’t risk any damage.”
Epizon nods as he vaults over the edge of the little boat onto the deck of the Alastor.
He lifts Len over the railing. The little satyr bristles, but lets him. I give Lucas a hand and half yank him onto the planks. He yelps and rubs his shoulder. I’m struggling to control my strength.
“Len, go and do an inventory of food, medical supplies, and repair materials. And drachmas. If we get any chance at all to stop during the Trials, we need to be in and out with what we need, no time wasted.”
“Yes, cap.”
“If we get a chance to stop?” says Lucas slowly.
I give him my best glare. “Even with a speed boost from me, the Void is too remote to get anywhere and back in the four hours we have. So there is no time to drop you off. And even I’m not enough of an asshole enough to leave you on a marble platform over an endless void.”
His eyes shine, but he keeps his lips pressed together.
“It is not fair for you to compete in the first Trial tomorrow, and then make you leave afterward either. So, apparently, you are now part of my crew.”
His lips part in a beam.
“As soon as it is safe to leave, you can if you want to. You are beholden to nothing, got it?”
“But you won’t kick me off the ship?”
“No. Not if you take part tomorrow. Once you’re in, you’re in.”
He nods fervently. “What can I do now?”
“You can call me captain, and you can go and have a bath,” I say.
“Good idea, captain,” says Epizon, wrinkling his nose.
“Lucas, what are your skills?”
“I can clean, and I can sew. I’m pretty handy with tools, and I’m a fast study.” He blinks at me, and when I say nothing, he hurriedly adds, “Captain.”
“Sewing is good.” I fucking hate sewing, and Len is slow as shit. “Len, find him some of mine and Ep’s old clothes.”
“Yes, cap.”
“Lucas, alter what you can to fit you. And see what you can do about some boots.” I look down at his bare feet and rub my hands over my eyes. “Fates, am I really letting a kid with no fucking shoes compete in the most dangerous competition Olympus has ever seen?”
“It’s his choice, captain. And on this ship, we’re nothing if we don’t have our own choices,” Epizon rumbles.
“Fine. I’m going to see if there’s any hope at all for the dead longboat. Report back here in four hours, dressed for the feast.”
There’s a chorus of “yes, captain,” and everyone disperses.
I move to the front of the ship and stare at the longboat we destroyed whilst stealing the crate. Shit, I still have an unidentified creature in my fucking cargo deck to deal with.
Focus, Lyssa. One infernal problem at a time.
Dressing for a feast in the gods’ honor, amongst Olympus’s finest, is not something I am especially well prepared for.
I very rarely have to dress nicely, and the clothes I reserve for the rare occasions are at the very bottom of the chest at the end of my bunk.
I dig through my usual attire of supple but protective leather trousers and stacks of green and black shirts until I find the silk toga at the bottom.
It’s slinky, black, and only really been used when I’ve needed to act as a distraction in some plan.
Or on the infrequent occasions that I crave male company.
I stare at the dress, and my face creases into a scowl.
I’m still terrified of what might be coming, fearful for my crew’s wellbeing, and pissed as Hades that I’ve been thrust into this without a choice.
But fortunately, I’m also alight with anticipation, and absolutely certain that Athena is right. It can only be me who does this. It should be me.
I want it to be me.
I toss the dress onto the bed. It’s not right for the occasion. I’m the only female, amongst three huge men. I’m not showing up in a slinky dress. I’m showing up as who I am—Captain Lyssa of the Alastor.
I clench my teeth at the thought. If we survive this, then my ship will be recognizable. Our smuggling days might be over.
Shit, would I be famous? I can’t think of anything worse, and my head throbs.
Shoving the thought into the “deal with if we get to it” part of my brain, I pull out my only shirt that isn’t green or black.
It’s deep burgundy, and looks good with my bright hair.
It’ll associate me even more solidly with the color red, and I like that.
It’s the color of my Rage, the color my sail turns when I power the ship.
I have a leather under-bust wrap that has gold buttons and trim that I accidentally ended up with after a silks-and-leather deal. I rarely wear it, as it’s a little flashy and draws attention, but it will work for this. Feminine, but fierce. That’s what I want to go for.
When I’m dressed, I move to my washroom.
Mine is the only cabin on the Alastor that has its own washroom, inclusive of a copper bathtub.
Porthole windows line the little tiled space, and I stare at the mirror between two of them.
Long, wild hair, angry green eyes, and weather-worn features reflect back at me.
I could wrap a scarf around my hair? Or try to brush it?
I almost laugh at my own grimace.
There is no chance of getting a brush through it. I attempt a braid, only really managing to get the bottom half of it plaited, and tie it off with a small black bootlace.
I line my eyes with kohl, the only cosmetic I ever keep around, and rub some wax on my lips.
“Well, that’s the best they’re going to get,” I say to my reflection.
“You look nice, captain,” Lucas says to me when I meet the others on deck.
“Oh. Thanks. So do you.” I eye him. He’s done a decent job of repurposing Epizon’s trousers, and my shirts. He’ll need a coat at some point, and my heart sinks when I see that he’s still barefoot.
He’s clean, though, all the smears and smudges gone, and the marks on his wrist less red. It’ll take a while to get color into his skin, after so long below decks, but there’s a tinge to his cheeks.
“What about me?”
We all look down at Len. “You’re naked. As usual.”
“Well, having fur instead of clothes doesn’t mean I shouldn’t get compliments.”
“Len, you look magnificent this evening,” says Epizon formally.
Lucas grins, and a small smile sneaks onto my lips.
“As do you, good sir,” Len replies.
Epizon is wearing all black, his eyes lined with kohl too. He looks fierce as fuck.
The longboat to take us to the platform bumps against the railings and we all look over at it.
“Here we go again.”
The area between the two temples looks different when we are deposited back on the platform.
It is now lined with long tables of all different sizes and heights, benches running down both sides.
The tables are all heaving with food and drink.
Ornate bowls of fruit, giant platters of meat, baskets of bread, hundreds of small dishes holding olives and pastes and dips, and jug after jug of different-colored liquids.
I don’t even recognize half the food, and the smell is divine.
At intervals between the tables are tall stone columns that match the temples, and on top of each is a large, flickering flame. Nothing is holding the flames in place; they just burn gently and impressively on top of the columns.
The temple with the blue curtains now has a band set up on the stone stage, surrounded by more magical flames.
A beautiful blonde woman in a silken white toga plays an enormous golden harp, and three men sit behind her, playing a variety of stringed instruments that glitter with gold. The music is soft and pretty.
There are lots of other guests already here, chattering excitedly as they leave the boats and see the food.
“Where shall we sit, cap?” Len’s eyes are fixed on the plates of food. So are Lucas’s and Epizon’s, I notice.
I scan the tables and spot what I’m looking for.
Hercules.
He’s sitting in the center of the platform, positioned so that he can see everyone. He looks straight back at me.
Fire surges across my skin, and I swallow down the Rage. I point at a table close to the red temple. It’s the furthest from him, but we will have to walk past him to reach it. Epizon lays a hand on my shoulder, and I look up into his face.
“It’s fine, Ep. I’m fine,” I lie, and head toward the table.
I’m better than I was before. But fine is a stretch.
The closer I get to him, the more the Rage floods my body. My muscles begin to shake as I fight to contain the furious energy.
Shit, I need to fly. I need to get this out of my system.
I force myself to hold Hercules’s gaze as I approach. I fill my face with as much hatred as I possibly can, trying to give the anger an outlet.
His handsome eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles.
“Daughter,” he says as I pass in front of him, and he lifts his wine glass.
I freeze, my stomach lurching at the word.
“Don’t you dare call me daughter, you fucking monster,” I hiss, turning to face him.
Fifteen years. It has been fifteen years since I have seen him in the flesh. And last time I was this close to him, he was covered in my mother’s blood.
I feel sick, and my ears are ringing.
I could reach out now, and stab a blade into his neck. Sever the artery. Finish it.
The fantasy plays in my head, until he stands.
He towers over me, and it’s not just his physical size that makes me feel like I’m shrinking. He’s similarly built to Epizon, so I’m used to that.
It’s the power. Magic, divine, godly strength. It oozes from him, rolls off him in waves.
He gives a bark of laughter. “I’m glad to see you have some fight in you. You must have inherited some of my qualities.” He takes a long drink from his glass.
As he lowers it, I draw my head back and spit in his face. He roars, stepping backward and causing the bench to clatter to the marble floor.
“Fuck you, Hercules,” I growl.
The fury contorting his attractive face is hugely satisfying, and I gave my own bark of laughter before I whirl on my heel and stride away.