Chapter 9 Eleos
Eleos
Imprisonment was not something I was accustomed to. I didn’t like it.
Our captors had been kind enough to grant us a night of rest, albeit in a cold, hard cell. I hadn’t slept much. How could I? The only people I could call family were far out of reach, in perilous danger.
The guards behind me had concerningly little on their minds. Their emotions remained even, as they shepherded me through the halls—this was a job they’d held for decades. I was not a person to them, merely another soul of the thousands they’d escorted through the Duat.
We reached a stone door fastened with an elaborate padlock. A cell? Or the next trial?
One of the golden guards stepped forward, retrieving a key from his belt. Heavy bolts clicked as he unlocked the door and pulled it open. The guard behind me shoved me hard, and I tumbled through the door.
I expected a room on the other side. Instead, my feet tried to find purchase on air, and I plummeted down a hole, landing hard on my side in a pile of dirt.
Groaning, I looked up in time to see the door, several paces above my head, slam closed, sealing the sheer wall shut again.
“El!” Percy ran over and knelt by my side. “You weren’t expecting the fall either, I see?”
Sitting up, I quickly examined him. Ragged tears ripped holes in his clothes, and thin lacerations covered the skin beneath them.
Minimal damage. Seraphim must have protected him well.
Looking past the bard, I studied our surroundings. We were confined to a small chamber, pressed in by stone walls, save for a heavy gate to our north. A man with flaming red hair walked its length, searching for weaknesses in its construction.
My eyes flicked to the dark blue toga he wore. House Cynthus’ colors. What might have been my house, in a different life.
I trusted Lady Aethra. She would not speak such grave words without affirming their validity. To think, this man was my father . . .
Phaedrus looked me up and down—with eyes that matched mine. “I think they intend to put us back together for this trial. A mistake, if you ask me.”
“Shame,” I said. “I was hoping the trial would prove too much for you.”
Percy chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Maybe we misjudged the fellow. He saved my life.”
“Yes, you’re welcome,” Phaedrus said.
Rubbing my aching side, I kept my eyes on the nobleman. “What happened to you?”
“You know me.” Percy rubbed his eyes. “I sing better than I speak. And it deserves a ballad.”
Poor Perse looked exhausted. Aethra and Seth were probably worn out, too, after flailing around in the frigid lake.
“We faced a flaming lake,” Phaedrus explained for him. “Home to a chimera. You can imagine the rest.”
“They threw Aethra into a lake with a hydra,” I said, raising an eyebrow at Percy.
“Hydra,” he echoed. “Seas. Seth wasn’t lying about having fought one.” He blinked a couple of times. “They didn’t throw me in the flaming lake, El. I was tied to a tree.”
Phaedrus hummed. “Whoever tied the knots did a fine job, too.”
The door scraped open above our heads as the guards shoved someone through.
Seth anticipated the abrupt fall, to my dismay.
He caught himself, rolling past me before springing back to his feet.
A bloody dagger appeared in his hands, ready to flick up at his escort, but the door slammed behind us, sealing us back into our prison.
“Nice landing,” Percy commended.
“Perse.” Seth grimaced, eyeing Percy’s bloodstained shirt. “You were the sacrifice, weren’t you?”
“Of course I was. Can you imagine me rescuing Seraphim?” He blew through his lips. “Though I rather wish she’d picked Phaedrus. We could have just left him.”
“My sister is bright,” Phaedrus interjected. “She knows you need my help.”
Seth’s red eyes darted to me. A nasty bruise darkened his cheek, where I’d taken out my petty anger on him. “Where’s Aethra?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
I hated that I didn’t know.
Phaedrus leaned against the gate. “You’re the native. What trials await us?”
Seth glanced around the chamber. “I only know what they were like before. When they were sport for champions, not death sentences.”
“Did you compete?” Percy asked.
“No,” Seth half-laughed the answer. “My mother hadn’t been born yet. But Callesis is next, so either we face a trial of art or luck.”
“Art sounds lovely. Let’s assume luck,” Phaedrus said. “We’ll have to think on our feet. Luckily, two of us are psyches. It should be easy enough to communicate.”
“Not a chance.” Seth stepped back. “It was bad enough hearing Eleos in my head.”
“You don’t trust me? Why did you task me with protecting Aethra, then?”
Seth looked away, hiding his face behind his bangs. A tiny smile played at Phaedrus’ lips—he meant to drive a knife through Seth’s heart.
In doing so, he made clear an unpleasant truth: Aethra was safer with our enemy than with us.
I sighed. “We don’t have much choice. Allow me one thing, and I’ll agree.”
“Name it,” Phaedrus said.
“Drop your walls. Let me see you don’t mean to betray us.”
Standing straight, Phaedrus’ shoulders tightened. After a moment, he relaxed and nodded. “Alright.”
The walls shielding Phaedrus’ mind dropped. Seeking his consciousness, I found my way into the still sea of his thoughts.
Most people had an underlying emotion that dwelt always within their subconscious. Aethra existed beneath a torrential rain of sorrow; Percy jumped with fear, always worried the clock was about to run out. Seraphim bristled with a quiet anger that hid powerful grief.
Phaedrus felt nothing. Nothing.
Unsettled, I pushed past the surface. Every errant thought rushing through his mind came and went without disturbing the stillness. Calm, composed, even-keeled. Much the way Aethra had described me.
Inside his mind, I found twin thoughts that revealed his truth.
‘We both seek the Acheron. If others bar our path, working together is the best option.’
‘I wonder if he suspects I’m trying to deceive him.’
Though I hadn’t sought it, another whisper caught my ear.
‘Seas. He looks so much like her.’
Grabbing hold of that thought, I followed it, hoping to dive deeper into his subconscious. Her. Who did he remember?
Muted emotions accompanied his memories—felt not in the present, but in the past. Fondness. Adoration. Grief. But Phaedrus had long since numbed to their joys and pains.
Something stirred, deep in his mind. A single dash of color in the gray of his soul.
Hope.
‘I can’t believe he’s alive.’
Snapping my eyes open, I broke the connection. Aethra was right. I might be able to drag him back from the brink.
“I trust him,” I said, looking at Percy. “Open your minds. If we get separated, we’ll still be able to coordinate.”
“Alright,” Percy said readily, extending his hand.
Scowling, Seth tentatively offered his. “I don’t like this.”
“I don’t like you,” I said.
“How long are you going to hold this grudge?”
“Until you’ve apologized adequately,” I said, laying my hand on the pile.
Seth rolled his eyes, but I saw him flinch. He was well aware forgiveness would not come easily.
Phaedrus strode forward, joining his hand to the pile. A spark lashed between the four of us, and we lowered our hands.
Squeezing his eyes in intense concentration, Percy thought at us. “Can you hear me, Seth?”
“Yes,” Seth thought back. “Stay out of my thoughts.”
“Why? Are you hiding something in there?”
“No. I just don’t need you finding ammunition for your next song.”
“Don’t worry,” Phaedrus assured him. “He can only speak to you. This doesn’t make him a psyche.”
Seth’s eyes narrowed, and he glared at me. But his walls remained rigid as ever, his true thoughts safe from me.
Walls could be broken. I’d found the crack in his defenses that brought him to his knees.
Guilt. Especially when it involved Aethra.
Metal ground behind us as the gate slowly opened, revealing the next trial.
It was an arena.
Sheer stone walls rose from the edges of the dirt field, supporting rows of seating for spectators. My eyes first traced over the crowd gathered to watch, before rising to the blue sky above our heads.
Freedom.
“How kind of them,” Phaedrus thought. “To give us such an easy opportunity to escape.”
Snapping my head down, I looked at Seth. “I thought you said these trials weren’t for show.”
Flicking his wrist, Seth summoned a scarlet sword. “They aren’t supposed to be. I guess a lot has changed since I left home.”
Heavy gates across the tourney field cranked open. Three gold-painted chariots rode out, edges decorated with lethal spikes, drawn by muscular war horses covered in plated armor. Soldiers in blood red cloaks rode atop them, javelins held aloft.
A third gate rose on the western edge of the field, and my heart soared. Two women waited behind it: mere smudges from this distance—but smudges I recognized.
Flaming red hair and brunette curls.
We were all here.
Now all we needed to do was survive.