Boone’s signal is a soft whistle. This way.
He tugs me around the side of the house and to the rear, where we climb stairs that lead up a series of terraces until we enter through the back. No wonder they don’t bother with locks here. These places are wide open.
Then again, who would dare rob from a god or goddess anyway?
I almost snort a laugh. Boone, that’s who.
He must have already come here to know the way like this. Clearly, he was quite busy while I walked home and brooded. He leads me through the rooms, which remind me of mountain cabins, or rather, wealthy-people mountain cabins—lots of timber beams, gray granite, and oversize woodsy furniture.
This is Hephaestus’ house, after all.
The god of blacksmiths, metalworking, carpentry, craftsmen, artisans, and fire has always been one of my favorites. Probably because I think of him as the underdog god, the one the others tend to consider last, maybe because he’s so quiet. But he’s the reason Zeus has his lightning bolt, Hermes has his helm and sandals, Achilles had his armor, and Apollo has his sun chariot. Even Eros’ bow and arrows are thanks to him.
Hephaestus is brilliant.
He’s also brave. There are many accounts for the reason Hephaestus’ feet are turned backward, giving the god a distinctive gait when he walks. But the one I believe, even more so having seen him in person now, is that as a child he protected his mother—some say Hera, others not, but definitely one of the goddesses—from Zeus’ unwanted advances. Zeus threw the child out of Olympus. Hephaestus fell for a full day before hitting the earth so hard it almost killed him. His immortality saved him, but his rapid godly healing accidentally went too fast, and his feet healed backward.
Another whistle sounds. The signal for all silent.
I squeeze Boone’s hand, indicating I understand.
Boone takes us through a door that leads to a landing, and then, our steps as silent as we can make them, we creep down the balcony that runs along the entire side of the house. Light streams into the night from several tall windows.
We inch our way forward until we reach the first window. We peek around the frame to find the four Daemones standing in the corners of the room and all thirteen gods and goddesses, even a puffy-eyed Aphrodite, seated around a massive, perfectly round slab of stone serving as a conference table. No head or foot.
Zeus must hate it.
“We’re not here about your Labor,” Poseidon is saying to Hephaestus.
The mountain man of a god is leaning back in his seat, muscled arms as big as logs crossed over a broad chest. He fits the vibe of his home—tan, like he works outside all day, every day. Then there’s his dark-brown hair worn short but sort of shaggy, matching the scruffy beard that might be several days’ unshaved growth or could be a deliberate look. Keen green eyes don’t stray from Poseidon.
“Then why have you and Zeus gathered us?” Hephaestus asks, his impassive demeanor giving nothing away.
The two brothers exchange glances, but Poseidon is the one who speaks. He’s the only god with a champion no longer in the hunt, so I’m surprised he cares enough to be here.
“As we all know,” Poseidon says, “this Crucible has been somewhat…chaotic.”
You think? I roll my invisible eyes.
“Well, we all know why,” Demeter snipes.
Each of them turns to the man seated to Hephaestus’ right. Hades lounges in his chair, foot propped on his knee, looking even more bored than he did during the party. He lifts a single eyebrow at them. “What do I have to do with any of the chaos?”
“You entered this year,” Athena points out. “Never in the history of the Crucible have there been thirteen champions, and one patronized by the King of the Underworld, who already rules a realm. That creates chaos on its own. But that’s not all. There is the matter of your champion.”
Hades doesn’t move a single muscle.
“Lyra is one of the few playing this farce of a competition with any integrity,” Hades says in that quiet way he does when he’s truly pissed.
Athena is the only one brave enough to lean forward and address him. “But you have to admit, chaos seems to follow her footsteps.”
At that, Hades appears to relax. “That’s not my fault.”
The others ease a tad as well, but they shouldn’t. How I know that, I’m not sure. It’s just…obvious to me.
“Why does that little mortal interest you so much?” Zeus asks.
Hades’ expression darkens, and I think the others collectively hold their breaths.
Both Athena and Dionysus cast concerned glances out the window, past where Boone and I stand, over the beautiful lands of Olympus.
For the first time ever, I wonder exactly who among them leveled this place during the Anaxian Wars.
“It’s too bad your own champions can’t stay out of her way,” Hades says. Doesn’t even bother to address Zeus’ question. I secretly grin. “But these Labors were designed to be brutal—to fulfill your mirth for bloodshed. Don’t complain now, and definitely don’t blame me or Lyra.”
Hades pushes to his feet slowly, and he towers over all of them, even Zeus, in a way that makes them seem small and petty.
“Hephaestus isn’t going to share what his Labor is going to be. The rules aren’t going to change, unless you want to allow me to add my own challenge to the mix.” He glances around the deities and the Daemones. No one takes him up on that. “Then I suggest you stop worrying about my shit and figure out your own.”
Then he lifts his gaze directly to mine. Spears me with that look. Right through the heart.
He knows I’m here.
Fuck me.
71
