“Athena requested death,” Zeles says, “with a judgment of Tartarus as her punishment.”
Holy shit. Death. Smite me then and there for calling her a monster to her face. No Medusa or other horrible curse. Just a one-way ticket to the part of the Underworld reserved not just for Titans but for the wickedest and most evil of souls. They go there to be punished for all eternity.
“This is a…compromise,” Zeles says. “You may not have access to her until the next Labor is about to start. But Athena will also not have access to her.”
Hades stares at the four of them, each in turn, as if assessing the truth of their words, then moves his gaze to mine, and I meet his eyes directly, unflinching. With a restrained violence, he yanks the bident out of the invisible wall it is buried in, then gives a single jerking nod.
The Daemones take off into the sky, dragging me away from the mountain and away from Hades.
98
Prisoner
Zeles waves a hand, indicating I should go through a door into what is clearly the Olympian version of a jail cell.
God jail.
It says a lot about my mental state that I am now fighting back a case of the giggles and tears at the same time.
“In here, please,” he says.
No shoving. No anger or suspicion. Even a please.
The Daemones said they weren’t going to hurt me, just keep me locked up until the next challenge. Even so, I’ve clocked the details of how we got here, the ways in and out of the building that I could see, the rooms leading here, and now this space.
Because you did such a bang-up job learning escape techniques last time, sarcastic me drawls in my head.
“Huh,” I say deliberately as I step inside. “It turns out prisons in Olympus are pretty much the same as the ones in the Overworld.”
Zeles frowns. “Really?”
“No.” I roll my eyes. “Not really.”
This prison is, of all things, pristinely clean and fancy with white marbled walls. Well-lit. A desk, a computer, and a bed with a fluffy pillow are included, along with a private bathroom inside opaque glass walls. The outer walls of the cell are clear glass instead of bars. More glass walls to deal with. At least these are bug free and with holes across the top so I can breathe. Thoughtful of them.
“You’re taking this well,” a Daemon I heard Zeles refer to as Nike says from behind us.
“This is the most protected I’ve been since I was three years old.” I manage to smile up at Zeles.
This might be the safest place for me if Athena is out for my blood. And I could really use the space away from Hades.
Zeles doesn’t so much as crack a crease around his eyes or lips.
Granted, our last interaction had a lot to do with me demanding Hades’ release. Probably from this place. Given the trouble I’ve caused, I’d lay money that I’m not the Daemon’s favorite champion.
Despite the luxuries, this is still a prison. It’s still four walls with no contact with the outside world beyond a few scattered visitors, no way out, and a guard.
I step inside, and then Zeles turns the lock and leaves.
Nike sets herself up by the door that leads to the halls and freedom beyond and pulls out a cell phone and earbuds, proceeding to ignore me entirely as she watches something that makes her snicker every few minutes.
It looks like I will get no privacy. No way am I letting them see me fall apart.
I’m holding myself together with sheer will, emotional duct tape, and twenty years of learning how to not show my true feelings to others if I don’t want to. Who knew that the harsh reality of my life would come in this handy someday?
Even so, I’m starting to shake.
Just a little.
Giving the shaking a disguise and an outlet, I wander my cell, checking out the entire thing. I give the bed a good bounce. Turns out it’s a nice, thick mattress, and the sheets are some fancy cotton with a high thread count—a league better than the thin, scratchy shit in mortal cells. The toilet paper in the bathroom is also the good stuff. No one-ply tissue paper bullshit for the gods’ asses, even ones in jail.
“Can I—”
Nike jerks her phone down, gaze on me hard and suspicious.
Right. Okay. She is not as relaxed around me as she looked. Yet.
I hold up both hands. “Can I get a change of clothes?” I wave at my bug-gut-and-blood-splattered clothing.
Annoyance crosses her features, but she goes to the door and asks someone outside named Craton. Ten minutes later, I’m brought a white jumpsuit.
“At least it’s not orange,” I tell Nike. “Makes me look jaundiced.”
She frowns.
Daemones. So serious.
