“They are yours now,” he says.
Mine. My pearls that do something that used to help Persephone. What did the stories say about hers? I mean, to start with, they were pomegranate seeds. “Do I eat them?”
His eyebrows lift slowly in…is that reluctantly impressed from the god of death? “I can’t tell you,” he says.
So, yes, I eat them.
“I thought only four were left.”
He shakes his head. “Mortals always get details wrong.”
No surprise there.
I try to think. “Persephone’s pomegranate seeds kept her in the Underworld.” I’m talking to myself now, turning the tiara this way and that. “Or…maybe they took her there? And I’m protected in the Underworld.” That has to be it?
I glance directly into silver-bright eyes studying me in a manner that makes me want to look away. He’s too intense. Too…him.
“Am I close?” I ask.
“You’re definitely quick, but you’ll have to wait and find out.”
I battle back the warmth of a blush. “Why do I need protection?”
He shrugs. “You seem to gravitate toward danger.” His pause hangs in the air.
Jackass.
But I know I’m close, at least. A way to escape a Labor? Or to protect myself when we’re in Olympus. Does it matter? Twelve Labors, though, and only six seeds. I’d better save these puppies for near-death experiences.
He finishes making his smoothie and carries it into the living room, where he turns on the TV. “Here,” he says. “You should study your competitors.”
I follow him and realize he’s turned on the news coverage of the opening ceremonies. Already the mortal newscasters are discussing and showing clips of the worldwide festivities, the gods, and, of course, their champions, whose stats they are starting to list as they question who we are and why we were chosen.
My face flashes up on the screen—an image of me with a mulish scowl standing at Hades’ side in the temple.
“They haven’t found anything on you yet beyond your pledge name,” he says, sounding satisfied.
They won’t. My existence was erased when the Order took me in, and they are very good at what they do.
“Lyra Keres is a mystery,” the commentator says, “but I think the bigger mystery is why Hades has joined this Crucible.”
I’m staring at the screen, and the words just sort of fall out. “Why me?”
He turns the sound down. “I picked you because when we met, despite being afraid, you didn’t back down or cower, even from a god.” He rests his head back against the couch cushion as if he’s suddenly weary. “Especially from the god of death.”
I’ve seen the way others cower and avoid him. Even the gods, whose fear-filled gazes glaze with a curious kind of desire. I know what he must feel. Not the being-feared part, but being isolated even in a crowd.
Still, did he seriously pick me because he thought I might actually have a chance? Not to punish me, but because he liked my…what? Sass?
A sharp laugh bursts from me. There’s probably an edge of agitation to it, but I don’t really care. “Felix always said my big mouth would get me in big trouble someday.”
“Felix?” he asks.
“My boss in the Order.”
“I see.” His gaze settles on me in a way that makes me want to shift my weight on my feet.
I’m not entirely sure I believe him about his reason for picking me as his champion, but it’s something, I guess. But the fact that he wanted someone who wouldn’t back down from gods is concerning.
“You’re sure you can remove my curse if I win?” I ask.
He nods.
I think about that. I’ve never let myself picture a future without it. If I’m honest, I’ve never let myself picture a future beyond my next meal, really. Not because I worried I’d die at any moment—our lives in the Order weren’t that precarious. There just wasn’t any reason to dwell on what could never be.
I settle onto the other end of the couch and tuck my feet under my legs. “What kind of games?”
“What?”
“The games I am oh so honored to play on your behalf. What are we talking about here? I’m guessing a rousing round of Tiddlywinks is unlikely.”
“Each contest is planned well in advance, lodged with the Daemones, and can’t be changed after the Labors start. And the nature of each isn’t revealed until that god or goddess’s turn.”
Why did that feel like a cagey answer? “What about in the past? What were those like?”
He doesn’t answer right away, like he’s considering how much to tell me. “They vary.”
Vague. “Give me broad strokes, then.”
