Zai says nothing.
“You looked like a fool out there today.” Mathias spits the words like a cobra. “Why Hermes didn’t pick one of your brothers, I will never know. Either of them would have won that Labor, not looked like a drowning rat in need of rescuing. You reflect on me.”
I picture the two young men who were with Mathias when the gods introduced us to the previous winner and his family. Tall, strapping men, so he’s probably not wrong.
Still nothing from Zai.
“Allergies,” Mathias scoffs next. “What a pathetic excuse for weakness.”
So that’s what Zai is dealing with? They must be bad to make him look so haggard.
“Everyone blames you.” Mathias doesn’t even pause for Zai to answer. “They are all saying you are the reason that woman died. What did you think you were doing?”
Felix might have been a callous father figure and boss, but—even with my curse—he would have never said words as vile as this to me.
Mathias Aridam is a nasty piece of work.
“You told me not to trust anyone,” Zai says. The flatness is still there, almost like he’s quoting facts from a schoolbook. “So I didn’t let Lyra cut me loose.”
“And she made you look even weaker than you are, showing you up like that.”
Asshole.
Zai doesn’t acknowledge what his father said. “You told me not to use the gifts Hermes gave me unless I absolutely had to. I didn’t…even when I could have saved Isabel.”
I put a hand over my mouth as my heart thuds painfully. Zai could have saved her today? He had to sit beside her, as close as I was, after she’d been injured helping him, and watch her die. No wonder he’s in here praying.
“Don’t you lay this at my feet—”
“You told me to let the other champions kill themselves dealing with any of the physical Labors. I listened.” There’s a small pause. “So far, listening to you seems to be the problem.”
A clap of sound pops in the room. I know that sound. Flesh hitting flesh.
“You’ve always been an ungrateful whelp, but don’t dare disrespect me, boy. I am a Crucible winner and your father.”
Zai’s voice is still as flat and cold as a sheet of ice. “A father who is looking down the barrel of being returned to the Overworld like a relic that no longer works. You need me to win to keep you here, living in the manner to which you’ve grown accustomed.”
The crack of another hit comes swift and hard, followed by stomping feet that fade away, making it clear Mathias has left the temple.
A soft sigh reaches me. “You can come out now.”
I scoot around the column to find Zai standing in the center of the room. The bright-red outline of a handprint stains his left cheek. Despite that, his hands are clasped behind him, his shoulders straight, head up, and gaze steady on mine.
“You were about to ask me to form an alliance with you.” It’s not a question—he’s sure of what he knows. He also doesn’t protest, doesn’t point out the danger his severe allergies put him in, doesn’t offer excuses or ask for anything.
“You have allergies? Well, Zeus cursed me to be unlovable a long time ago. You should know that up front.”
He doesn’t even pause before he nods.
I study him for a long moment. “You are clearly intelligent, and that little display with your father tells me you also have a backbone.”
He says nothing, listening and watching without moving.
The problem is, I can practically hear Hades groaning when I tell him about Zai.
“If I help you with the physical parts of the Labors, can you help me with the intellectual parts?”
“Lyra Keres!” a voice yells. A drunken, slurred voice.
I flinch. Poseidon must’ve followed me after all. That or someone told him I came this way. Snitches.
“Lyra Keres,” he bellows. “I’m coming for you!”
35
Kiss Me Goodbye
I don’t have to tell Zai to get out of here. After all, it’s entirely likely the ocean god would blame him, too. But Zai holds a finger to his lips as he points behind the altar.
A way out?
Right. He grew up here. He must know all of Olympus.
On silent feet, we escape into the night through a small door at the back of the temple. Except I guess stress triggers allergic asthma, because Zai immediately starts wheezing and coughing. With the efficient, quick movements of long habit, he takes an inhaler from his pocket, shakes it, and sucks. Twice.
I wince both times at the noise. I have no idea how well gods hear.
