I’m having a hard time taking it in, though. Not because I’m about to enter yet another Labor, which should be the only thing on my mind—possibly dying—but because Hades wasn’t at breakfast again this morning.
And I don’t like how tight my chest still feels.
Bright-white walls with the occasional elaborately painted mural of pastoral scenes are set off by tile floors with intricate geometric designs. Following the satyr escorting me, I spot a common room that is all things elegant comfort, with deep couches, throw pillows, blankets, books, and a massive fireplace that could warm an entire city.
But that’s not where the satyr takes me.
After waiting in the hall until the exact time on my invitation, she leads me into a chamber that reminds me of historical TV shows that depict ancient communal baths or steam rooms. White marble benches along the walls are lined with gods, goddesses, and their champions. I guess my appointed time was last. Figures.
Zeles stands to one side like a silent prison guard.
I walk right up to him before I can rethink it and mimic his posture, crossing my arms. “I want to see Hades.”
“No.” Not even a flicker of emotion.
“You know no rules were broken.”
“I’m well aware,” he says through gritted teeth.
“But you punished him anyway?”
Finally, he looks directly at me. “To set an example.”
I scoff, and somewhere behind me, Zai hisses my name—a warning I don’t bother to heed. “You should make tighter rules if you don’t want the gods finding loopholes,” I point out. “That’s not his fault. It’s yours.”
I don’t give Zeles a chance to respond, plopping my backside down on the only empty spot on the nearest bench, next to Zai and Hermes. I don’t nod at Trinica and Amir. They aren’t official allies. The last Labor was about safety in numbers, and I won’t make things worse for them with Dex and his group. I hope they know that.
“Sometimes,” Hermes murmurs, “bravery isn’t actually bravery. It’s just foolishness wrapped up in a pretty package.”
“Sometimes,” I say, “the gods are just ass—”
Zai claps a hand over my mouth, muffling what I was going to say.
A door opens, and Apollo appears. Zai sighs in relief and drops his hand.
The god makes the room feel like his home, radiating warmth and light. Apollo is darker than his twin sister, with rich black skin. He has an almost tangible glow that makes me want to bask in him a little bit, but it’s his eyes that fascinate me most—pure gold, as if while driving his sun chariot through the skies, he’s captured some of its rays within him and the light is trying to escape. I’m so caught up in him I almost miss the fact that Artemis steps through the doorway behind him.
Apollo smiles, and it’s impossible not to be drawn to the god. “Welcome, champions, to your fourth Labor!” Apollo’s smile widens as he looks to Artemis. She, unlike her brother, is not a smiler.
“And your fifth Labor,” she announces.
“What?” Neve is the one to protest. Rather loudly. “No one said anything about two at once.”
Ares sits stoically beside her, but judging by the tightening of his features, I think he’s not too happy about her outburst.
Artemis spears her with a single, unimpressed look, and Neve quiets, though she doesn’t stop glaring.
“No one said anything about not having two at once, either,” the goddess says in a voice that tells the rest of us that arguing is pointless…and noted. “We are twins. We have done everything together since the womb.”
Dae, sitting by Rima on the bench, crooks his ally a smug little smile. I look away quickly so no one notices that I saw, but I can’t help but wonder if there is a rift among that group of allies.
Apollo waves at the door they came through. “In order to make it to Artemis’ Labor, you must first complete mine.”
Two in one shot? Sure. Why the fuck not?
I’m way past fear or silver linings and have hit the fuck-them-all phase of the Crucible, I guess.
“For my Labor,” Apollo continues, “you will each individually have two minutes at a time in the room behind me. Your goal is to find the trigger that will open a door—it might be physical, and it might not. If you don’t find the answer in your allotted two minutes—”
“Let me guess,” Neve grumbles. “We die, eh?”
“Do you wish to die right now?” Ares asks her in a low aside that sends rigid tension crawling up my own spine, and he’s not even talking to me.
Neve closes her mouth and shakes her head, red curls bouncing.
Apollo smiles. “No. You will return to this room. You will each take your turns in an order I specify, and you may try as many times as you need until you figure it out.”
Which means those who answer faster will get a head start on Artemis’ Labor.
“You may discuss what you find in the room with any of the champions you like but not with your god or goddess,” Apollo says. “They will be taken elsewhere when this begins.”
“What if we never figure it out?” Zai asks.
“Then you will die.” The answer is given in the same tone Apollo might use to announce that a sumptuous meal had just been served. As if this is a pleasant end.
After getting to know Hades, I’m starting to agree with him.
I blow out a frustrated breath through my nose, and it takes my total concentration to keep all my body parts still. Yet another Labor that is geared to unlevel the damned playing field. No wonder Hades finds loopholes.
