Warrior Queen - Karpov Kinrade Page 0,24

enter a forest filled with ancient cedars, their perfume filling the air. The trees are gigantic, and I feel like an ant as we pass beneath their dark, green boughs.

Finally, a good thirty minutes later, there’s a break in the trees ahead, and as we round the next bend, I catch my first sight of the famed House of Hades. It’s stunning, more of a city, really, a vast complex of white, slender-columned, gracefully arched buildings covering a small mountain, rising starkly from the surrounding plains. The towers are connected with a network of gardens, their latticework alive with green, flowering vines with waterfalls spilling into the levels below.

It’s all so beautiful I can’t see how Hades thought he got a shitty kingdom deal. Maybe he had a case about the rest of the Underworld, but for this part, he surely didn’t. It’s literally a slice of heaven.

Persephone leads us through one of the lower archways and into a large field surrounded on all sides by hillocks of stone.

“Your army will be comfortable resting here,” she says. “See? Already, the food is arriving.”

She points to a line of servants winding through the entrance, bearing platters of fruits and meats, and baskets of grass upon their heads. They try their best to hide it, but it’s clear they’re terrified. I mean, who wouldn’t be, right? Especially with the attitudes of some of the monsters—the manticore, in particular. It’s already perched on a shelf of rock like a lion, slapping its tail against the rocks to watch dinner arrive, only I’m sure it’s looking at the servants and not the platters of meat.

“What do you think?” I consult Homer.

“Feels a bit enclosed,” he mutters. “The entrance isn’t a wide one, is it.”

It’s an observation, not a question, and one that makes me dial into my Prometheus memories of Persephone’s character. A quick survey comes to the same conclusion: Persephone would do anything for her people. So, I assure him with, “You’ll be safe here. Persephone needs us to defend her realm just as much as we need her to help stop Clay. She’s a kind, just queen.”

He mutters a bit but listens and stomps off to stop a hissing match between a few basilisks.

The men and I make sure everyone has food and a comfortable place to rest before we follow Persephone up to the palace above. I’m not really keen on being separated from my army, but they’re classic Greek monsters of the most ferocious kind. I know they can look after themselves.

“See any sign of Nefeli?” I ask Ladron as we stroll up the white stoned street leading to the House of Hades’ dramatic arched gates.

“No,” he shakes his head. “But she’s a crafty bird. I wouldn’t fret.”

“Nefeli?” Persephone asks, pausing. “Apollo’s bird? Sorry, I just couldn’t help but overhear.”

“Yes, Apollo’s bird,” I say. I’m just not in the mood to describe Apollo’s death, not quite yet, so I deflect, “She’s with me for a bit.”

Persephone fingers her sapphire pendant, looking faintly alarmed. “But you let her fly off, by herself?”

“She’s not one I can really control,” I answer. “And I’m sure she’s fine.”

“Oh, I’m sure of it,” she says, a little flustered. “I’m just surprised, that’s all. Nefeli never struck me as the kind of bird who would leave Apollo’s side, for any reason.”

I suppress a sigh. “About Apollo…” I begin, but Mirk is already drawing Persephone aside to explain.

I flash him a grateful smile. Persephone’s his stepmother, after all. He knows the best way to break such news.

I join Torak who is standing at the edge of the road, arms crossed, as he looks out over the plains. “See any sign of Nefeli?” I ask him. Wolves have keen sight, and I imagine a wolf of his caliber would have an extra advantage.

He shakes his head.

“I’m sure she’s fine,” I mutter to myself, but I know I’m trying to convince myself more than anything else. There’s a niggling worry about this whole situation in the back of my mind that I just can’t ignore.

8

"You will never do anything in this world without courage. It is the greatest quality of the mind next to honor." ~Aristotle

An hour later, I’m sitting in a hot milk bath, soaking the grime and stress away. The scent of rose and spice rises in the steam and removes another layer of tension. I haven’t indulged in the luxury of such a bath since my arrival in Olympus as a goddess.

I step out of the