The House of Hades (The Heroes of Olympus #4)(106)

“Dude! It’s not like you’ve got a choice. It’s just who you are.”

“Just who I am…” The balcony trembled. Patterns shifted in the stone floor, like bones coming to the surface. “Easy for you to say. You’re everybody’s golden boy, the son of Jupiter. The only person who ever accepted me was Bianca, and she died! I didn’t choose any of this. My father, my feelings…”

Jason tried to think of something to say. He wanted to be Nico’s friend. He knew that was the only way to help. But Nico wasn’t making it easy.

He raised his hands in submission. “Yeah, okay. But, Nico, you do choose how to live your life. You want to trust somebody? Maybe take a risk that I’m really your friend and I’ll accept you. It’s better than hiding.”

The floor cracked between them. The crevice hissed. The air around Nico shimmered with spectral light.

“Hiding?” Nico’s voice was deadly quiet.

Jason’s fingers itched to draw his sword. He’d met plenty of scary demigods, but he was starting to realize that Nico di Angelo—as pale and gaunt as he looked—might be more than he could handle.

Nevertheless, he held Nico’s gaze. “Yes, hiding. You’ve run away from both camps. You’re so afraid you’ll get rejected that you won’t even try. Maybe it’s time you come out of the shadows.”

Just when the tension became unbearable, Nico dropped his eyes. The fissure closed in the balcony floor. The ghostly light faded.

“I’m going to honor my promise,” Nico said, not much louder than a whisper. “I’ll take you to Epirus. I’ll help you close the Doors of Death. Then that’s it. I’m leaving—forever.”

Behind them, the doors of the throne room blasted open with a gust of scorching air.

A disembodied voice said: Lord Auster will see you now.

As much as he dreaded this meeting, Jason felt relieved. At the moment, arguing with a crazy wind god seemed safer than befriending an angry son of Hades. He turned to tell Nico good-bye, but Nico had disappeared—melting back into the darkness.

SO IT WAS A STORM DAY. Auster, the Roman version of the South Wind, was holding court.

The two previous days, Jason had dealt with Notus. While the god’s Greek version was fiery and quick to anger, at least he was quick. Auster…well, not so much.

White and red marble columns lined the throne room. The rough sandstone floor smoked under Jason’s shoes. Steam hung in the air, like the bathhouse back at Camp Jupiter, except bathhouses usually didn’t have thunderstorms crackling across the ceiling, lighting the room in disorienting flashes.

Southern venti swirled through the hall in clouds of red dust and superheated air. Jason was careful to stay away from them. On his first day here, he’d accidentally brushed his hand through one. He’d gotten so many blisters, his fingers looked like tentacles.

At the end of the room was the strangest throne Jason had ever seen—made of equal parts fire and water. The dais was a bonfire. Flames and smoke curled up to form a seat. The back of the chair was a churning storm cloud. The armrests sizzled where moisture met fire. It didn’t look very comfortable, but the god Auster lounged on it like he was ready for an easy afternoon of watching football.

Standing up, he would have been about ten feet tall. A crown of steam wreathed his shaggy white hair. His beard was made of clouds, constantly popping with lightning and raining down on the god’s chest, soaking his sand-colored toga. Jason wondered if you could shave a thundercloud beard. He thought it might be annoying to rain on yourself all the time, but Auster didn’t seem to care. He reminded Jason of a soggy Santa Claus, but more lazy than jolly.

“So…” The god’s voice rumbled like an oncoming front. “The son of Jupiter returns.”

Auster made it sound like Jason was late. Jason was tempted to remind the stupid wind god that he had spent hours outside every day waiting to be called, but he just bowed.

“My lord,” he said. “Have you received any news of my friend?”

“Friend?”

“Leo Valdez.” Jason tried to stay patient. “The one who was taken by the winds.”

“Oh…yes. Or rather, no. We have had no word. He was not taken by my winds. No doubt this was the work of Boreas or his spawn.”

“Uh, yes. We knew that.”

“That is the only reason I took you in, of course.” Auster’s eyebrows rose into his wreath of steam. “Boreas must be opposed! The north winds must be driven back!”

“Yes, my lord. But to oppose Boreas, we really need to get our ship out of the harbor.”

“Ship in the harbor!” The god leaned back and chuckled, rain pouring out of his beard. “You know the last time mortal ships came into my harbor? A king of Libya…Psyollos was his name. He blamed me for the scorching winds that burned his crops. Can you believe it?”

Jason gritted his teeth. He’d learned that Auster couldn’t be rushed. In his rainy form, he was sluggish and warm and random.

“And did you burn those crops, my lord?”

“Of course!” Auster smiled good-naturedly. “But what did Psyollos expect, planting crops at the edge of the Sahara? The fool launched his entire fleet against me. He intended to destroy my stronghold so the south wind could never blow again. I destroyed his fleet, of course.”