The Lost Hero (The Heroes of Olympus #1)(58)

“All we ask for is guidance,” Piper concluded. “These storm spirits attacked us, and they’re working for some evil mistress. If we find them, maybe we can find Hera.”

The king stroked the icicles in his beard. Out the windows, night had fallen, and the only light came from the aurora borealis overhead, washing everything in red and blue.

“I know of these storm spirits,” Boreas said. “I know where they are kept, and of the prisoner they took.”

“You mean Coach Hedge?” Jason asked. “He’s alive?”

Boreas waved aside the question. “For now. But the one who controls these storm winds … It would be madness to oppose her. You would be better staying here as frozen statues.”

“Hera’s in trouble,” Jason said. “In three days she’s going to be—I don’t know—consumed, destroyed, something. And a giant is going to rise.”

“Yes,” Boreas agreed. Was it Jason’s imagination, or did he shoot Khione an angry look? “Many horrible things are waking. Even my children do not tell me all the news they should. The Great Stirring of monsters that began with Kronos—your father Zeus foolishly believed it would end when the Titans were defeated. But just as it was before, so it is now. The final battle is yet to come, and the one who will wake is more terrible than any Titan. Storm spirits—these are only beginning. The earth has many more horrors to yield up. When monsters no longer stay in Tartarus, and souls are no longer confined to Hades … Olympus has good reason to fear.”

Jason wasn’t sure what all this meant, but he didn’t like the way Khione was smiling—like this was her definition of fun.

“So you’ll help us?” Jason asked the king.

Boreas scowled. “I did not say that.”

“Please, Your Majesty,” Piper said.

Everyone’s eyes turned toward her. She had to be scared out of her mind, but she looked beautiful and confident—and it had nothing to do with the blessing of Aphrodite. She looked herself again, in day-old traveling clothes with choppy hair and no makeup. But she almost glowed with warmth in that cold throne room. “If you tell us where the storm spirits are, we can capture them and bring them to Aeolus. You’d look good in front of your boss. Aeolus might pardon us and the other demigods. We could even rescue Gleeson Hedge. Everyone wins.”

“She’s pretty,” Zethes mumbled. “I mean, she’s right.”

“Father, don’t listen to her,” Khione said. “She’s a child of Aphrodite. She dares to charmspeak a god? Freeze her now!”

Boreas considered this. Jason slipped his hand in his pocket and got ready to bring out the gold coin. If things went wrong, he’d have to move fast.

The movement caught Boreas’s eye. “What is that on your forearm, demigod?”

Jason hadn’t realized his coat sleeve had gotten pushed up, revealing the edge of his tattoo. Reluctantly, he showed Boreas his marks.

The god’s eyes widened. Khione actually hissed and stepped away.

Then Boreas did something unexpected. He laughed so loudly, an icicle cracked from the ceiling and crashed next to his throne. The god’s form began to flicker. His beard disappeared. He grew taller and thinner, and his clothes changed into a Roman toga, lined with purple. His head was crowned with a frosty laurel wreath, and a gladius—a Roman sword like Jason’s—hung at his side.

“Aquilon,” Jason said, though where he got the god’s Roman name from, he had no idea.

The god inclined his head. “You recognize me better in this form, yes? And yet you said you came from Camp Half-Blood?”

Jason shifted his feet. “Uh … yes, Your Majesty.”

“And Hera sent you there…” The winter god’s eyes were full of mirth. “I understand now. Oh, she plays a dangerous game. Bold, but dangerous! No wonder Olympus is closed. They must be trembling at the gamble she has taken.”

“Jason,” Piper said nervously, “why did Boreas change shape? The toga, the wreath. What’s going on?”

“It’s his Roman form,” Jason said. “But what’s going on—I don’t know.”

The god laughed. “No, I’m sure you don’t. This should be very interesting to watch.”

“Does that mean you’ll let us go?” Piper asked.

“My dear,” Boreas said, “there is no reason for me to kill you. If Hera’s plan fails, which I think it will, you will tear each other apart. Aeolus will never have to worry about demigods again.”

Jason felt as if Khione’s cold fingers were on his neck again, but it wasn’t her—it was just the feeling that Boreas was right. That sense of wrongness which had bothered Jason since he got to Camp Half-Blood, and Chiron’s comment about his arrival being disastrous—Boreas knew what they meant.

“I don’t suppose you could explain?” Jason asked.

“Oh, perish the thought! It is not for me to interfere in Hera’s plan. No wonder she took your memory.” Boreas chuckled, apparently still having a great time imagining demigods tearing each other apart. “You know, I have a reputation as a helpful wind god. Unlike my brethren, I’ve been known to fall in love with mortals. Why, my sons Zethes and Calais started as demigods—”