The Lost Hero (The Heroes of Olympus, Book 1)
The Lost Hero: Chapter 20

IF THE ENTRY HALL HAD BEEN COLD, the throne room was like a meat locker.

Mist hung in the air. Jason shivered, and his breath steamed. Along the walls, purple tapestries showed scenes of snowy forests, barren mountains, and glaciers. High above, ribbons of colored light—the aurora borealis—pulsed along the ceiling. A layer of snow covered the floor, so Jason had to step carefully. All around the room stood life-size ice sculpture warriors—some in Greek armor, some medieval, some in modern camouflage—all frozen in various attack positions, swords raised, guns locked and loaded.

At least Jason thought they were sculptures. Then he tried to step between two Greek spearmen, and they moved with surprising speed, their joints cracking and spraying ice crystals as they crossed their javelins to block Jason’s path.

From the far end of the hall, a man’s voice rang out in a language that sounded like French. The room was so long and misty, Jason couldn’t see the other end; but whatever the man said, the ice guards uncrossed their javelins.

“It’s fine,” Khione said. “My father has ordered them not to kill you just yet.”

“Super,” Jason said.

Zethes prodded him in the back with his sword. “Keep moving, Jason Junior.”

“Please don’t call me that.”

“My father is not a patient man,” Zethes warned, “and the beautiful Piper, sadly, is losing her magic hairdo very fast. Later, perhaps, I can lend her something from my wide assortment of hair products.”

“Thanks,” Piper grumbled.

They kept walking, and the mist parted to reveal a man on an ice throne. He was sturdily built, dressed in a stylish white suit that seemed woven from snow, with dark purple wings that spread out to either side. His long hair and shaggy beard were encrusted with icicles, so Jason couldn’t tell if his hair was gray or just white with frost. His arched eyebrows made him look angry, but his eyes twinkled more warmly than his daughter’s—as if he might have a sense of humor buried somewhere under that permafrost. Jason hoped so.

“Bienvenu,” the king said. “Je suis Boreas le Roi. Et vous?”

Khione the snow goddess was about to speak, but Piper stepped forward and curtsied.

“Votre Majesté,” she said, “ je suis Piper McLean. Et c’est Jason, fils de Zeus.”

The king smiled with pleasant surprise. “Vous parlez français? Très bien!”

“Piper, you speak French?” Jason asked. Piper frowned. “No. Why?” “You just spoke French.” Piper blinked. “I did?” The king said something else, and Piper nodded. “Oui,

Votre Majesté.”

The king laughed and clapped his hands, obviously delighted. He said a few more sentences then swept his hand toward his daughter as if shooing her away.

Khione looked miffed. “The king says—”

“He says I’m a daughter of Aphrodite,” Piper interrupted, “so naturally I can speak French, which is the language of love. I had no idea. His Majesty says Khione won’t have to translate now.”

Behind them, Zethes snorted, and Khione shot him a murderous look. She bowed stiffly to her father and took a step back.

The king sized up Jason, and Jason decided it would be a good idea to bow. “Your Majesty, I’m Jason Grace. Thank you for, um, not killing us. May I ask … why does a Greek god speak French?”

Piper had another exchange with the king.

“He speaks the language of his host country,” Piper translated. “He says all gods do this. Most Greek gods speak English, as they now reside in the United States, but Boreas was never welcomed in their realm. His domain was always far to the north. These days he likes Quebec, so he speaks French.”

The king said something else, and Piper turned pale.

“The king says …” She faltered. “He says—”

“Oh, allow me,” Khione said. “My father says he has orders to kill you. Did I not mention that earlier?”

Jason tensed. The king was still smiling amiably, like he’d just delivered great news.

“Kill us?” Jason said. “Why?”

“Because,” the king said, in heavily accented English, “my lord Aeolus has commanded it.”

Boreas rose. He stepped down from his throne and furled his wings against his back. As he approached, Khione and Zethes bowed. Jason and Piper followed their example.

“I shall deign to speak your language,” Boreas said, “as Piper McLean has honored me in mine. Toujours, I have had a fondness for the children of Aphrodite. As for you, Jason Grace, my master Aeolus would not expect me to kill a son of Lord Zeus … without first hearing you out.”

Jason’s gold coin seemed to grow heavy in his pocket. If he were forced to fight, he didn’t like his chances. Two seconds at least to summon his blade. Then he’d be facing a god, two of his children, and an army of freeze-dried warriors.

“Aeolus is the master of the winds, right?” Jason asked. “Why would he want us dead?”

“You are demigods,” Boreas said, as if this explained everything. “Aeolus’s job is to contain the winds, and demigods have always caused him many headaches. They ask him for favors. They unleash winds and cause chaos. But the final insult was the battle with Typhon last summer…”

Boreas waved his hand, and a sheet of ice like a flat-screen TV appeared in the air. Images of a battle flickered across the surface—a giant wrapped in storm clouds, wading across a river toward the Manhattan skyline. Tiny, glowing figures—the gods, Jason guessed—swarmed around him like angry wasps, pounding the monster with lightning and fire. Finally the river erupted in a massive whirlpool, and the smoky form sank beneath the waves and disappeared.

“The storm giant, Typhon,” Boreas explained. “The first time the gods defeated him, eons ago, he did not die quietly. His death released a host of storm spirits—wild winds that answered to no one. It was Aeolus’s job to track them all down and imprison them in his fortress. The other gods—they did not help. They did not even apologize for the inconvenience. It took Aeolus centuries to track down all the storm spirits, and naturally this irritated him. Then, last summer, Typhon was defeated again—”

“And his death released another wave of venti,” Jason guessed. “Which made Aeolus even angrier.”

“C’est vrai,” Boreas agreed.

“But, Your Majesty,” Piper said, “the gods had no choice but to battle Typhon. He was going to destroy Olympus! Besides, why punish demigods for that?”

The king shrugged. “Aeolus cannot take out his anger on the gods. They are his bosses, and very powerful. So he gets even with the demigods who helped them in the war. He issued orders to us: demigods who come to us for aid are no longer to be tolerated. We are to crush your little mortal faces.”

There was an uncomfortable silence.

“That sounds … extreme,” Jason ventured. “But you’re not going to crush our faces yet, right? You’re going to listen to us first, ’cause once you hear about our quest—”

“Yes, yes,” the king agreed. “You see, Aeolus also said that a son of Zeus might seek my aid, and if this happened, I should listen to you before destroying you, as you might—how did he put it?—make all our lives very interesting. I am only obligated to listen, however. After that, I am free to pass judgment as I see fit. But I will listen first. Khione wishes this also. It may be that we will not kill you.”

Jason felt like he could almost breathe again. “Great. Thanks.”

“Do not thank me.” Boreas smiled. “There are many ways you could make our lives interesting. Sometimes we keep demigods for our amusement, as you can see.”

He gestured around the room to the various ice statues.

Piper made a strangled noise. “You mean—they’re all demigods? Frozen demigods? They’re alive?”

“An interesting question,” Boreas conceded, as if it had never occurred to him before. “They do not move unless they are obeying my orders. The rest of the time, they are merely frozen. Unless they were to melt, I suppose, which would be very messy.”

Khione stepped behind Jason and put her cold fingers on his neck. “My father gives me such lovely presents,” she murmured in his ear. “Join our court. Perhaps I’ll let your friends go.”

“What?” Zethes broke in. “If Khione gets this one, then I deserve the girl. Khione always gets more presents!”

“Now, children,” Boreas said sternly. “Our guests will think you are spoiled! Besides, you moved too fast. We have not even heard the demigod’s story yet. Then we will decide what to do with them. Please, Jason Grace, entertain us.”

Jason felt his brain shutting down. He didn’t look at Piper for fear he’d completely lose it. He’d gotten them into this, and now they were going die—or worse, they’d be amusements for Boreas’s children and end up frozen forever in this throne room, slowly corroding from freezer burn.

Khione purred and stroked his neck. Jason didn’t plan it, but electricity sparked along his skin. There was loud pop, and Khione flew backward, skidding across the floor.

Zethes laughed. “That is good! I’m glad you did that, even though I have to kill you now.”

For a moment, Khione was too stunned to react. Then the air around her began to swirl with a micro-blizzard. “You dare—”

“Stop,” Jason ordered, with as much force as he could muster. “You’re not going to kill us. And you’re not going to keep us. We’re on a quest for the queen of the gods herself, so unless you want Hera busting down your doors, you’re going to let us go.”

He sounded a lot more confident than he felt, but it got their attention. Khione’s blizzard swirled to a stop. Zethes lowered his sword. They both looked uncertainly at their father.

“Hmm,” Boreas said. His eyes twinkled, but Jason couldn’t tell if it was with anger or amusement. “A son of Zeus, favored by Hera? This is definitely a first. Tell us your story.”

Jason would’ve botched it right there. He hadn’t been expecting to get the chance to talk, and now that he could, his voice abandoned him.

Piper saved him. “Your Majesty.” She curtsied again with incredible poise, considering her life was on the line. She told Boreas the whole story, from the Grand Canyon to the prophecy, much better and faster than Jason could have.

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

“Which explains why they are idiots,” Khione growled.

“Stop it!” Zethes snapped back. “Just because you were born a full goddess—”

“Both of you, freeze,” Boreas ordered. Apparently, that word carried a lot of weight in the household, because the two siblings went absolutely still. “Now, as I was saying, I have a good reputation, but it is rare that Boreas plays an important role in the affairs of gods. I sit here in my palace, at the edge of civilization, and so rarely have amusements. Why, even that fool Notus, the South Wind, gets spring break in Cancún. What do I get? A winter festival with naked Québécois rolling around in the snow!”

“I like the winter festival,” Zethes muttered.

“My point,” Boreas snapped, “is that I now have a chance to be the center. Oh, yes, I will let you go on this quest. You will replace your storm spirits in the windy city, of course. Chicago—”

“Father!” Khione protested.

Boreas ignored his daughter. “If you can capture the winds, you may be able to gain safe entrance to the court of Aeolus. If by some miracle you succeed, be sure to tell him you captured the winds on my orders.”

“Okay, sure,” Jason said. “So Chicago is where we’ll replace this lady who’s controlling the winds? She’s the one who’s trapped Hera?”

“Ah.” Boreas grinned. “Those are two different questions, son of Jupiter.”

Jupiter, Jason noticed. Before, he called me son of Zeus.

“The one who controls the winds,” Boreas continued, “yes, you will replace her in Chicago. But she is only a servant—a servant who is very likely to destroy you. If you succeed against her and take the winds, then you may go to Aeolus. Only he has knowledge of all the winds on the earth. All secrets come to his fortress eventually. If anyone can tell you where Hera is imprisoned, it is Aeolus. As for who you will meet when you finally replace Hera’s cage—truly, if I told you that, you would beg me to freeze you.”

“Father,” Khione protested, “you can’t simply let them—”

“I can do what I like,” he said, his voice hardening. “I am still master here, am I not?”

The way Boreas glared at his daughter, it was obvious they had some ongoing argument. Khione’s eyes flashed with anger, but she clenched her teeth. “As you wish, Father.”

“Now go, demigods,” Boreas said, “before I change my mind. Zethes, escort them out safely.”

They all bowed, and the god of the North Wind dissolved into mist.

Back in the entry hall, Cal and Leo were waiting for them. Leo looked cold but unharmed. He’d even gotten cleaned up, and his clothes looked newly washed, like he’d used the hotel’s valet service. Festus the dragon was back in normal form, snorting fire over his scales to keep himself defrosted.

As Khione led them down the stairs, Jason noticed that Leo’s eyes followed her. Leo started combing his hair back with his hands. Uh-oh, Jason thought. He made a mental note to warn Leo about the snow goddess later. She was not someone to get a crush on.

At the bottom step, Khione turned to Piper. “You have fooled my father, girl. But you have not fooled me. We are not done. And you, Jason Grace, I will see you as a statue in the throne room soon enough.”

“Boreas is right,” Jason said. “You’re a spoiled kid. See you around, ice princess.”

Khione’s eyes flared pure white. For once, she seemed at a loss for words. She stormed back up the stairs—literally. Halfway up, she turned into a blizzard and disappeared.

“Be careful,” Zethes warned. “She never forgets an insult.”

Cal grunted in agreement. “Bad sister.”

“She’s the goddess of snow,” Jason said. “What’s she going to do, throw snowballs at us?” But as he said it, Jason had a feeling Khione could do a whole lot worse.

Leo looked devastated. “What happened up there? You made her mad? Is she mad at me too? Guys, that was my prom date!”

“We’ll explain later,” Piper promised, but when she glanced at Jason, he realized she expected him to explain.

What had happened up there? Jason wasn’t sure. Boreas had turned into Aquilon, his Roman form, as if Jason’s presence caused him to go schizophrenic.

The idea that Jason had been sent to Camp Half-Blood seemed to amuse the god, but Boreas/Aquilon hadn’t let them go out of kindness. Cruel excitement had danced in his eyes, as if he’d just placed a bet on a dogfight.

You will tear each other apart, he’d said with delight. Aeolus will never have to worry about demigods again.

Jason looked away from Piper, trying not to show how unnerved he was. “Yeah,” he agreed, “we’ll explain later.”

“Be careful, pretty girl,” Zethes said. “The winds between here and Chicago are bad-tempered. Many other evil things are stirring. I am sorry you will not be staying. You would make a lovely ice statue, in which I could check my reflection.”

“Thanks,” Piper said. “But I’d sooner play hockey with Cal.”

“Hockey?” Cal’s eyes lit up.

“Joking,” Piper said. “And the storm winds aren’t our worst problem, are they?”

“Oh, no,” Zethes agreed. “Something else. Something worse.”

“Worse,” Cal echoed.

“Can you tell me?” Piper gave them a smile.

This time, the charm didn’t work. The purple-winged Boreads shook their heads in unison. The hangar doors opened onto a freezing starry night, and Festus the dragon stomped his feet, anxious to fly.

“Ask Aeolus what is worse,” Zethes said darkly. “He knows. Good luck.”

He almost sounded like he cared what happened to them, even though a few minutes ago he’d wanted to make Piper into an ice sculpture.

Cal patted Leo on the shoulder. “Don’t get destroyed,” he said, which was probably the longest sentence he’d ever attempted. “Next time—hockey. Pizza.”

“Come on, guys.” Jason stared out at the dark. He was anxious to get out of that cold penthouse, but he had a feeling it was the most hospitable place they’d see for a while. “Let’s go to Chicago and try not to get destroyed.”