Under the Water(Fem. Percy)

Chapter 24

"What was that about?" I ask. Cyreus hums and drums his fingers on the shaft of his spear as he paces the length of my room. Tension holds his shoulders stiff, and he tugs on his hair. He'd been doing it from the last bell and hasn't shown any sign of stopping.

His anxiety is infectious. My knuckles have to be white around Riptide, though I don't want to check.

"I was a...fairly recent promotion," he says slowly. "And Jul believes that he should have been the one to receive it. He's been in the guard longer, and his uncle is a councilor." He sighs, shakes his head, and leans against the wall. "Quite honestly, I'm not sure why your father decided I would take the position."

Because he doesn't seem to be self-serving would be my guess, but I don't say it. Everyone has something they strive towards. The paper in the middle of my current homework is proof enough of that. Most of it is still stuff I can't read--Does Dad write things in a different version of High Atlantean? I shake my head and lift myself from my pillows and blankets.

"Is he going to be an issue?" The man rubbed me the wrong way, even if we didn't really interact. The way he acts still leaves me feeling greasy and unclean, not that different from the way a run-in with monsters does. I don't like it. I want to slip into the bubble shower and scrub at my arms until they're red.

"Only for me. Which I suppose would become an issue for you. You'd have to deal with him."

I shrug and flip off Riptide's cap. My heart rate slows the instant the familiar weight is in my palm, even if I can sense Dad's attention being pulled. "I've been wanting to figure out if Riptide works on you guys." Despite me expecting it, Cyreus doesn't scold me. I frown. "You okay?"

"If he goes to your father, I do not have high hopes for the results."

"Trust me, I'll vouch for you and say you kept me here staring at scrolls before I ever let him end up as my guard." I look down at the shining, glowing blade. It's the first thing not inundated with the odd lighting I've seen. And as much as I know I should put it away--that Dad's moving in like a tropical storm--I can't bring myself to.

It's familiar. Familiarity is safe.

If you know what it is, you know what to do.

If you know what to do, you know how not to die.

If you know how not to die, you can try.

You can try, but the gods control all our lives.

A demigod's mantra, and a demigod's reminder. Mistakes end up with us dead. Things holding us back end with us dead, and dad or not, my gracious host is putting me in far more danger than I need to be in. It makes it hard to chase that lingering thought away. He's doing this on purpose, and just like Cyreus, just like me, he has to have a reason to keep me locked up like a pet. Gods are far more self-serving than even the worst of mortals.

He can claim it's because he doesn't want me to get hurt all he wants. Gods don't care.

Shaking the thought off, I ask, "Do you have a cloth? I want to polish this."

He hands me one from his bag by the door, and I grab the mineral oil from my bedroom. The armchairs are a bit too soft to do this properly, but the long blade makes sitting on the floor difficult. The first time I did this, I nearly sliced my leg open. Still, it's better than sitting on the table or the edge of a planter, so I make do. Humming quietly along to an inaudible song, I clean and polish the blade, taking my time around the guard and edges.

"You should not lie to your father on my behalf," Cyreus says.

"I bugged you into it. I'm sure Chiron would be more than happy to tell you and my dad exactly how bullheaded and stubborn I am."