ONE LAST TIME . . . heroes of olympus

9

IF THE ENTRY hall had been cold, the throne room was like a meat locker.

Mist hung in the air. Kat's 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, which, what the fuck. 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 Kat thought they were sculptures. Then Jason 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 his path.

From the far end of the hall, a man's voice rang out in French. The room was so long and misty, Kat couldn't see the other end; but at least the ice guards uncrossed their javelins.

"It's fine," said Khione. "My father has ordered them not to kill you just yet."

"Super," said Jason.

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.

"Cheer up, if we survive, I'll do your hair," Kat promised nonchalantly.

"Real reassuring," drawled Piper, but Kat saw how her eyes lit up.

Kat elbowed her. "Cheer. Up."

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 Kat 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. Kat hoped so.

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

Khione the snow goddess was about to speak, and Kat was going to overshadow her with her natural child of Hermes language knowledge, but Piper stepped forward and curtsied.

"Votre Majesté," she said, " je suis Piper McLean. Et c'est Jason, fils de Zeus, et Katerina Mikhailova, fille d'Hermés."

Holy shit, that was hot, Kat thought.

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," Kat supplied.

Piper blinked. "I did?"

The king told her that she could speak French because she was a daughter of Aphrodite. 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."