Umbra

Chapter 40

Damasen's bachelor pad was comfortable.

It was about the size of a planetarium and constructed of bones, mud, and drakon skin, but out of all the places they'd seen in Tartarus so far, this one was the only one where they all collectively felt at ease. In the center blazed a bonfire made of pitch and bone; yet the smoke was white and odorless, rising through the hole in the middle of the ceiling.

The floor was covered with dry marsh grass and gray wool rugs. At one end lay a massive bed of sheepskins and drakon leather. At the other end, freestanding racks were hung with drying plants, cured leather, and what looked like strips of drakon jerky. The whole place smelled of stew, smoke, basil, and thyme. Where Damasen got his ingredients from, Emilia didn't know. She felt homesick in that moment, remembering the days in high school when her aunt would have food waiting for her.

There was a flock of sheep huddled in a pen at the back of the hut. Emilia watched them for a moment, craving the sort of birria her aunt excelled at cooking. She wondered if Damasen ate them regularly or kept them as pets.

Bob had placed Percy in the giant's bed, where he nearly disappeared in the wool and leather. Small Bob hopped off Percy and kneaded the blankets, purring so strongly the bed rattled. Emilia wished the kitten would come and cuddle with her.

Damasen plodded to the bonfire. He tossed his drakon meat into a hanging pot that seemed to be made from an old monster skull, then picked up a ladle and began to stir. Annabeth wasn't one to sit around– she marched up to Damasen, and inquired, "My friend is dying. Can you cure him or not?"

Emilia didn't question why Annabeth had called Percy a 'friend.' They were a lot more than that. 'Boyfriend' probably couldn't even sum up what he was to her. At this point, Emilia considered them married. Damasen regarded Annabeth, glowering under his bushy red eyebrows. He looked so pensive, so bitter and sorrowful, not at all vengeful like the other giants.=

"I don't hear words like those in Tartarus," the giant grumbled. "Friend. Promise."

Annabeth crossed her arms. "How about gorgon's blood? Can you cure that, or did Bob overstate your talents?"

"Annabeth," said Emilia in a warning tone. Probably best not to piss him off if he was Percy's only hope.

Damasen scowled down at her. "You question my talents? A half-dead mortal straggles into my swamp and questions my talents?"

"Yep," said Annabeth.

"Hmph." Damasen handed Bob the ladle. "Stir." As Bob tended the stew, Damasen perused his drying racks, plucking various leaves and roots. He popped a fistful of plant material into his mouth, chewed it up, then spat it into a clump of wool.

"Cup of broth," Damasen ordered. Bob ladled some stew juice into a hollow gourd. He handed it to Damasen, who dunked the chewed-up gunk ball and stirred it with his finger. "Gorgon's blood. Hardly a challenge for my talents."

"Thank you so much," said Emilia appreciatively, motioning for Annabeth to go sit with Percy, and miming a motion for her to be quiet. She scurried around Damasen as he lumbered to the bedside and propped Percy up with one hand. Small Bob sniffed the broth and hissed, scratching the sheets with his paws like he wanted to bury it.

Against advice, Annabeth asked, "You're going to feed him that?"

The giant glared at her. "Who is the healer here? You?"

Annabeth shut her mouth and sat with Percy, watching as the giant made him sip the broth. Damasen handled him with surprising gentleness, murmuring words of encouragement that Emilia couldn't make out.