𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐇 [Jason Grace]

65

𝐂𝐎𝐙𝐘.

Dante never thought he would describe anything in Tartarus that way, but despite the fact that the giant's hut was as big as a planetarium and constructed of bones, mud, and drakon skin, it definitely felt cozy.

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.

The only thing that worried Dante was the flock of sheep huddled in a pen at the back of the hut.

Dante knew the story of Polyphemus the Cyclops, who ate demigods and sheep indiscriminately. He wondered if giants had similar tastes.

Part of him was tempted to run, but Hipp had already placed Jason in the giant's bed, where he nearly disappeared in the wool and leather. Hoop hopped off Jason and kneaded the blankets, purring so strongly the bed rattled like a Thousand-Finger Massage.

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.

Dante didn't want to be the next ingredient in his stew, but he'd come here for a reason. He took a deep breath and marched up to Damasen. "My friend is dying. Can you cure him or not?"

His voice caught on the word friend. Jason was a lot more than that. He was less than that. He was the bane of Dante's existence and yet he couldn't imagine his life without Jason Grace. He couldn't imagine New Rome without Jason's presence lighting up Dante's life like Apollo himself was shining a spotlight down on him. Dante had lost people before, there were two people he couldn't imagine losing, ever. His brother and Jason.

The first person he'd ever loved and Jason, a really, really annoying part of him, but a part of him nonetheless. A part Dante couldn't live without.

When he thought of the mortal world without Jason, he wanted to break down and cry. Forget the mortal world, Dante wouldn't be able to make it through Tartarus, not just because Jason was a considerable fighter, but also because of something Dante couldn't quite put his finger on.

He needed Jason Grace like he needed the air in his lungs.

Damasen looked down at him, glowering under his bushy red eyebrows. Dante had met large scary humanoids before, but Damasen unsettled him in a different way. He didn't seem hostile. He radiated sorrow and bitterness, as if he were so wrapped up in his own misery that he resented Dante for trying to make him focus on anything else.

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

Dante crossed his arms. "How about basilisk venom? Can you cure that, or did Hipp overstate your talents?"

Angering a twenty-foot-tall drakon slayer probably wasn't a wise strategy, but Jason was dying. Dante didn't have time for diplomacy.

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

"Yep," he said.

"Hmph." Damasen handed Hipp the ladle. "Stir."

As Hipp 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.