Andromeda Jackson

Jason

I don't want to leave Leo, but I'm starting to think that hanging out with Cal the hockey jock might be the least dangerous option in this place.

As we climb the icy staircase, Zethes stays behind us, his blade drawn. The guy might look like a disco-era reject, but there's nothing funny about his sword. I figure one hit from that thing will probably turn me into a Popsicle.

Then there's the ice princess. Every once in a while she'll turn and give us a smile, but there's no warmth in her expression. She regards me like I'm an especially interesting science specimen—one she can't wait to dissect.

If these are Boreas's kids, I'm not sure I want to meet Daddy. Andy said Boreas is the friendliest of the wind gods. Apparently that means he doesn't kill heroes quite as fast as the others do.

I worry that I've led my friends into a trap. If things go bad, I'm not sure I can get them out alive. Without thinking about it, I take Piper's hand for reassurance.

She raises her eyebrows, but she doesn't let go.

"It'll be fine," she promises. "Just a talk, right?"

"We've got this," Andy agrees from my other side. She has her hand in her pocket, surely ready to pull out her pen if need be. "I've got your back. I'm not holding your hand, though."

I still can't get a read on her. Annabeth and Chiron told me a bit about her and what she's done over the years, but I just can't envision it. She looks too small, too delicate. Also, for someone who fought in a Titan War and supposedly has been in this whole demigod world for four years, she sure does make a lot of stupid jokes. 

At the top of the stairs, the ice princess looks back and notices us holding hands. Her smile fades. Suddenly my hand in Piper's turns ice cold—burning cold. I let go, and my fingers are smoking with frost. So are Piper's.

"Warmth is not a good idea here," the princess advises, "especially when I am your best chance of staying alive. Please, this way."

Piper gives me a nervous frown like, What was that about?

I don't have an answer. Zethes pokes me in the back with his icicle sword, and we follow the princess down a massive hallway decked in frosty tapestries.

Freezing winds blow back and forth, and my thoughts move almost as fast. I had a lot of time to think while we rode the dragon north, but I feel as confused as ever.

Thalia's picture is still in my pocket, though I don't need to look at it anymore. Her image burned itself into my mind. It's bad enough not remembering my past, but to know I have a sister out there somewhere who might have answers and to have no way of finding her—that just drives me up the wall.

In the picture, Thalia looks nothing like me. We both have blue eyes, but that's it. Her hair is black. Her complexion is more Mediterranean. Her facial features are sharper—like a hawk's.

Still, Thalia looks so familiar. Hera left me just enough memory that I can be certain Thalia is my sister. But Annabeth and Andy acted completely surprised when I told them, like they never heard of Thalia's having a brother. Does Thalia even know about me? How were we separated?Hera took those memories. She stole everything from my past, plopped me into a new life, and now she expects me to save her from some prison just so I can get back what she took. It makes me so angry, I want to walk away, let Hera rot in that cage: but I can't. I'm hooked. I have to know more, and that makes me even more resentful.

"Hey." Piper touches my arm. "You still with me?"

"Yeah...yeah, sorry."

I'm grateful for Piper. I need a friend, and I'm glad she's started losing the Aphrodite blessing. The makeup is fading. Her hair is slowly going back to its old choppy style with the little braids down the sides. It makes her look more real, and as far as I'm concerned, more beautiful.

I'm sure now that we never knew each other before the Grand Canyon. Our relationship was just a trick of the Mist in Piper's mind. But the longer I spend with her, the more I wish it was real.

Stop that, I tell myself. It isn't fair to Piper, thinking that way. I have no idea what's waiting for me back in my old life—or who might be waiting. But I'm pretty sure my past won't mix with Camp Half-Blood. After this quest, who knows what'll happen? Assuming we even survive.

At the end of the hallway we find ourselves in front of a set of oaken doors carved with a map of the world. In each corner is a man's bearded face, blowing wind. I'm pretty sure I've seen maps like this before. But in this version, all the wind guys are Winter, blowing ice and snow from every corner of the world.

The princess turns. Her brown eyes glitter, and I feel like I'm a Christmas present she's hoping to open.

"This is the throne room," she says. "Be on your best behavior, Jason Grace. My father can be...chilly. I will translate for you, and try to encourage him to hear you out. I do hope he spares you. We could have such fun."

I guess this girl's definition of fun is not the same as mine.

"Um, okay," I manage. "But really, we're just here for a little talk. We'll be leaving right afterward."

The girl smiles. "I love heroes. So blissfully ignorant."

Andy pulls her pen from her pocket discreetly. "Well, how about you enlighten us then? You say you're going to translate for us, and we don't even know who you are. What's your name?"

The girl sniffed with distaste. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised you don't recognize me. Even in the ancient times the Greeks did not know me well. Their island homes were too warm, too far from my domain. I am Khione, daughter of Boreas, goddess of snow."

She stirs the air with her finger, and a miniature blizzard swirls around her—big, fluffy flakes as soft as cotton.

"Now, come," Khione says. The oaken doors blow open, and cold blue light spills out of the room. "Hopefully you will survive your little talk."