by Rick Riordan
As they climbed the icy staircase, Zethes stayed behind them, his blade drawn. The guy might’ve looked like a disco-era reject, but there was nothing funny about his sword. Jason figured one hit from that thing would probably turn him into a Popsicle.
Then there was the ice princess. Every once in a while she’d turn and give Jason a smile, but there was no warmth in her expression. She regarded Jason like he was an especially interesting science specimen—one she couldn’t wait to dissect.
If these were Boreas’s kids, Jason wasn’t sure he wanted to meet Daddy. Annabeth had told him Boreas was the friendliest of the wind gods. Apparently that meant he didn’t kill heroes quite as fast as the others did.
Jason worried that he’d led his friends into a trap. If things went bad, he wasn’t sure he could get them out alive. Without thinking about it, he took Piper’s hand for reassurance.
She raised her eyebrows, but she didn’t let go.
“It’ll be fine,” she promised. “Just a talk, right?”
At the top of the stairs, the ice princess looked back and noticed them holding hands. Her smile faded. Suddenly Jason’s hand in Piper’s turned ice cold—burning cold. He let go, and his fingers were smoking with frost. So were Piper’s.
“Warmth is not a good idea here,” the princess advised, “especially when I am your best chance of staying alive. Please, this way.”
Piper gave him a nervous frown like, What was that about?
Jason didn’t have an answer. Zethes poked him in the back with his icicle sword, and they followed the princess down a massive hallway decked in frosty tapestries.
Freezing winds blew back and forth, and Jason’s thoughts moved almost as fast. He’d had a lot of time to think while they rode the dragon north, but he felt as confused as ever.
Thalia’s picture was still in his pocket, though he didn’t need to look at it anymore. Her image had burned itself into his mind. It was bad enough not remembering his past, but to know he had a sister out there somewhere who might have answers and to have no way of finding her—that just drove him up the wall.
In the picture, Thalia looked nothing like him. They both had blue eyes, but that was it. Her hair was black. Her complexion was more Mediterranean. Her facial features were sharper—like a hawk’s.
Still, Thalia looked so familiar. Hera had left him just enough memory that he could be certain Thalia was his sister. But Annabeth had acted completely surprised when he’d told her, like she’d never heard of Thalia’s having a brother. Did Thalia even know about him? How had they been separated?
Hera had taken those memories. She’d stolen everything from Jason’s past, plopped him into a new life, and now she expected him to save her from some prison just so he could get back what she’d taken. It made Jason so angry, he wanted to walk away, let Hera rot in that cage: but he couldn’t. He was hooked. He had to know more, and that made him even more resentful.
“Hey.” Piper touched his arm. “You still with me?”
“Yeah … yeah, sorry.”
He was grateful for Piper. He needed a friend, and he was glad she’d started losing the Aphrodite blessing. The makeup was fading. Her hair was slowly going back to its old choppy style with the little braids down the sides. It made her look more real, and as far as Jason was concerned, more beautiful.
He was sure now that they’d never known each other before the Grand Canyon. Their relationship was just a trick of the Mist in Piper’s mind. But the longer he spent with her, the more he wished it had been real.
Stop that, he told himself. It wasn’t fair to Piper, thinking that way. Jason had no idea what was waiting for him back in his old life—or who might be waiting. But he was pretty sure his past wouldn’t mix with Camp Half-Blood. After this quest, who knew what would happen? Assuming they even survived.
At the end of the hallway they found themselves in front of a set of oaken doors carved with a map of the world. In each corner was a man’s bearded face, blowing wind. Jason was pretty sure he’d seen maps like this before. But in this version, all the wind guys were Winter, blowing ice and snow from every corner of the world.
The princess turned. Her brown eyes glittered, and Jason felt like he was a Christmas present she was hoping to open.
“This is the throne room,” she said. “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.”
Jason guessed this girl’s definition of fun was not the same as his.
“Um, okay,” he managed. “But really, we’re just here for a little talk. We’ll be leaving right afterward.”
The girl smiled. “I love heroes. So blissfully ignorant.”
Piper rested her hand on her dagger. “Well, how about you enlighten us? 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 stirred the air with her finger, and a miniature blizzard swirled around her—big, fluffy flakes as soft as cotton.
“Now, come,” Khione said. The oaken doors blew open, and cold blue light spilled out of the room. “Hopefully you will survive your little talk.”
XX
JASON
IF THE ENTRY HALL HAD BEEN COLD, the throne room was like a meat locker.
Mist hung in the air. Jason shivered, and his 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, so Jason had to step carefully. 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 Jason thought they were sculptures. Then he 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 Jason’s path.
From the far end of the hall, a man’s voice rang out in a language that sounded like French. The room was so long and misty, Jason couldn’t see the other end; but whatever the man said, the ice guards uncrossed their javelins.
“It’s fine,” Khione said. “My father has ordered them not to kill you just yet.”
“Super,” Jason said.
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.
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 Jason 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. Jason hoped so.
“Bienvenu,” the king said. “Je suis Boreas le Roi. Et vous?”
Khione the snow goddess was about to speak, but Piper stepped forward and curtsied.
“Votre Majesté,” she said, “ je suis Piper McLean. Et c’est Jason, fils de Zeus.”
The king smiled with pleasant surprise. “Vous parlez français? Très bien!”
“Piper, you speak French?” Jason asked. Piper frowned. “No. Why?” “You just spoke Frenc
h.” Piper blinked. “I did?” The king said something else, and 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.”
Behind them, Zethes snorted, and Khione shot him a murderous look. She bowed stiffly to her father and took a step back.
The king sized up Jason, and Jason decided it would be a good idea to bow. “Your Majesty, I’m Jason Grace. Thank you for, um, not killing us. May I ask … why does a Greek god speak French?”
Piper had another exchange with the king.
“He speaks the language of his host country,” Piper translated. “He says all gods do this. Most Greek gods speak English, as they now reside in the United States, but Boreas was never welcomed in their realm. His domain was always far to the north. These days he likes Quebec, so he speaks French.”
The king said something else, and Piper turned pale.
“The king says …” She faltered. “He says—”
“Oh, allow me,” Khione said. “My father says he has orders to kill you. Did I not mention that earlier?”
Jason tensed. The king was still smiling amiably, like he’d just delivered great news.
“Kill us?” Jason said. “Why?”
“Because,” the king said, in heavily accented English, “my lord Aeolus has commanded it.”
Boreas rose. He stepped down from his throne and furled his wings against his back. As he approached, Khione and Zethes bowed. Jason and Piper followed their example.
“I shall deign to speak your language,” Boreas said, “as Piper McLean has honored me in mine. Toujours, I have had a fondness for the children of Aphrodite. As for you, Jason Grace, my master Aeolus would not expect me to kill a son of Lord Zeus … without first hearing you out.”
Jason’s gold coin seemed to grow heavy in his pocket. If he were forced to fight, he didn’t like his chances. Two seconds at least to summon his blade. Then he’d be facing a god, two of his children, and an army of freeze-dried warriors.
“Aeolus is the master of the winds, right?” Jason asked. “Why would he want us dead?”
“You are demigods,” Boreas said, as if this explained everything. “Aeolus’s job is to contain the winds, and demigods have always caused him many headaches. They ask him for favors. They unleash winds and cause chaos. But the final insult was the battle with Typhon last summer…”
Boreas waved his hand, and a sheet of ice like a flat-screen TV appeared in the air. Images of a battle flickered across the surface—a giant wrapped in storm clouds, wading across a river toward the Manhattan skyline. Tiny, glowing figures—the gods, Jason guessed—swarmed around him like angry wasps, pounding the monster with lightning and fire. Finally the river erupted in a massive whirlpool, and the smoky form sank beneath the waves and disappeared.
“The storm giant, Typhon,” Boreas explained. “The first time the gods defeated him, eons ago, he did not die quietly. His death released a host of storm spirits—wild winds that answered to no one. It was Aeolus’s job to track them all down and imprison them in his fortress. The other gods—they did not help. They did not even apologize for the inconvenience. It took Aeolus centuries to track down all the storm spirits, and naturally this irritated him. Then, last summer, Typhon was defeated again—”
“And his death released another wave of venti,” Jason guessed. “Which made Aeolus even angrier.”
“C’est vrai,” Boreas agreed.
“But, Your Majesty,” Piper said, “the gods had no choice but to battle Typhon. He was going to destroy Olympus! Besides, why punish demigods for that?”
The king shrugged. “Aeolus cannot take out his anger on the gods. They are his bosses, and very powerful. So he gets even with the demigods who helped them in the war. He issued orders to us: demigods who come to us for aid are no longer to be tolerated. We are to crush your little mortal faces.”
There was an uncomfortable silence.
“That sounds … extreme,” Jason ventured. “But you’re not going to crush our faces yet, right? You’re going to listen to us first, ’cause once you hear about our quest—”
“Yes, yes,” the king agreed. “You see, Aeolus also said that a son of Zeus might seek my aid, and if this happened, I should listen to you before destroying you, as you might—how did he put it?—make all our lives very interesting. I am only obligated to listen, however. After that, I am free to pass judgment as I see fit. But I will listen first. Khione wishes this also. It may be that we will not kill you.”
Jason felt like he could almost breathe again. “Great. Thanks.”
“Do not thank me.” Boreas smiled. “There are many ways you could make our lives interesting. Sometimes we keep demigods for our amusement, as you can see.”
He gestured around the room to the various ice statues.
Piper made a strangled noise. “You mean—they’re all demigods? Frozen demigods? They’re alive?”
“An interesting question,” Boreas conceded, as if it had never occurred to him before. “They do not move unless they are obeying my orders. The rest of the time, they are merely frozen. Unless they were to melt, I suppose, which would be very messy.”
Khione stepped behind Jason and put her cold fingers on his neck. “My father gives me such lovely presents,” she murmured in his ear. “Join our court. Perhaps I’ll let your friends go.”
“What?” Zethes broke in. “If Khione gets this one, then I deserve the girl. Khione always gets more presents!”
“Now, children,” Boreas said sternly. “Our guests will think you are spoiled! Besides, you moved too fast. We have not even heard the demigod’s story yet. Then we will decide what to do with them. Please, Jason Grace, entertain us.”
Jason felt his brain shutting down. He didn’t look at Piper for fear he’d completely lose it. He’d gotten them into this, and now they were going die—or worse, they’d be amusements for Boreas’s children and end up frozen forever in this throne room, slowly corroding from freezer burn.
Khione purred and stroked his neck. Jason didn’t plan it, but electricity sparked along his skin. There was loud pop, and Khione flew backward, skidding across the floor.
Zethes laughed. “That is good! I’m glad you did that, even though I have to kill you now.”
For a moment, Khione was too stunned to react. Then the air around her began to swirl with a micro-blizzard. “You dare—”
“Stop,” Jason ordered, with as much force as he could muster. “You’re not going to kill us. And you’re not going to keep us. We’re on a quest for the queen of the gods herself, so unless you want Hera busting down your doors, you’re going to let us go.”
He sounded a lot more confident than he felt, but it got their attention. Khione’s blizzard swirled to a stop. Zethes lowered his sword. They both looked uncertainly at their father.
“Hmm,” Boreas said. His eyes twinkled, but Jason couldn’t tell if it was with anger or amusement. “A son of Zeus, favored by Hera? This is definitely a first. Tell us your story.”
Jason would’ve botched it right there. He hadn’t been expecting to get the chance to talk, and now that he could, his voice abandoned him.
Piper saved him. “Your Majesty.” She curtsied again with incredible poise, considering her life was on the line. She told Boreas the whole story, from the Grand Canyon to the prophecy, much better and faster than Jason could have.
“All we ask for is guidance,” Piper concluded. “These storm spirits attacked us, and they’re working for some evil mistress. If we find them, maybe we can find Hera.”
The king stroked the icicles in his beard. Out the windows,
night had fallen, and the only light came from the aurora borealis overhead, washing everything in red and blue.
“I know of these storm spirits,” Boreas said. “I know where they are kept, and of the prisoner they took.”
“You mean Coach Hedge?” Jason asked. “He’s alive?”
Boreas waved aside the question. “For now. But the one who controls these storm winds … It would be madness to oppose her. You would be better staying here as frozen statues.”
“Hera’s in trouble,” Jason said. “In three days she’s going to be—I don’t know—consumed, destroyed, something. And a giant is going to rise.”
“Yes,” Boreas agreed. Was it Jason’s imagination, or did he shoot Khione an angry look? “Many horrible things are waking. Even my children do not tell me all the news they should. The Great Stirring of monsters that began with Kronos—your father Zeus foolishly believed it would end when the Titans were defeated. But just as it was before, so it is now. The final battle is yet to come, and the one who will wake is more terrible than any Titan. Storm spirits—these are only beginning. The earth has many more horrors to yield up. When monsters no longer stay in Tartarus, and souls are no longer confined to Hades … Olympus has good reason to fear.”
Jason wasn’t sure what all this meant, but he didn’t like the way Khione was smiling—like this was her definition of fun.
“So you’ll help us?” Jason asked the king.
Boreas scowled. “I did not say that.”
“Please, Your Majesty,” Piper said.
Everyone’s eyes turned toward her. She had to be scared out of her mind, but she looked beautiful and confident—and it had nothing to do with the blessing of Aphrodite. She looked herself again, in day-old traveling clothes with choppy hair and no makeup. But she almost glowed with warmth in that cold throne room. “If you tell us where the storm spirits are, we can capture them and bring them to Aeolus. You’d look good in front of your boss. Aeolus might pardon us and the other demigods. We could even rescue Gleeson Hedge. Everyone wins.”
