“Maybe,” I say, feeling the grief well in my chest, “but if you or my brother carried a weapon, he would be alive now.”
He stops abruptly and turns to face me. “I wasn’t with Apollo. If I was, thunder would’ve rained down on the bastard who murdered my best friend.” A muscle ticks in Thor’s lean, angular jaw. “Hurry up. I have things to do.”
I watch as he strides ahead and turn to Dion. “Did I say something wrong? I didn’t mean anything by my comment. It just seems Apollo was underprepared for danger in the Academy.”
“It’s okay. Touchy subject.” Dion’s eyes are sympathetic but there is grief in them, too. I’m struck with the sense that this man was one of Apollo’s friends as well.
Is this why Themis sent them to show me around? Because the two gods were closest to my brother?
Dion nudges my arm and calls down the hallway, “Thor! Wait up!”
Thor pauses and we catch up, but, following my comment, Thor seems keen on walking twice the pace I can, and I struggle to match his strides. Dion remains at my side and chats to me, telling me what to expect tonight. Does he intend to put me at ease? Because I’m struggling to imagine myself sitting at a table in fine clothes amongst fine people.
“Hey, don’t look so worried. I’ll look after you,” Dion says. “The formal dinners are boring, so we always unwind together afterwards back at our quarters. Seriously, you should come.”
“To one of your legendary parties?” I frown.
“I doubt Artemis will want to go,” says Thor. “I imagine she’s tired after her journey here, and the dinner will be enough for one evening.”
I bristle at his presumption and the fact he doesn’t look around as he says the words. I’m glad Dion came to find me and not just Thor; I can’t tell if Thor’s taciturn, bossy, or both. Good luck to him if he tries to tell me what to do.
I could retort, but instead thank Dion and ignore the other god.
We reach the hallway end where an arch leads to another on the left, and to our right a spiraling staircase leads upwards. Still ahead, Thor stomps up the stairs. My footsteps can hardly be heard, unlike his heavy boots. Above my head, a light made from glass seems to drip downwards towards me and I marvel at the beauty amongst the dull stone.
The stairs stop at a carpeted corridor leading left and right. Double doors open to a room a few meters to the left, where girls’ voices and laughter echo out and towards us. We turn right and walk past half a dozen wooden doors on either side. Some are decorated with colorful names and I catch one or two as I pass: Cassandra and Venus. Thor pauses by the final door, which is undecorated and ajar.
“This is your room,” he says gruffly.
I peek around the doorway, spirits sinking as I look at the rectangular space with walls painted a nondescript cream and a gray floor. A bed against one wall is made up with blankets and a pillow, and somebody has placed my small pack on the bed. At least the window has sun shining through, brightening the dull surroundings.
“I’ll see if any of the girls are in the common room. One of them can give you a guided tour of the girls’ quarters,” says Thor before turning on his heel. “I’ll see you tonight.”
My ‘thanks and goodbye’ to Thor are lost, as he’s gone before I can get the words out. Dion leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, as he watches me place my bow beside the pack.
“Are you okay?” Dion’s eyes fill with concern. “I hope Thor didn’t upset you. Your similarity to Apollo is probably why Thor is reacting so oddly to you. He and Apollo were close.”
“He doesn’t bother me, but I appreciate your kindness, Dion.”
“Thor isn’t a people person, it’s not just you. I, on the other hand, am all about people!” He gives me the infectious smile again.
I can understand why this guy would be popular, and why so many said hello to him as we walked along. Although eyes were drawn to Thor’s impressive looks, Dion also holds attention, and definitely isn’t outshone by the mountainous Norse god. I picture Dion as the center of attention at the parties he talks about, drawing people in with his enthusiasm. There’s a definite magnetism that surrounds him; he’s the type who can walk into a room and instantly fill it.
“That’s good to hear, I think I need a friend who won’t look at me as if I’m a wild, crazy girl.”
“Shame, I like wild crazy girls.” He chuckles. “Kidding. I think everybody should just be themselves, Artemis. Stay true to yourself—your brother did, and I can see you’re very like him.”
“Am I?”
“Yes. Tenacious and strong. But you’d have to be both of those things, otherwise you wouldn’t have accepted the invitation to compete in the Trials.”
“I wasn’t invited. I was summoned.”
Dion’s mouth parts in surprise and he straightens. “Wow. Okay. That must be tough.”
I shrug. “I’m happy I was brought here. Now I’m able to achieve two things. One is killing whoever murdered by brother. That’s the only justice the person deserves.”
There’s no doubt he’s taken aback but he still asks, “And the other?”
“The reason my father brought me to the Academy. I will win the Trials.”
7
ARTEMIS
Once the gods both leave me, I strip the bed and pull the small mattress onto the floor beside the bed frame, under the window, where I can see the moon arcing over the sky. This is where I sleep; I’ve never owned a bed. Satisfied, I adjust the padding and feel something hard beneath the surface. I push again, kneeling on the floor. It’s a rectangle. I strip the bedding and find it’s inside the mattress. My fingers feel a line of clumsy stitching, the thread slightly off from the cream color of the pad. I push my bow under the bed and reach for the knife tucked in my boot. Carefully, I puncture a hole in the material, slicing on top of the stitching. I dip my hand inside and find the object.
It’s a book.
No, I think, on closer examination, it’s a journal. Jerky handwriting fills the pages. I flip to the front and gasp at the name on the front page.
Apollo.
Is it his? How did it get here?
I lean back on my heels, staring at the book. This was meant for me, but who put it there? I chew my thumbnail. It’s no secret I would arrive, or that I’d be in this room.
But these are my brother’s private thoughts, only available because he’s dead. It doesn’t feel right to read it. Not yet, at least; I know I’m not ready. I consider not putting the book back in the mattress so I can read later. But if it’s gone, they’ll know I have it.
Who are ‘they’?
The killer? One of his allies? An ex-lover?
I don’t know my brother well enough to guess.
That thought spurs me to open the journal to the first page. It’s not very old, in fact, it seems he only started it this year.
APOLLO’S JOURNAL
JUNE
Father took me and Mother to the Isle of Baltia for a short holiday to our home there before the new Academy year began. He gave me this journal and suggested I keep track of the events this year. It’s awkward writing down my thoughts. Seems like something Triton would do while the rest of us are out drinking and screwing.
No, Zeus wasn’t suggesting. It was a command. “Describe what you see. Write down what you hear. Preserve your thoughts and feelings.”
So here I am. Jotting down my thoughts and tracking events like a girl would, when I’d rather be checking out those girls at the beach.