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From the far end of the hall, a man‘s voice rang out in a language that sounded like French. <strong>The</strong> room<br />
was so long and misty, Jason couldn‘t see the other end; but whatever the man said, the ice guards uncrossed<br />
their javelins.<br />
―It‘s fine,‖ Khione said. ―My father has ordered them not to kill you just yet.‖<br />
―Super,‖ Jason said.<br />
Zethes prodded him in the back with his sword. ―Keep moving, Jason Junior.‖<br />
―Please don‘t call me that.‖<br />
―My father is not a patient man,‖ Zethes warned, ―and the beautiful Piper, sadly, is losing her magic hairdo<br />
very fast. Later, perhaps, I can lend her something from my wide assortment of hair products.‖<br />
―Thanks,‖ Piper grumbled.<br />
<strong>The</strong>y kept walking, and the mist parted to reveal a man on an ice throne. He was sturdily built, dressed in<br />
a stylish white suit that seemed woven from snow, with dark purple wings that spread out to either side. His long<br />
hair and shaggy beard were encrusted with icicles, so Jason couldn‘t tell if his hair was gray or just white with<br />
frost. His arched eyebrows made him look angry, but his eyes twinkled more warmly than his daughter‘s—as if<br />
he might have a sense of humor buried somewhere under that permafrost. Jason hoped so.<br />
“Bienvenu,” the king said. ―Je suis Boreas le Roi. Et vous?”<br />
Khione the snow goddess was about to speak, but Piper stepped forward and curtsied.<br />
“Votre Majesté,” she said, “ je suis Piper McLean. Et c‘est Jason, fils de Zeus.”<br />
<strong>The</strong> king smiled with pleasant surprise. “Vous parlez français? Très bien!”<br />
―Piper, you speak French?‖ Jason asked. Piper frowned. ―No. Why?‖ ―You just spoke French.‖ Piper<br />
blinked. ―I did?‖ <strong>The</strong> king said something else, and Piper nodded.“Oui,<br />
Votre Majesté.”<br />
<strong>The</strong> king laughed and clapped his hands, obviously delighted. He said a few more sentences then swept<br />
his hand toward his daughter as if shooing her away.<br />
Khione looked miffed. ―<strong>The</strong> king says—‖<br />
―He says I‘m a daughter of Aphrodite,‖ Piper interrupted, ―so naturally I can speak French, which is the<br />
language of love. I had no idea. His Majesty says Khione won‘t have to translate now.‖<br />
Behind them, Zethes snorted, and Khione shot him a murderous look. She bowed stiffly to her father and<br />
took a step back.<br />
<strong>The</strong> king sized up Jason, and Jason decided it would be a good idea to bow. ―Your Majesty, I‘m Jason<br />
Grace. Thank you for, um, not killing us. May I ask … why does a Greek god speak French?‖<br />
Piper had another exchange with the king.<br />
―He speaks the language of his host country,‖ Piper translated. ―He says all gods do this. Most Greek<br />
gods speak English, as they now reside in the United States, but Boreas was never welcomed in their realm.<br />
His domain was always far to the north. <strong>The</strong>se days he likes Quebec, so he speaks French.‖<br />
<strong>The</strong> king said something else, and Piper turned pale.<br />
―<strong>The</strong> king says …‖ She faltered. ―He says—‖<br />
―Oh, allow me,‖ Khione said. ―My father says he has orders to kill you. Did I not mention that earlier?‖<br />
Jason tensed. <strong>The</strong> king was still smiling amiably, like he‘d just delivered great news.<br />
―Kill us?‖ Jason said. ―Why?‖<br />
―Because,‖ the king said, in heavily accented English, ―my lord Aeolus has commanded it.‖<br />
Boreas rose. He stepped down from his throne and furled his wings against his back. As he approached,<br />
Khione and Zethes bowed. Jason and Piper followed their example.<br />
―I shall deign to speak your language,‖ Boreas said, ―as Piper McLean has honored me in mine. Toujours,<br />
I have had a fondness for the children of Aphrodite. As for you, Jason Grace, my master Aeolus would not<br />
expect me to kill a son of Lord Zeus … without first hearing you out.‖<br />
Jason‘s gold coin seemed to grow heavy in his pocket. If he were forced to fight, he didn‘t like his<br />
chances. Two seconds at least to summon his blade. <strong>The</strong>n he‘d be facing a god, two of his children, and an<br />
army of freeze-dried warriors.<br />
―Aeolus is the master of the winds, right?‖ Jason asked. ―Why would he want us dead?‖<br />
―You are demigods,‖ Boreas said, as if this explained everything. ―Aeolus‘s job is to contain the winds, and<br />
demigods have always caused him many headaches. <strong>The</strong>y ask him for favors. <strong>The</strong>y unleash winds and cause<br />
chaos. But the final insult was the battle with Typhon last summer…‖<br />
Boreas waved his hand, and a sheet of ice like a flat-screen TV appeared in the air. Images of a battle<br />
flickered across the surface—a giant wrapped in storm clouds, wading across a river toward the Manhattan<br />
skyline. Tiny, glowing figures—the gods, Jason guessed—swarmed around him like angry wasps, pounding the<br />
monster with lightning and fire. Finally the river erupted in a massive whirlpool, and the smoky form sank<br />
beneath the waves and disappeared.
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