The Moon's Shine (PJO)

Chapter 59

"Perseus," the goddess of the hearth said. "Welcome back to Olympus. It's such a shame that I couldn't greet you earlier."

"Well, you couldn't do anything about it," Percy said, smiling at Hestia. "Ol' Zeus is taking this a bit more seriously than I thought he would."

"He certainly is," Hestia agreed.

Percy smirked mischievously, elated that the goddess didn't chide him for his name-calling. She probably just felt bad for him, though; the ceremony had been going on for a few hours—and Zeus had finally finished his speech—but Percy wasn't having any of it.

He'd been kneeling on the brown bricks next to the Olympian hearth, slowly losing the feeling in his legs as demigods poured into the sprawling, gilded throne room—and he refused to relent even as Zeus started his spiel.

Come on, come on, Percy thought as the minutes—and then the hours ticked by. Waiting in boredom was not something that the boy enjoyed doing in his free time, but he managed by staring Hestia, praying that she'd notice his gaze, then move off her blazing—literally blazing— throne to give him company in the corner. But she never did. 

Now, they sat in the fire, earning weird looks from demigods and mortals alike as they passed. "I hope you did find a way to stave off your boredom."

Most of the occupants in the room had chosen to ignore him, but there were some . . . special cases. Annabeth—who had been standing near her mother, Athena—had seemed to be a moment away from running to Percy's side. But after the first hour, she composed herself—and Percy hadn't been able to hide his relief. 

Then came the matter of Nico. The son of Hades had attempted to stride over the moment he spotted Percy—then the god of death himself beckoned Nico over—then made him sit on a mini throne. It was pitch black, the armrests made of human bone—just for the ambassador of Hades. And that was that.

After that, Percy had been surprised to catch Poseidon staring at him several times over the few hours. His gaze had been as strong as the metal gates of Atlantis—unwavering and forcing Percy to look away first. Neither wanted to apologize first.

But what made Zeus' speech go by like Hades on his morning jogs after Persephone left the Underworld for the summer? A certain silver-eyed goddess.

Percy shivered as he thought back to those hours. He didn't think Artemis had blinked once while Zeus'd been speaking. Even after the kind of the gods had paused speaking to reprimand Artemis for not speaking —at the same time when Percy squeezed himself in the corner, out of sight—he thought he could still feel the goddess' lingering gaze on him a few moments after. It made his heart beat faster—and Percy didn't know why.

He turned his mind back to Hestia's question. "You could say that. But don't feel too bad about it," Percy added quickly when he noticed the goddess of the hearth's crestfallen expression. "I don't mind being bored. It's much better than some . . . other emotions."

"I did hear about what happened recently in Chiron's domain."

"I . . . have no idea what you're talking about." Even Percy could tell that he himself was lying.

"Oh? Then does this ring a bell? Xavier, the son of Zeus, was found lying dead on Demigod Beach—"

Percy shushed her violently and looked furtively over his shoulder for any eavesdroppers. His heart dropped as he found several people leaning on the wall nearby. Xavier might've not been well-liked—but he was still a demigod. And Zeus' son at that. If the gods found out what really happened . . .

Hestia couldn't help but release a short laugh at his expression. "Forgive me. There's no need to fret, dear—our conversation is masked by the sound of the hearth. I couldn't help but play a joke on you . . ."

However, Percy kept his eyes on the attendees—three minor gods, one goddess, and two demigods. Sure enough, they didn't react; if they heard something, they played it cool.

 I can't be mad at her. Hestia seemed to already know about who was at fault, and she hadn't spread the word. Percy was grateful. In his experience, finding such trusted acquaintances in the Greek world was hard. So he decided to tell the rest of the story. "I almost died. But you saved me. Again."

Hestia shot him a confused glance, so Percy reached into his pocket and pulled out the top half of Riptide—still soaked with Xavier's blood.

Hestia's face turned to one of recognition. "I'm glad I could be of service. One of my domains is to protect my family." She gave him a warm smile.

"No, Lady Hestia—"

"It's Hestia, dear."

"Fine. Hestia. You don't know how much this means to me." Percy gently grabbed her hand. It was warm—like a pleasant fire on a cold winter day. "I'm here because of you. So why don't you accept my thanks for once?"

Her smile was wry. "You still have yet to accept my—and my siblings'—gratefulness for saving Olympus, Perseus."

Checkmate. Percy laughed, and Hestia smiled in triumph. He didn't know what else to say—but he didn't have to. They were both on the same page. He finally felt at peace—

"Mind if I join the party?"

Percy's mental walls immediately solidified. Before he even turned around, he knew who it was.

And he never wanted to talk to her again.

"Ah, Artemis, my niece," Hestia said, lowering the flame so the goddess squatting outside could hear her as Percy's heart beat quickened for the tenth time that evening. "Feel free to join us. We were talking about the ceremony." A quick subject change.

"It's nice, isn't it?" Artemis stepped into the hearth—and sat down right next to Percy. The space was way too small for the three of them, and their knees touched. Percy could smell her intoxicating perfume. "I'd initially hated the idea of being in close proximity to demigods, but I have to admit . . . it's grown on me. It makes Olympus feel more . . . closer." Their knees touched again, and Percy was done.

"I . . . have to go to the bathroom," Percy announced, then quickly stood up. He tried to ignore how stunning Artemis looked in her aqua dress—no frills and made of basic material, but her figure and beautiful looks made up for the lack of fancy equipment. She had that natural aura of beauty.

"You better come back quick. Otherwise, someone might steal your seat." Artemis winked. 

Percy looked away. "Yeah . . . whatever." Then he hurried away.

The moment he walked out of sight, Artemis deflated. "He hates me, doesn't he?"

"That he does, my dear."

Hestia's words made her mistake even clearer; the goddess of family was rare on the uptake of negativity—especially toward her favorite niece. But even Aphrodite—who was eternally interested in her love life—had just shot her a disgusted glance when the goddess attempted to ask her about Percy. Everything was falling into ruins, and she desperately wanted it to . . . well, not fall into ruins.

"You know him the best," Artemis said desperately. "How do I fix our relationship?"

"My dear, Perseus is a simple and honorable man. Once he trusts, he does not forgive easily. I fear that you may have already lost your chance with him."

"Don't say that, Aunt. I promise that my full existence is focused on Percy—and has been for the last few months." And she meant it. She couldn't even eat without thinking of the demigod at least once.

"Artemis, while it's all good that you believe in this, you shouldn't be telling me this. Percy isn't ready to hear about anything concerning . . . well . . . you until he at least fixes his relationship with Poseidon. He's going through a lot. It would be in your interest not to put anything else on his plate."

"So what you're telling me . . ." Artemis' mind was racing. "Is that if I help him, he's as good as mine?"

"You haven't been listening to a thing I've been saying, have you?" Hestia asked, glancing at her niece suspiciously. Hestia had followed many of her close family through the cycle of love—and logic was usually not prioritized in their pursuits.

"Thanks for all the help, Aunt," Artemis said, ignoring Hestia's words as she picked herself up off the ground. "I'll make sure to bring back good news."