Time passed.
I forced myself to concentrate on the words.
Mid-lecture, “Alexis,” August said harshly in English, and the change of languages was jarring. “What did ancient Spartans from the House of Poseidon primarily use Minotaurs for?”
Poco hissed on his shoulder.
I opened my eyes. “Entertainment.”
Augustus made an unimpressed noise at the back of his throat. “Whatentertainment are you referring to?” He glared at me with disdain.
Vitriol wafted off him.
Why am I so hateable? I’m literally just trying to live a good (short) life.
In the front of the classroom, General Cleandro leaned forward in his seat and pulled out his black device. On his shoulders, his hawk slowly spread its wings.
“Or,” Augustus taunted, “just like your father, do you think you already know everything? So you haven’t bothered to learn the true intricacies of the Latin language—and you’ve been sitting here for the last two hours, not comprehending but thinking you’re better than everyone, just waiting?—”
I shook my head and blurted, “They hunted Minotaurs for sport through the maze at Mycenae on the island of Crete.”
On numb lips, I repeated his lecture before he could criticize me further.
“But Minotaurs were sentient beasts who communicated with each other to trap and thwart the Spartans—they b-became the hunters and ripped the Spartans to shreds and blocked the maze’s exit. Every time the Spartans healed, they immediately tore them apart.”
“Neverinterrupt me again. You’re not better than others, because you’re from the House of Zeus,” Augustus said harshly as Poco twirled his long black-and-white ponytail around his little paws.
A few initiates snickered under their breath.
He switched to Latin and asked, “How long were the Spartans trapped?”
I coughed (hacked up a lung for a minute), then said, “They’re still there today—the House of Hades has blocked any rescue efforts.”
“Why?” Augustus demanded.
I shrugged. “Because they’re Chthonic and they h-hate the House of Poseidon?”
Because they’re evil.
Instead of mocking my stutter, my classmates nodded in agreement, and a few even clapped. “Evil Chthonic bastards,” someone muttered, then gulped with fear as Augustus glared at them.
Deep lines appeared in Augustus’s tan forehead as he turned back to me. “Your answers on what I’d taught were technically correct, but your assessment was...disappointing.”
The room let out a collective sigh of relief that we wouldn’t be running the circuit, and I glanced guiltily over at Drex, who was sitting next to me. He was staring down at his textbook, ignoring everyone.
Technically, he’s Chthonic, but he saved you.
I felt ashamed. Dirty. Augustus was also Chthonic, and I’d just insulted him.
Christos screaming as he died and Kharon smiling. The Crimson Duo torturing a Titan.
Numbness spread.
Father John said evil was the absence of God and that he’d seen the devil in bloody Chthonic eyes.
I’d seen it too.
Augustus switched topics and started ranting in Latin about how sirens were advanced sentient creatures in the same class as Minotaurs, and I sighed with relief.
