Jason's POV ~ Being around Wyatt kind of makes me nervous, I mean he's almost like a god compared to us, if I say something he doesn't like, Wyatt could pretty much make me disappear, or he could just obliterate me on the spot. But at the same time, I want to be stronger than him, I don't want just let him win.

"Hey." Piper touched my arm. "You still with me?"

I looked up, "Yeah … yeah, sorry." I'm grateful for Piper. I needed a friend, and I 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 I'm was concerned, more beautiful.

I was sure now that we've never known each other before the Grand Canyon. Our relationship was just a trick of the Mist in Piper's mind. But the longer I spent with her, the more I wished it had been real.

Stop it Jason! Don't do this to yourself man. It wasn't fair to Piper, thinking that way. I had no idea what was waiting for me back in my old life—or who might be waiting. But I was pretty sure my past wouldn't mix with Camp Half-Blood. After this quest, who knew what would happen? Assuming we even survive.

At the end of the hallway we found ourselves 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. I'm pretty sure I'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 I felt like I 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."

I'm guessing this girl's definition of fun was not the same as mine.

"Um, okay," I 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."

If the entry hall had been cold, the throne room was like a meat locker.

Mist hung in the air. I shivered, and my 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 I 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 I think they were sculptures. Then I 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 my 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, I 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," I said.

Zethes prodded him in the back with his sword. "Keep moving, Jason Junior."

I shuddered, "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 I 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. I hope 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?" I asked. Piper frowned. "No. Why?" "You just spoke French." 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?"

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. Piper and I 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."

My gold coin seemed to grow heavy in my pocket. If I were forced to fight, I don't think I have a very good chance. Two seconds at least to summon my blade. Then I'd be facing a god, two of his children, and an army of freeze-dried warriors.

"Aeolus is the master of the winds, right?" I 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, the giant made of smoke and clouds was standing still facing a huge giant made of fire…But there was something in the middle of the fiery giant, "What is that? Piper asked.

"The storm giant, Typhon," Boreas continued to explain. "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," I 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.

He burst out laughing, "That is until he realized it wasn't the gods that defeated Typhon, it was but a mere demigod that did it. It was your friend that you came in with…" Boreas said.

"Wyatt…?" Piper muttered, Boreas nodded, "Aeolus also said, if any of us were to come across this mortal, take him to Aeolus dead or alive."

I gulped, "I don't think he can die…And he doesn't listen to anyone your majesty."

"I've noticed." He said and looked down, "This is my domain Wyatt Knight, I know when there is an intruder here." Boreas's voice was low. At the wind god's feet, a boy in a long black coat with one arm appeared, he was kneeling, "Forgive me Lord Boreas, but I couldn't help but overhear your conversation about wanting me dead or alive. Can you elaborate more on that subject?"