I nodded. “The Garden of the Gods. Only the Sovereigns and landscapers are permitted to go there.”
“Right. But Talon and the Marshalls have their fingers on the pulse of everything that goes on here. They somehow learned something seriously weird. I’m sure they meant to keep it to themselves, but two officiates overheard them speaking of it … and it wasn’t long before the entire Order then became aware of it.”
“Of what?” I prodded.
“You know the golden apples?”
“Yeah.” There was really no way to forget them.
“Well, they’re not so golden right now.”
I felt my brow dent. “What do you mean?”
“I mean the apples dangling from the trees aren’t fully coated inichor. There’s only patches of it on them.”
My nape tingled. “So, the fruit has somehow been poisoned?”
“Maybe. Or …”
“Or, what?”
She bit down on her lower lip. “Or maybe what some officiates believe is right: that the cracks in the fortress and the state of the apples are both signs that the Sovereigns are weakening.”
I straightened in my seat, frowning. “What could cause that?”
“We don’t know—there doesn’t seem to be anything that could do such a thing, which is why the theory is only a ‘maybe.’ The Sovereigns haven’t made the apple issue public, so either they’re not concerned or they’re intent on hiding it.”
I lifted my shoulders. “It could just be that the problem is with the tree itself. Or the soil, even.”
“There might be an environmental cause,” she agreed. “It’s the most likely explanation. But it’s never happened before, and the problem didn’t appear until very recently. Some think that maybe Theseus managed to do something to the land here, but I don’t know if that’s possible either. We’re all just stumped. Quillen tried asking Ajax for some elaboration, but he was shut down fast. It’s a need-to-know topic, apparently.”
“If there’s a chance the Sovereigns are weakening, I personally feel it’s something weallneed to know.”
“Couldn’t agree more. But—at least for now—they’re being closemouthed about it. So maybe they just don’t have answers either but don’t want to admit it.”
I sighed. “There are too many maybes.”
“Again, couldn’t agree more. All we can do is wait until they choose to raise the subject. No amount of questioning them would achieve anything.” She pulled a face. “I don’t like to wait.”
“It’s not my favorite pastime either.”
She pointed at my pewter. “For now, forget the apple stuff and get some food in you. You won’t exactly be fed well when out in the Pines, so fill your belly while you can.”
I lifted my cutlery. “One last thing. If the Sovereignsareweakening, could it be that the other half-bloods are weakening too?”
She did a slow blink. “I didn’t consider that but, yes, it could. If they are, their instinct might be to scrabble for ownership of Deimos before it’s too late. Which would explain why Theseus chose now to attack, and even why the other half-bloods in the Dark Lands have seemingly allied themselves with him.”
“And if that is the case, an all-out war might again break out between them, mightn’t it?”
Grim lines etched into her face. “Yes. Yes, it might. So let’s hope we’re wrong. Because when half-bloods fight, there’s only one certainty: deaths. Many, many deaths.”
Several hours later, I found myself indulging in what had become a regular mental pastime while on a jog: imagining clawing out the eyes of whoever had come up with the concept of Xalbia. Vicious, yes, but so was theichor-inducedheadache banging in my skull. The pain seemed to bounce in my head each time my feet slapped the muddy banks.
Jogging was not my favorite activity. Jogging through a swamp? I could literally have gone my entire life without ever having to do it.
The heat was brutal. The humidity was oppressive. The air was as stagnant as the swamp water.
Water that had found its way into my boots, along with mud. Lovely. Just as lovely as the way my sweat-slick clothes were plastered to my skin, sticky and chafing.
