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Chapter Eighteen

The main offices of the Venerate Council of Protectors were located on Mount Olympus, a tribute to the Protectors’ heritage as descendants of Zeus and his siblings. Back then, the general populace had assumed the original Protectors were gods. And Zeus, not being a particularly humble sort, hadn’t done anything to disabuse them of that notion.
There were times when Jason thought it might be cool to be considered a god, but on the whole he much preferred the current arrangement. The actual getting to Olympus was a hassle, and once there, he couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the statues of Greek gods and goddesses—his great-great-great aunts, uncles, cousins, and such—that filled every nook and cranny. The offices in New York and D.C. were much more hospitable, if slightly darker, what with being underground and all.
Now he walked through the sun-streamed hallways, searching for Dionys, the elder in charge of granting visiting privileges to Protectors currently in the stockades. The man wasn’t on Jason’s favorite-person list, but under the circumstances, seeing him was necessary.
Jason had spent a year on Olympus after he’d escaped his father’s clutches. And though Dionys had shown no signs of contempt recently, back then the elders had been more than a little dubious about where Jason’s true loyalty lay. Dionys had been particularly cold. His hatred of Hieronymous ran deep, and the elder had held no compunction about warning Jason that, if he should turn out to be aligned with his father, he’d be tossed into the catacombs and never again see the light of day.
The accusation and threat had infuriated Jason then, and it still bothered him now. Not a lot he could do about it, though, so he kept searching for the elder.
Dionys wasn’t in his office, and the assistant on duty suggested Jason check in the library.
Jason passed a statue of Zeus, arms wrapped around Hera, then another of his closer relative, Poseidon. Another long corridor, and then finally he reached the double doors of the library. He pushed in, received a stern glare from the librarian, then padded softly toward the back.
He found the elder in a small alcove, seven leather-bound volumes open in front of him, the musty smell of ancient paper and ink filling the air. Dionys was making notes, carefully copying information from the volumes onto sheets of lined parchment with an ornate purple fountain pen. Jason waited for the elder to notice him. And waited. And waited.
Finally, he cleared his throat. Dionys looked up, wire spectacles perched in front of clear blue eyes whose edges crinkled with age.
“Ah, young Jason, is it? What brings you back to Olympus?”
The elder’s tone was conversational and warm, but even so, Jason fought a fresh wave of anger. He took five deep breaths and focused his thoughts. This wasn’t about him anymore. Dionys had apparently moved on; so should Jason.
“I was hoping to receive dispensation to speak with Romulus,” Jason said. He left it at that. If the elder needed a reason, he had a story contrived and ready to go.
“Dispensation?” The elder looked up, his expression amused. “That’s certainly not necessary. Romulus has been released on bail.”
Jason blinked. “Bail?”
“Why, yes.”
“Who bailed him out?”
“You know perfectly well that information is confidential. But I would hardly expect a Protector such as Romulus to remain in the stockade for any length of time.”
“Um, right.” Jason frowned, reminding himself he’d expected that very thing. “Is he still on Olympus?”
“He may well be,” the elder said. “I don’t have that information. Certainly, his bail held no such conditions, and while he did express his gratitude to the elders on the prisoner committee, he didn’t tell us where he intended to go.” He met Jason’s eyes. “Of course, we have his holo-pager number, so we are able to contact him.”
“Of course,” Jason said, hoping the sarcasm wasn’t showing. “Thank you for your help.”
The elder nodded, then picked his pen back up and resumed his work. Jason considered that a dismissal and began walking away, pondering the problem of how he was going to locate Romulus. He’d try a holo-page, but the treasonous Protector likely wouldn’t answer. And even if Romulus had an address on file, the odds were good he was staying elsewhere....
“Excellent news about your father,” Dionys said.
Yanked away from his thoughts, Jason stopped cold. He turned around slowly to face the elder. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”
“Your father,” Dionys said, that purple pen tapping a rhythm on his paper. “He’s applied for re-assimilation. I thought you knew.”
“Yeah,” Jason said. “I’d heard something about that.”
“You don’t sound pleased.” The elder’s faced creased with concern. “I had thought you would welcome your father’s return to Olympus.”
“Ah, well...” What in Hades was he supposed to say to that? “I’m ... well, I guess I’m a little bit surprised that you’re pleased about it.”
Dionys shook his head, his expression one of amused patience. “Nonsense. Your father and I may have had our differences, but I have issues with all Outcasts. Once he returns to the fold, though...” The elder trailed off, shaking his head, and Jason found himself truly flabbergasted. Had everyone gone insane?
“This is truly excellent news,” Dionys continued. “A powerful Protector like your father with such a strong heritage. And your grandfather’s seat has been empty now for over ten years. It’s high time it was occupied again.”
Jason’s blood ran cold. Dionys couldn’t mean what Jason thought he meant... could he? “My grandfather’s seat?” The Inner Council essentially ruled over all Protectors, and the seats were passed down along familial lines, going to the eldest member of the family past a certain age. Jason knew he and Mordi were in line for a spot, but that possibility was years away. It had never even occurred to him that his father might still lay claim to a seat. “Hieronymous could fill my grandfather’s seat?”
“Of course. At the right hand of Zephron. The seat would have naturally been your father’s, had he not been Outcast.” The elder smiled broadly. “And now, of course, it will be his once again.”

Chapter Eighteen

The main offices of the Venerate Council of Protectors were located on Mount Olympus, a tribute to the Protectors’ heritage as descendants of Zeus and his siblings. Back then, the general populace had assumed the original Protectors were gods. And Zeus, not being a particularly humble sort, hadn’t done anything to disabuse them of that notion.
There were times when Jason thought it might be cool to be considered a god, but on the whole he much preferred the current arrangement. The actual getting to Olympus was a hassle, and once there, he couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the statues of Greek gods and goddesses—his great-great-great aunts, uncles, cousins, and such—that filled every nook and cranny. The offices in New York and D.C. were much more hospitable, if slightly darker, what with being underground and all.
Now he walked through the sun-streamed hallways, searching for Dionys, the elder in charge of granting visiting privileges to Protectors currently in the stockades. The man wasn’t on Jason’s favorite-person list, but under the circumstances, seeing him was necessary.
Jason had spent a year on Olympus after he’d escaped his father’s clutches. And though Dionys had shown no signs of contempt recently, back then the elders had been more than a little dubious about where Jason’s true loyalty lay. Dionys had been particularly cold. His hatred of Hieronymous ran deep, and the elder had held no compunction about warning Jason that, if he should turn out to be aligned with his father, he’d be tossed into the catacombs and never again see the light of day.
The accusation and threat had infuriated Jason then, and it still bothered him now. Not a lot he could do about it, though, so he kept searching for the elder.
Dionys wasn’t in his office, and the assistant on duty suggested Jason check in the library.
Jason passed a statue of Zeus, arms wrapped around Hera, then another of his closer relative, Poseidon. Another long corridor, and then finally he reached the double doors of the library. He pushed in, received a stern glare from the librarian, then padded softly toward the back.
He found the elder in a small alcove, seven leather-bound volumes open in front of him, the musty smell of ancient paper and ink filling the air. Dionys was making notes, carefully copying information from the volumes onto sheets of lined parchment with an ornate purple fountain pen. Jason waited for the elder to notice him. And waited. And waited.
Finally, he cleared his throat. Dionys looked up, wire spectacles perched in front of clear blue eyes whose edges crinkled with age.
“Ah, young Jason, is it? What brings you back to Olympus?”
The elder’s tone was conversational and warm, but even so, Jason fought a fresh wave of anger. He took five deep breaths and focused his thoughts. This wasn’t about him anymore. Dionys had apparently moved on; so should Jason.
“I was hoping to receive dispensation to speak with Romulus,” Jason said. He left it at that. If the elder needed a reason, he had a story contrived and ready to go.
“Dispensation?” The elder looked up, his expression amused. “That’s certainly not necessary. Romulus has been released on bail.”
Jason blinked. “Bail?”
“Why, yes.”
“Who bailed him out?”
“You know perfectly well that information is confidential. But I would hardly expect a Protector such as Romulus to remain in the stockade for any length of time.”
“Um, right.” Jason frowned, reminding himself he’d expected that very thing. “Is he still on Olympus?”
“He may well be,” the elder said. “I don’t have that information. Certainly, his bail held no such conditions, and while he did express his gratitude to the elders on the prisoner committee, he didn’t tell us where he intended to go.” He met Jason’s eyes. “Of course, we have his holo-pager number, so we are able to contact him.”
“Of course,” Jason said, hoping the sarcasm wasn’t showing. “Thank you for your help.”
The elder nodded, then picked his pen back up and resumed his work. Jason considered that a dismissal and began walking away, pondering the problem of how he was going to locate Romulus. He’d try a holo-page, but the treasonous Protector likely wouldn’t answer. And even if Romulus had an address on file, the odds were good he was staying elsewhere....
“Excellent news about your father,” Dionys said.
Yanked away from his thoughts, Jason stopped cold. He turned around slowly to face the elder. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”
“Your father,” Dionys said, that purple pen tapping a rhythm on his paper. “He’s applied for re-assimilation. I thought you knew.”
“Yeah,” Jason said. “I’d heard something about that.”
“You don’t sound pleased.” The elder’s faced creased with concern. “I had thought you would welcome your father’s return to Olympus.”
“Ah, well...” What in Hades was he supposed to say to that? “I’m ... well, I guess I’m a little bit surprised that you’re pleased about it.”
Dionys shook his head, his expression one of amused patience. “Nonsense. Your father and I may have had our differences, but I have issues with all Outcasts. Once he returns to the fold, though...” The elder trailed off, shaking his head, and Jason found himself truly flabbergasted. Had everyone gone insane?
“This is truly excellent news,” Dionys continued. “A powerful Protector like your father with such a strong heritage. And your grandfather’s seat has been empty now for over ten years. It’s high time it was occupied again.”
Jason’s blood ran cold. Dionys couldn’t mean what Jason thought he meant... could he? “My grandfather’s seat?” The Inner Council essentially ruled over all Protectors, and the seats were passed down along familial lines, going to the eldest member of the family past a certain age. Jason knew he and Mordi were in line for a spot, but that possibility was years away. It had never even occurred to him that his father might still lay claim to a seat. “Hieronymous could fill my grandfather’s seat?”
“Of course. At the right hand of Zephron. The seat would have naturally been your father’s, had he not been Outcast.” The elder smiled broadly. “And now, of course, it will be his once again.”