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Man, that dude Diomedes was not exactly loved.
When, inside the palace, Helen announced his fate, all his retainers cheered. Nick guessed that feeding people to horses was not a popular past-time. In any case, he and Helen were treated like royalty, and, for the first time in ages, he got to sit in a chair. The king’s men were really cool: they plied them with food, wine (diluted), and this funky dessert made of beans. For the first time since the Hydra, Nick got to clean up, and boy, did that bath feel good. He was given a new chiton—and an honest-to-gods real bed covered with comfy skins. Helen, housed next door, looked radiant in her new peplos, and Nick even snuck in a kiss before she went to bed.
For once, all in Mýthos was good: Nick’s arm had healed; he’d triumphed in his Fifth (Fourth) Labor; and was able to think of his dad with a smile instead of tears.
The next morning, after breakfast, Nick and Helen lounged in the dining hall. He had to confess he wasn’t too anxious to leave. But their peace was disturbed by the tramp of ten burly soldiers.
“Oh no,” said Nick, putting a hand to his sword.
As one of them spoke to Helen, Nick saw her eyes grow wide.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Uh.” Her face went pale. “They say they are grateful to you for freeing them from a tyrant. They offer you talents of gold—”
“Nice,” said Nick.
“And—"
“Yeah?”
“They want you to be their king. The-the new King of Thrace.”
“Whaaat?” asked Nick.
He could feel blood leaving his face.
“One more thing,” said Helen, and she did not look happy.
“I get to be called HRH?”
“They-they want you to marry.”
“Well, could we wait maybe a year? At least ‘till I turn eighteen.”
“Diomedes’ widow.”
“No way!” cried Nick. “That is really creepy.”
“It’s how they do things here.”
“Well, I’m not from here, and I won’t!”
“In that case,” said Helen, “they’ll consider themselves dishonored.”
Nick glanced at the ten guys, who all looked like Olympians: not gods—athletes. They could probably bench press him along with the four mares.
Nick felt a rising panic.
“What do I do?” he asked Helen.
“Stall.”
“How? Do I put on a show?”
“I’ll tell them this is such an unforeseen honor, you need two days to consider it.”
Nick felt a wave of relief.
“Thanks.”
Helen spoke to Team Thracia. The men nodded grimly and left.
“Oh, God—gods,” Nick breathed.
He tried to avert his eyes from two gold thrones on a dais.
“You must consider this carefully,” Helen told him.
“No way,” Nick cried. “I’ll never marry another.”
“Think of the queen,” said Helen. “You didn’t mean to, but you killed her husband.”
“It wasn’t me!” Nick yelled. “Those mares just went for him. They must have been holding a grudge.”
“Well, it is quite an honor to be the King of Thrace. This is a once-proud land, and, if ruled rightly, can regain its prestige.”
“Oh, great,” said Nick. “So glad that you’re in favor. I hope the queen is a babe.” He got up from his soft couch. “Look, there’s only so much a guy can take. First, I find out my dad’s a centaur. Then, I’m one. I get thrown off Mt. Olympus and, for some reason, the Sea God hates my guts. Next, I lose two people: my dad and a new friend. I’m expected to kill all these monsters, and I totally suck at Fortnite!”
Helen shook her head.
“Being a Hero is never easy.”
“I didn’t come here for that. I just didn’t want to be bullied.”
“That was enough to get you to Mýthos.”
“For what?” Nick asked. “To go up against Typhon? No offense, but your dad’s huge—doesn’t he stretch from Italy to Greece, or something? How can one guy—uh, centaur—possibly take him on? Don’t you need like a god?”
“You’ve already done five Labors,” said Helen, hands on hips. “You can complete them all, then become King of Thrace. Or not. The choices are up to you.”
“I’m tired of making the hard ones.” Nick felt anger flow through him. “Look, I’m just a teenager. Isn’t life supposed to be fun?”
“Was yours?”
Nick put his head in his hands.
“Not really,” he said, “but that stress is lookin’ good now. Compared to death, that is.”
Nick saw Helen, who’d been through some things, give him a hard look.
“Did Theseus turn back?” she asked. “Perseus, Achilles, Heracles?”
“Achilles was shot with an arrow, and Herc was tortured by Hera.” Nick spoke from between his fingers. “I don’t know about the rest.”
“Theseus was thrown off a cliff, and Perseus killed his own grandfather.”
“See?” Nick shouted. “Even if I kill Typhon, what happens to me? My dad’s gone—he’s not here to protect me.”
“There is Athena,” said Helen.
“How do I know she exists?” Nick stomped around the room. “You might not exist! Maybe I’m having a nightmare, and I’m not really a centaur: maybe I’m just Nick C. who goes to P.R. High.”
“If you feel that way,” said Helen, “why don’t you go back?”
“I wish I could!” Nick yelled, and, next thing he knew, he found himself pressed against grass. Bending waves around him vanished, leaving his vision foggy. When it cleared, he saw where he was: in Lil’ Pardner’s main pasture.
