Annabeth

I pulled the top off, expecting something incredibly amazing. But . . .

It was a picture. All that was in there was a picture in a frame. That was what all this risking was for? I could've walked into a trap for . . . for a picture?!

But my thoughts were stopped, because I recognized the three people in the detailed painting.

Two adults, one baby.

I recognized the baby as me, in my mother's arms. She was looking at me with loving eyes, a smile curving her lips. My mother turned into a completely different woman when she was smiling—when the signature glare was gone. She looked relaxed, even fun to be around. Then my gaze traveled to a masculine arm wrapped around her shoulders.

I followed the arm up to the man's shoulders. Then to the face. The man was looking at the artist with a big grin plastered on his face. He had blond hair cut short, a smooth face that had softened edges. I somehow knew in an instant it was my father. He had deep brown eyes, with smile wrinkles lining the corner of them. A golden chain with an owl engraved into the clasp held together his crisp white toga, and the Athena in me appreciated the way the artist even got the glint on the gold from the sun.

Then it hit me. That's why Athena wanted me to keep my golden chain so nicely kept. It was my father's chain. I fingered the belt around my waist with reverence that I had not had before. This was my dad's. I looked back at my father, curiosity eating it's way through me.

I had never seen my father. When he had died, Athena had burned every portrait or painting of him. My guess was that she didn't want any reminders of him. I was angry that she hadn't at least kept one for me.

But now I didn't need one. I hugged the small painting, to my chest, letting out a small sigh of satisfaction.

I don't know why you are doing this for me, but thank you so much, Poseidon, I thought, hoping my words would reach Poseidon.

I stared at my father again, just soaking up his image.

But my nostalgia was interrupted abruptly when I heard my mother calling, "Annabeth? Are you in your room? Can you unlock your door, please? I need to talk to you."

I jumped up. I couldn't let her see this picture—she would probably dispose of it. Even if she kept it, she would definitely ask where I got it. If I said from Poseidon, her number one enemy, she would probably be so mad that I would most likely spontaneously combust from just being in her presence of her rage.

Running to my closet, I practically slapped the owl clasp on the painting of me. The wall started rolling, but not fast enough. When it was open enough for the painting to fit, I put it down gently on the floor in the shadowy passage, then touched the clasp again as it was still rolling open. I hoped it would stop in the middle of it's moving and start moving back.

Thank the gods it did. I ran back, closed my closet door, then sprinted to the entrance of my room. I ripped the door open and faced Athena, trying to calm my erratic heartbeat.

Thankfully, she looked like she was in a good mood. I let her in, chirping cheerfully, "Hey, mom! What's up?"

She looked at me, then said confusedly, "Why are you panting? And what was that rolling sound I heard?"

I forgot about the god's supernatural hearing they have. I was also surprised, because being a god, she should've known that there was a hidden passage here. Especially since it was her palace, so she must've designed it. She should at least know that the painting in my closet had a copy that it was connected to.

Actually, she doesn't know a thing about the copy picture, or the painting I just gave you, or the hidden passage. I made the passage, and keep it hidden from her view, and the copy picture is one that I had made, and the painting I gave you is the last painting of your father. I grabbed it before she could demolish it, and kept it so I could give it to you when you were old enough. Again, that was Poseidon speaking to me in my head.

Thanks for the information overload, I said in a snarky tone. He snorted, giving me a sarcastic, You're welcome, back.

I was so confused about Poseidon. I feel like he should hate me, for he did kill my father, and I should hate him. So why was he doing all this?

I shook away my thoughts and focused my eyes at Athena, who was waiting for an answer.

Being a daughter of the goddess of strategizing in these situations help a lot, because that meant I could think quickly. "Oh, I was just moving around my furniture. Do you like it so far?"

It was true, earlier today, I had moved my desk over, and had put an armchair in between my bed and the desk with the mirror. Athena hadn't known yet, so it was the perfect lie.

Athena looked around, then back at me, "Yes, I do. Come with me, I need to speak with you."

She walked out to my deck, leaving me to follow her.

It was cool outside, a light breeze dancing through the air and playing with our matching sets of blonde hair.

My mother leaned on the railing, then looked back at me. Her stark grey eyes gazed at me for a while. I tried not to fidget under her scrutinization.

"Annabeth, you are growing into quite a lovely young lady."

I smiled stiffly at her. "Thank you, mom. So what did you want to talk about?"

Was it just my imagination, or did I see her glance at my chain, saw her eyes shining more than normal?

"Never mind. It can wait for another time." She turned away from me, and I saw her elbow go up, like she was wiping her eyes. "Now, would you like to go and have dinner with me?"

I agreed, but was furiously thinking. What was she going to tell me? Did it have something to do with my father? She did look at my chain . . . my father's chain.

What was she going to say?

I was so young then. Even to this day, I still have no clue what she was about to say. All I knew was that maybe, somewhere deep inside my mother, she had a soft side to her, one that she kept hidden.

And maybe that soft side could grow.