The Hidden Oracle (The Trials of Apollo #1)(64)

My vision cleared. I found myself by the window in Cabin Seven, holding a ceramic pot of purple and red hyacinths. Nearby, looking very concerned, Will and Nico stood as if ready to catch me.

“He’s talking to the flowers,” Nico noted. “Is that normal?”

“Apollo,” Will said, “you had a concussion. I healed you, but—”

“These hyacinths,” I demanded. “Have they always been here?”

Will frowned. “Honestly, I don’t know where they came from, but…” He took the flowerpot from my hands and set it back on the windowsill. “Let’s worry about you, okay?”

Usually that would’ve been excellent advice, but now I could only stare at the hyacinths and wonder if they were some sort of message. How cruel to see them—the flowers that I had created to honor my fallen love, with their plumes stained red like his blood or hued violet like his eyes. They bloomed so cheerfully in the window, reminding me of the joy I had lost.

Nico rested his hand on Will’s shoulder. “Apollo, we were worried. Will was especially.”

Seeing them together, supporting each other, made my heart feel even heavier. During my delirium, both of my great loves had visited me. Now, once again, I was devastatingly alone.

Still, I had a task to complete. A friend needed my help.

“Meg is in trouble,” I said. “How long was I unconscious?”

Will and Nico glanced at each other.

“It’s about noon now,” Will said. “You showed up on the green around six this morning. When Meg didn’t return with you, we wanted to search the woods for her, but Chiron wouldn’t let us.”

“Chiron was absolutely correct,” I said. “I won’t allow any others to put themselves at risk. But I must hurry. Meg has until tonight at the latest.”

“Then what happens?” Nico asked.

I couldn’t say it. I couldn’t even think about it without losing my nerve. I looked down. Aside from Paolo’s Brazilian-flag bandana and my ukulele-string necklace, I was wearing only my boxer shorts. My offensive flabbiness was on display for everyone to see, but I no longer cared about that. (Well, not much, anyway.) “I have to get dressed.”

I staggered back to my cot. I fumbled through my meager supplies and found Percy Jackson’s Led Zeppelin T-shirt. I tugged it on. It seemed more appropriate than ever.

Will hovered nearby. “Look, Apollo, I don’t think you’re back to a hundred percent.”

“I’ll be fine.” I pulled on my jeans. “I have to save Meg.”

“Let us help you,” Nico said. “Tell us where she is and I can shadow-travel—”

“No!” I snapped. “No, you have to stay here and protect the camp.”

Will’s expression reminded me very much of his mother, Naomi—that look of trepidation she got just before she went onstage. “Protect the camp from what?”

“I—I’m not sure. You must tell Chiron the emperors have returned. Or rather, they never went away. They’ve been plotting, building their resources for centuries.”

Nico’s eyes glinted warily. “When you say emperors—”

“I mean the Roman ones.”

Will stepped back. “You’re saying the emperors of ancient Rome are alive? How? The Doors of Death?”

“No.” I could barely speak through the taste of bile. “The emperors made themselves gods. They had their own temples and altars. They encouraged the people to worship them.”

“But that was just propaganda,” Nico said. “They weren’t really divine.”

I laughed mirthlessly. “Gods are sustained by worship, son of Hades. They continue to exist because of the collective memories of a culture. It’s true for the Olympians; it’s also true for the emperors. Somehow, the most powerful of them have survived. All these centuries, they have clung to half-life, hiding, waiting to reclaim their power.”

Will shook his head. “That’s impossible. How—?”

“I don’t know!” I tried to steady my breathing. “Tell Rachel the men behind Triumvirate Holdings are former emperors of Rome. They’ve been plotting against us all this time, and we gods have been blind. Blind.”

I pulled on my coat. The ambrosia Nico had given me yesterday was still in the left pocket. In the right pocket, Rhea’s wind chimes clanked, though I had no idea how they’d gotten there.

“The Beast is planning some sort of attack on the camp,” I said. “I don’t know what, and I don’t know when, but tell Chiron you must be prepared. I have to go.”

“Wait!” Will said as I reached the door. “Who is the Beast? Which emperor are we dealing with?”

“The worst of my descendants.” My fingers dug into the doorframe. “The Christians called him the Beast because he burned them alive. Our enemy is Emperor Nero.”


They must have been too stunned to follow me.

I ran toward the armory. Several campers gave me strange looks. Some called after me, offering help, but I ignored them. I could only think about Meg alone in the myrmekes’ lair, and the visions I’d had of Daphne, Rhea, and Hyacinthus—all of them urging me onward, telling me to do the impossible in this inadequate mortal form.