The Blood of Olympus (The Heroes of Olympus, #5)(95)

‘You have failed!’ He clawed her knife from his chest and tossed it into the waves. ‘I still live!’

He drew his bow and fired, but it seemed to happen in slow motion. Reyna swept her cloak in front of her. The arrow shattered against the cloth. She charged to the railing and leaped at the giant.

The jump should have been impossibly far, but Reyna felt a surge of power in her limbs, as if her mother, Bellona, was lending her strength – a return for all the strength Reyna had lent others over the years.

Reyna grabbed the giant’s bow and swung around on it like a gymnast, landing on the giant’s back. She locked her legs around his waist, then twisted her cloak into a rope and pulled it across Orion’s neck with all her might.

He instinctively dropped his bow. He clutched at the glimmering fabric, but his fingers steamed and blistered when he touched it. Sour, acrid smoke rose from his neck.

Reyna pulled tighter.

‘This is for Phoebe,’ she snarled in his ear. ‘For Kinzie. For all those you killed. You will die at the hands of a girl.’

Orion thrashed and fought, but Reyna’s will was unshakable. The power of Athena infused her cloak. Bellona blessed her with strength and resolve. Not one but two powerful goddesses aided her, yet the kill was for Reyna to complete.

Complete it she did.

The giant crumpled to his knees and sank in the water. Reyna didn’t let go until he ceased to thrash and his body dissolved into sea foam. His mechanical eye disappeared beneath the waves. His bow began to sink.

Reyna let it. She had no interest in spoils of war – no desire to let any part of the giant survive. Like her father’s mania – and all the other angry ghosts of her past – Orion could teach her nothing. He deserved to be forgotten.

Besides, dawn was breaking.

Reyna swam for the yacht.





XL


Reyna


NO TIME FOR ENJOYING HER VICTORY OVER ORION.

Blackjack’s muzzle was foaming. His legs spasmed. Blood trickled from the arrow wound in his flank.

Reyna ripped through the supply bag that Phoebe had given her. She swabbed the wound with healing potion. She poured unicorn draught over the blade of her silver pocketknife.

‘Please, please,’ she murmured to herself.

In truth, she had no idea what she was doing, but she cleaned the wound as best she could and gripped the shaft of the arrow. If it had a barbed tip, pulling it out might cause more damage. But, if it was poisoned, she couldn’t leave it in. Nor could she push it through, since it was embedded in the middle of his body. She would have to choose the lesser evil.

‘This will hurt, my friend,’ she told Blackjack.

He huffed, as if to say, Tell me something I don’t know.

With her knife, she cut a slit on either side of the wound. She pulled out the arrow. Blackjack shrieked, but the arrow came out cleanly. The point wasn’t barbed. It could have been poisoned, but there was no way to be sure. One problem at a time.

Reyna poured more healing potion over the wound and bandaged it. She applied pressure, counting under her breath. The oozing seemed to lessen.

She trickled unicorn draught into Blackjack’s mouth.

She lost track of time. The horse’s pulse became stronger and steadier. His eyes cleared of pain. His breathing eased.

By the time Reyna stood up, she was shaking with fear and exhaustion, but Blackjack was still alive.

‘You’re going to be fine,’ she promised. ‘I’ll get you help from Camp Half-Blood.’

Blackjack made a grumbling sound. Reyna could’ve sworn he tried to say doughnuts. She must have been going delirious.

Belatedly, she realized how much the sky had lightened. The Athena Parthenos gleamed in the sun. Guido and the other winged horses pawed the deck impatiently.

‘The battle …’ Reyna turned towards the shore but saw no signs of combat. A Greek trireme bobbed lazily in the morning tide. The hills looked green and peaceful.

For a moment, she wondered if the Romans had decided not to attack.

Perhaps Octavian had come to his senses. Perhaps Nico and the others had managed to win over the legion.

Then an orange glow illuminated the hilltops. Multiple streaks of fire climbed skyward like burning fingers.

The onagers had shot their first volley.





XLI


Piper


PIPER WASN’T SURPRISED when the snake people arrived.

All week, she’d been thinking about her encounter with Sciron the bandit, when she’d stood on the deck of the Argo II after escaping a gigantic Destructo-Turtle and made the mistake of saying, ‘We’re safe.’

Instantly an arrow had hit the mainmast, an inch in front of her nose.

Piper learned a valuable lesson from that: never assume you’re safe, and never, ever tempt the Fates by announcing that you think you’re safe.

So when the ship docked at the harbour in Piraeus, on the outskirts of Athens, Piper resisted the urge to breathe a sigh of relief. Sure, they had finally reached their destination. Somewhere nearby – past those rows of cruise ships, past those hills crowded with buildings – they would find the Acropolis. Today, one way or another, their journey would end.

But that didn’t mean she could relax. Any moment, a nasty surprise might come flying out of nowhere.

As it turned out, the surprise was three dudes with snake tails instead of legs.