The Tower of Nero (The Trials of Apollo #5)(54)

I wasn’t sure where Nero was going with all this. We’d been talking about my surrender. Now he was telling me about his mother and his Christian-burning parties. I just wanted to get thrown in a cell with Meg, preferably un-tortured, so Lu could come by later and release us and help us destroy the whole tower. Was that too much to ask? But when an emperor starts talking about himself, you just have to roll with it. You could be there for a while.

“You’re claiming those Christian-burning stories weren’t true?” I asked.

He laughed. “Of course they were true. The Christians were terrorists, out to undermine traditional Roman values. Oh, they claimed to be a religion of peace, but they fooled no one. The point is, real Romans loved me for taking a hard line. After I died…Did you know this? After I died, the commoners rioted. They refused to believe I was dead. There was a wave of rebellions, and every rebel leader claimed to be me reborn.” He got a dreamy look in his eyes. “I was beloved. My so-called bad acts made me wildly popular, while my good acts, like pardoning my enemies, bringing the empire peace and stability…those things just made me look soft and got me killed. This time, I will do things differently. I will bring back traditional Roman values. I will stop worrying about good and evil. The people who survive the transition…they will love me like a father.”

He gestured to his line of adopted children, all of whom knew enough to keep their expressions carefully neutral.

That old metaphorical skink was trying to claw its way back up my throat. The fact that Nero—a man who had killed his own mother—was talking about defending traditional Roman values…that was just about the most Roman thing I could imagine. And the idea that he wanted to play Daddy to the entire world made my guts churn. I pictured my friends from Camp Half-Blood forced to stand in rows behind the emperor’s servants. I thought of Meg falling back into line with the rest of the Imperial Household.

She would be the twelfth, I realized. Twelve foster children to Nero, like the twelve Olympians. That couldn’t be a coincidence. Nero was raising them as young gods-in-training to take over his nightmarish new world. That made Nero the new Kronos, the all-powerful father who could either shower his children with blessings or devour them as he wished. I had badly underestimated Nero’s megalomania.

“Where was I?” Nero mused, coming back from his pleasant thoughts of massacre.

“The villain monologue,” I said.

“Ah, now I remember! Good and bad acts. You, Apollo, are here to surrender, sacrificing yourself to save the city. Seems like a good act! That’s exactly why I suspect it’s bad. Luguselwa!”

The Gaul didn’t strike me as someone who flinched easily, but when Nero yelled her name, her leg braces squeaked. “My lord?”

“What was the plan?” Nero asked.

Frost formed in my lungs.

Lu did her best to look confused. “My lord?”

“The plan,” he snapped. “You let these two go on purpose. They turn themselves in just before my ultimatum deadline. What were you hoping to gain when you betrayed me?”

“My lord, no. I—”

“Seize them!”

The throne-room choreography suddenly became clear. Everyone played their parts beautifully. The servants backed away. The demigods of the Imperial Household stepped forward and drew swords. I didn’t notice the Germani sneaking up behind us until two burly giants gripped my arms. Two more took hold of Meg. Gunther and a friend grabbed hold of Luguselwa with such gusto her crutches clattered to the floor. Fully healed, Luguselwa doubtless would have given them a good fight, but in her current condition there was no contest. They pushed her down, prostrate, in front of the emperor, ignoring her screams and the creaking of her leg braces.

“Stop it!” Meg thrashed, but her captors outweighed her by several hundred pounds. I kicked my Germani in the shins to no avail. I might as well have been kicking a forest bull.

Nero’s eyes gleamed with amusement. “You see, children,” he told his adopted eleven, “if you ever decide to depose me, you’ll have to do much better than this. Honestly, I’m disappointed.”

He twirled some whiskers in his chin beard, probably because he didn’t have a proper villain’s moustache. “Let’s see if I have this right, Apollo. You surrender yourself to get inside my tower, hoping this convinces me not to burn the city, while also making me lower my guard. Meanwhile, your little army of demigods musters at Camp Half-Blood.…” He smiled cruelly. “Yes, I have it on good authority they are preparing to march. So exciting! Then, when they attack, Luguselwa frees you from your cell, and together, in all the confusion, you somehow manage to kill me. Is that about it?”

My heart clawed at my chest like a troglodyte at a rock wall. If Camp Half-Blood was truly on the march, that meant Rachel might have gotten to the surface and contacted them. Which meant Will and Nico might also still be alive, and still with the troglodytes. Or Nero could be lying. Or he could know more than he was letting on. In any case, Luguselwa was exposed, which meant she couldn’t free us or help us destroy the emperor’s fasces. Whether or not Nico and the trogs managed their sabotage, our friends from camp would be charging to their own slaughter. Oh, and also, I would die.

Nero laughed with delight. “There it is!” He pointed to my face. “The expression someone makes when they realize their life is over. You can’t fake that. So beautifully honest! And you’re right, of course.”