The Tower of Nero (The Trials of Apollo #5)(57)

“I’m so sorry,” I managed at last.

“No, no,” Jason said. “I made my choice. You’re not to blame. You don’t owe me anything except to remember what I said. Remember what’s important.”

“You’re important,” I said. “Your life!”

Jason tilted his head. “I mean…sure. But if a hero isn’t ready to lose everything for a greater cause, is that person really a hero?”

He weighted the word person subtly, as if to stress it could mean a human, a faun, a dryad, a griffin, a pandos…even a god.

“But…” I struggled to find a counterargument. I wanted so badly to reach across the table, grip Jason’s wrists, and pull him back into the world of the living. But even if I could, I realized I wouldn’t have been doing it for Jason. He was at peace with his choices. I would have been bringing him back for my own selfish reasons, because I didn’t want to deal with the sorrow and grief of having lost him.

“All right,” I relented. A fist of pain that had been clenching in my chest for weeks began to loosen. “All right, Jason. We miss you, though.”

His face rippled into colored smoke. “I miss you, too. All of you. Apollo, do me a favor. Beware Mithras’s servant—the lion, snake-entwined. You know what it is, and what it can do.”

“I—what? No, I don’t! Tell me, please!”

Jason managed one last faint smile. “I’m just a dream in your head, man. You’ve already got the info. I’m just saying…there’s a price for bargaining with the guardian of the stars. Sometimes you have to pay that price. Sometimes, you have to let someone else do it.”

This cleared up absolutely nothing, but the dream allowed me no more time for questions.

Jason dissolved. My golden fish tacos turned to dust. The Santa Barbara coastline melted, and I woke with a start on my comfy sofa.

“You alive?” asked a hoarse voice.

Lu lay on the opposite couch. How she’d gotten herself there from the floor, I couldn’t imagine. Her cheeks and eyes were sunken. Her bandaged stumps were speckled with brown polka dots where new blood had seeped through. But she looked a bit less pale, and her eyes were remarkably clear. I could only conclude that my godly healing powers—wherever they had come from—must have done some good.

I was so surprised, I needed a moment to find my voice. “I—I should be asking you that question. How is the pain?”

She lifted her stumps gingerly. “What, these? I’ve had worse.”

“My gods,” I marveled. “A sense of humor? You really are indestructible.”

Her facial muscles tensed—maybe an attempt to smile, or just a reaction to her constant searing agony. “Meg. What happened to her? How do we find her?”

I couldn’t help but admire her singlemindedness. Despite her pain and her unfair punishment, Lu was still focused on helping our young friend.

“I’m not sure,” I said. “We’ll find her, but first you have to get your strength back. When we break out of here, you’ll have to be able to move under your own power. I don’t think I can carry you.”

“No?” Lu asked. “I was looking forward to a piggyback ride.”

Wow, I guess Gauls get punchy when they suffer life-threatening injuries.

Of course, the whole idea of us busting out of our cell was absurd. Even if we managed it, we were in no shape to rescue Meg or fight the emperor’s forces. But I couldn’t lose hope, especially when my no-handed companion was still able to crack jokes.

Also, my dream of Jason had reminded me that the emperor’s fasces was hidden somewhere on this floor of the tower, guarded by the snake-entwined lion. The guardian of the stars, Mithras’s servant, whatever that meant—it had to be close. And if it required a price for letting us stomp-kick Nero’s rod of immortality into splinters, I was willing to pay it.

“I’ve got some ambrosia left.” I turned and groped for my med pack. “You need to eat—”

The door at the end of the corridor slammed open. Gunther appeared outside our cell, holding a silver tray laden with sandwiches and assorted canned sodas.

He grinned, showing off all three of his teeth. “Lunch.”

The cell’s middle bars dropped with the speed of a guillotine. Gunther slid the tray through, and the bars snapped shut again before I could even think of making a move for our captor.

I needed food badly, but just looking at the sandwiches made my stomach roil. Someone had trimmed the crusts off the bread. They were cut into squares rather than triangles. This is how you can tell when your lunch has been prepared by barbarians.

“Get your strength back!” Gunther said cheerfully. “Don’t die before the party!”

“Party?” I asked, feeling the tiniest spark of hope.

Not because parties were fun, or because I liked cake (both were true), but because if Nero had postponed his big celebration, then perhaps he hadn’t yet pressed his doomsday button.

“Oh, yes!” Gunther said. “Tonight! Torture for you both. And then we burn down the city!”

With that happy thought, Gunther strolled back down the hall, chuckling to himself, leaving us with our tray of barbarian sandwiches.





GODS AREN’T GREAT WITH DEADLINES.