The Tower of Nero (The Trials of Apollo #5)(93)

It should have been a commercial. The camera zooms in on Athena, who smiles at the screen as the promotional slogan appears below her: Wisdom. It comes in handy.

“So…” I spread my hands, signaling that I was ready to hear whatever: compliments, insults, constructive criticism. I had no idea what was on the agenda for this meeting, and I found I didn’t much care.

On the other side of the room, Dionysus drummed his fingers on his leopard-skin-patterned armrests. Being the only god on the “goddess side” of the assembly (long story), he and I often had staring contests or traded eye-rolls when our father got too long-winded. Dionysus was still in his slovenly Mr. D guise, which annoyed Aphrodite, who sat next to him. I could tell from her body language that she wanted to squirm out of her Oscar de la Renta midi.

Given Dionysus’s exile at Camp Half-Blood, he was rarely allowed to visit Olympus. When he did, he was usually careful not to speak unless spoken to. Today he surprised me.

“Well, I think you did a marvelous job,” he offered. “I think, in your honor, any god who is currently being punished with a stint on Earth ought to be pardoned immediately—”

“No,” Zeus snapped.

Dionysus slumped back with a dejected sigh.

I couldn’t blame him for trying. His punishment, like mine, seemed completely senseless and disproportionate. But Zeus worked in mysterious ways. We couldn’t always know his plan. That was probably because he didn’t have a plan.

Demeter had been weaving wheat stalks into new drought-resistant varieties, as she often did while listening to our deliberations, but now she set aside her basket. “I agree with Dionysus. Apollo should be commended.”

Her smile was warm. Her golden hair rippled in an unseen breeze. I tried to spot any resemblance to her daughter Meg, but they were as different as a kernel and a husk. I decided I preferred the husk.

“He made a wonderful slave to my daughter,” Demeter continued. “True, it took him a while to adjust, but I can forgive that. If any of you need a slave in the future for your demigod children, I recommend Apollo without hesitation.”

I hoped this was a joke. But Demeter, like the growing season, was not known for her sense of humor.

“Thanks?” I said.

She blew me a kiss.

Gods, Meg, I thought. I am so, so sorry your mom is your mom.

Queen Hera lifted her veil. As I’d seen in my dream, her eyes were red and swollen from crying, but when she spoke, her tone was as hard as bronze.

She glared at her husband. “At least Apollo did something.”

“Not this again,” Zeus rumbled.

“My chosen,” Hera said. “Jason Grace. Your son. And you—”

“I didn’t kill him, woman!” Zeus thundered. “That was Caligula!”

“Yes,” Hera snapped. “And at least Apollo grieved. At least he got vengeance.”

Wait.…What was happening? Was my wicked stepmother defending me?

Much to my shock, when Hera meet my eyes, her gaze wasn’t hostile. She seemed to be looking for solidarity, sympathy, even. You see what I have to deal with? Your father is horrible!

In that moment, I felt a twinge of compassion for my stepmother for the first time in, oh, ever. Don’t get me wrong. I still disliked her. But it occurred to me that being Hera might not be so easy, given who she was married to. In her place, I might have become a bit of an impossible meddler, too.

“Whatever the case,” Zeus grumbled, “it does appear that after two weeks, Apollo’s fix is permanent. Python is truly gone. The Oracles are free. The Fates are once again able to spin their thread without encumbrance.”

Those words settled over me like Vesuvian ashes.

The Fates’ thread. How had I not considered this before? The three eternal sisters used their loom to spin the life spans of both gods and mortals. They snipped the cord of destiny whenever it was time for someone to die. They were higher and greater than any Oracle. Greater even than the Olympians.

Apparently, Python’s poison had done more than simply strangle prophecies. If he could interfere with the Fates’ weaving as well, the reptile could have ended or prolonged lives as he saw fit. The implications were horrifying.

Something else struck me about Zeus’s statement. He had said it appeared my fix was permanent. That implied Zeus wasn’t sure. I suspected that when I fell to the edge of Chaos, Zeus had not been able to watch. There were limits to even his far sight. He did not know exactly what had happened, how I had defeated Python, how I’d come back from the brink. I caught a look from Athena, who nodded almost imperceptibly.

“Yes, Father,” I said. “Python is gone. The Oracles are free. I hope that meets with your approval.”

Having spent time in Death Valley, I was confident that my tone was much, much drier.

Zeus stroked his beard as if pondering the future’s endless possibilities. Poseidon stifled a yawn as if pondering how soon this meeting would end so he could get back to fly-fishing.

“I am satisfied,” Zeus pronounced.

The gods let out a collective sigh. As much as we pretended to be a council of twelve, in truth we were a tyranny. Zeus was less a benevolent father and more an iron-fisted leader with the biggest weapons and the ability to strip us of our immortality if we offended him.

Somehow, though, I didn’t feel relieved to be off Zeus’s hook. In fact, I had to stop myself from rolling my eyes.