The Tyrant's Tomb (The Trials of Apollo, #4)(101)

Giant eagles and hunting falcons shared the rooftops. Wolves hobnobbed with Hannibal the elephant and the weaponized unicorns. Legionnaires and citizens of New Rome milled about in shock.

At the end of the street, huddled with a group of survivors, was Thalia Grace, her hand on the shoulder of the legion’s new standard-bearer, comforting the young woman as she cried. Thalia was dressed in her usual black denim, various punk-band buttons gleaming on the lapel of her leather jacket. A silver circlet, the symbol of Artemis’s lieutenant, glinted in her spiky dark hair. Her sunken eyes and slumped shoulders made me suspect that she already knew about Jason’s death—perhaps had known for a while and had gone through a first hard wave of grieving.

I winced with guilt. I should have been the one to deliver the news about Jason. The cowardly part of me felt relieved that I didn’t have to bear the initial brunt of Thalia’s anger. The rest of me felt horrible that I felt relieved.

I needed to go talk to her. Then something caught my eye in the crowd checking out Diana’s chariot. People were packed into its carriage tighter than New Year’s Eve revelers in a stretch limo’s sunroof. Among them was a lanky young woman with pink hair.

From my mouth escaped another completely inappropriate, delighted laugh. “Lavinia?”

She looked over and grinned. “This ride is so cool! I never want to get out.”

Diana smiled. “Well, Lavinia Asimov, if you want to stay on board, you’d have to become a Hunter.”

“Nope!” Lavinia hopped off as if the chariot’s floorboards had become lava. “No offense, my lady, but I like girls too much to take that vow. Like…like them. Not just like them. Like—”

“I understand.” Diana sighed. “Romantic love. It’s a plague.”

“Lavinia, h-how did you…” I stammered. “Where did you—?”

“This young woman,” said Diana, “was responsible for the destruction of the Triumvirate’s fleet.”

“Well, I had a lot of help,” Lavinia said.

“PEACHES!” said a muffled voice from somewhere in the chariot.

He was so short, I hadn’t noticed him before, hidden as he was behind the carriage’s sideboard and the crowd of big folk, but now Peaches squirmed and climbed his way to the top of the railing. He grinned his wicked grin. His diaper sagged. His leafy wings rustled. He beat his chest with his minuscule fists and looked very pleased with himself.

“Peaches!” Meg cried.

“PEACHES!” Peaches agreed, and he flew into Meg’s arms. Never had there been such a bittersweet reunion between a girl and her deciduous fruit spirit. There were tears and laughter, hugs and scratches, and cries of “Peaches!” in every tone from scolding to apologetic to jubilant.

“I don’t understand,” I said, turning to Lavinia. “You made all those mortars malfunction?”

Lavinia looked offended. “Well, yeah. Somebody had to stop the fleet. I did pay attention during siege-weapon class and ship-boarding class. It wasn’t that hard. All it took was a little fancy footwork.”

Hazel finally managed to pick her jaw off the pavement. “Wasn’t that hard?”

“We were motivated! The fauns and dryads did great.” She paused, her expression momentarily clouding, as if she remembered something unpleasant. “Um…besides, the Nereids helped a lot. There was only a skeleton crew aboard each yacht. Not, like, actual skeletons, but—you know what I mean. Also, look!”

She pointed proudly at her feet, which were now adorned with the shoes of Terpsichore from Caligula’s private collection.

“You mounted an amphibious assault on an enemy fleet,” I said, “for a pair of shoes.”

Lavinia huffed. “Not just for the shoes, obviously.” She tap-danced a routine that would’ve made Savion Glover proud. “Also to save the camp, and the nature spirits, and Michael Kahale’s commandos.”

Hazel held up her hands to stop the overflow of information. “Wait. Not to be a killjoy—I mean, you did an amazing thing!—but you still deserted your post, Lavinia. I certainly didn’t give you permission—”

“I was acting on praetor’s orders,” Lavinia said haughtily. “In fact, Reyna helped. She was knocked out for a while, healing, but she woke up in time to instill us with the power of Bellona, right before we boarded those ships. Made us all strong and stealthy and stuff.”

“Reyna?” I yelped. “Where is she?”

“Right here,” called the praetor.

I didn’t know how I’d missed seeing her. She’d been hiding in plain sight among the group of survivors talking with Thalia. I suppose I’d been too focused on Thalia, wondering whether or not she was going to kill me and whether or not I deserved it.

Reyna limped over on crutches, her broken leg now in a full cast covered with signatures like Felipe, Lotoya, and Sneezewart. Considering all she’d been through, Reyna looked great, though she still had a hunk of hair missing from the raven attack, and her maroon sweater wrap was going to need a few days at the magical dry cleaner.

Thalia smiled, watching her friend come toward us. Then Thalia met my eyes, and her smile wavered. Her expression turned bleak. She gave me a curt nod—not hostile, just sad, acknowledging that we had things to talk about later.