The Tyrant's Tomb (The Trials of Apollo, #4)(102)

Hazel exhaled. “Thank the gods.” She gave Reyna a delicate hug, careful not to unbalance her. “Is it true about Lavinia acting on your orders?”

Reyna glanced at our pink-haired friend. The praetor’s pained expression said something like, I respect you a lot, but I also hate you for being right.

“Yes,” Reyna managed to say. “Plan L was my idea. Lavinia and her friends acted on my orders. They performed heroically.”

Lavinia beamed. “See? I told you.”

The assembled crowd murmured in amazement, as if, after a day full of wonders, they had finally witnessed something that could not be explained.

“There were many heroes today,” Diana said. “And many losses. I’m only sorry that Thalia and I couldn’t get here sooner. We were only able to rendezvous with Lavinia and Reyna’s forces after their raid, then destroy the second wave of undead, who were waiting in the sewers.” She waved dismissively, as if annihilating Tarquin’s main force of ghouls and zombies had been an afterthought.

Gods, I missed being a god.

“You also saved me,” I said. “You’re here. You’re actually here.”

She took my hand and squeezed it. Her flesh felt warm and human. I couldn’t remember the last time my sister had shown me such open affection.

“Let’s not celebrate quite yet,” she warned. “You have many wounded to attend to. The camp’s medics have set up tents outside the city. They will need every healer, including you, brother.”

Lavinia grimaced. “And we’ll have to have more funerals. Gods. I wish—”

“Look!” Hazel shrieked, her voice an octave higher than usual.

Arion came trotting up the hill, a hulking human form draped over his back.

“Oh, no.” My heart wilted. I had flashbacks of Tempest, the ventus horse, depositing Jason’s body on the beach in Santa Monica. No, I couldn’t watch. Yet I couldn’t look away.

The body on Arion’s back was unmoving and steaming. Arion stopped and the form slipped off one side. But it did not fall.

Frank Zhang landed on his feet. He turned toward us. His hair was singed to a fine black stubble. His eyebrows were gone. His clothes had completely burned away except for his briefs and his praetor’s cape, giving him a disturbing resemblance to Captain Underpants.

He looked around, his eyes glazed and unfocused.

“Hey, everybody,” he croaked. Then he fell on his face.





Stop making me cry

Or buy me some new tear ducts

My old ones broke down

PRIORITIES CHANGE WHEN YOU’RE rushing a friend to emergency medical care.

It no longer seemed important that we had won a major battle, or that I could finally take BECOME A ZOMBIE off my alert calendar. Lavinia’s heroism and her new dancing shoes were momentarily forgotten. My guilt about Thalia’s presence was also pushed aside. She and I didn’t exchange so much as a word as she rushed in to help along with all the rest of us.

I even failed to register that my sister, who’d been at my side only a moment before, had quietly vanished. I found myself barking orders at legionnaires, directing them to grate some unicorn horn, get me some nectar, stat, and rush, rush, rush Frank Zhang to the medical tent.

Hazel and I stayed at Frank’s bedside until well past dawn, long after the other medics assured us he was out of danger. None of them could explain how he had survived, but his pulse was strong, his skin was remarkably unburned, and his lungs were clear. The arrow punctures in his shoulder and the dagger wound in his gut had given us some trouble, but they were now stitched up, bandaged, and healing well. Frank slept fitfully, muttering and flexing his hands as if he were still reaching for an imperial throat to strangle.

“Where’s his firewood?” Hazel fretted. “Should we look for it? If it’s lost in the—”

“I don’t think so,” I said. “I—I saw it burn up. That’s what killed Caligula. Frank’s sacrifice.”

“Then how…?” Hazel put her fist to her mouth to block a sob. She hardly dared to ask the question. “Will he be okay?”

I had no answer for her. Years ago, Juno had decreed that Frank’s life span was tied to that stick. I wasn’t there to hear her exact words—I try not to be around Juno any more than I have to. But she’d said something about Frank being powerful and bringing honor to his family, et cetera, though his life would be short and bright. The Fates had decreed that when that piece of tinder burned up, he was destined to die. Yet now the firewood was gone, and Frank still lived. After so many years keeping that piece of wood safe, he had intentionally burned it to…

“Maybe that’s it,” I muttered.

“What?” Hazel asked.

“He took control of his destiny,” I said. “The only other person I’ve ever known to have this, er, firewood problem, back in the old days, was this prince named Meleager. His mom got the same kind of prophecy when he was a baby. But she never even told Meleager about the firewood. She just hid it and let him live his life. He grew up to be kind of a privileged, arrogant brat.”

Hazel held Frank’s hand with both of hers. “Frank could never be like that.”

“I know,” I said. “Anyway, Meleager ended up killing a bunch of his relatives. His mom was horrified. She went and found the piece of firewood and threw it in the fire. Boom. End of story.”