The Tyrant's Tomb (The Trials of Apollo, #4)(103)

Hazel shuddered. “That’s horrible.”

“The point is, Frank’s family was honest with him. His grandmother told him the story of Juno’s visit. She let him carry his own lifeline. She didn’t try to protect him from the hard truth. That shaped who he is.”

Hazel nodded slowly. “He knew what his fate would be. What his fate was supposed to be, anyway. I still don’t understand how—”

“It’s just a guess,” I admitted. “Frank went into that tunnel knowing he might die. He willingly sacrificed himself for a noble cause. In doing so, he broke free of his fate. By burning his own tinder, he kind of…I don’t know, started a new fire with it. He’s in charge of his own destiny now. Well, as much as any of us are. The only other explanation I can think of is that Juno somehow released him from the Fates’ decree.”

Hazel frowned. “Juno, doing someone a favor?”

“Doesn’t sound like her, I agree. She does have a soft spot for Frank, though.”

“She had a soft spot for Jason, too.” Hazel’s voice turned brittle. “Not that I’m complaining that Frank is alive, of course. It just seems…”

She didn’t need to finish. Frank’s survival was wonderful. A miracle. But somehow it made losing Jason feel all the more unfair and painful. As a former god, I knew all the usual responses to mortal complaints about the unfairness of dying. Death is part of life. You have to accept it. Life would be meaningless without death. The deceased will always be alive as long as we remember them. But as a mortal, as Jason’s friend, I didn’t find much comfort in those thoughts.

“Umph.” Frank’s eyes fluttered open.

“Oh!” Hazel wrapped her arms around his neck, smothering him in a hug. This wasn’t the best medical practice for someone just returning to consciousness, but I let it pass. Frank managed to pat Hazel feebly on the back.

“Breathe,” he croaked.

“Oh, sorry!” Hazel pulled away. She brushed a tear from her cheek. “You’re thirsty, I bet.” She rummaged for the canteen at his bedside and tipped it toward his mouth. He took a few painful sips of nectar.

“Ah.” He nodded his thanks. “So…are we…good?”

Hazel hiccupped a sob. “Yes. Yes, we’re good. The camp is saved. Tarquin is dead. And you…you killed Caligula.”

“Eh.” Frank smiled weakly. “That was my pleasure.” He turned to me. “Did I miss the cake?”

I stared at him. “What?”

“Your birthday. Yesterday.”

“Oh. I…I have to admit I completely forgot about that. And the cake.”

“So there might still be cake in our future. Good. Do you feel a year older, at least?”

“That’s a definite yes.”

“You scared me, Frank Zhang,” Hazel said. “You broke my heart when I thought…”

Frank’s expression turned sheepish (without him actually, you know, turning into a sheep). “I’m sorry, Hazel. It was just…” He curled his fingers, like he was trying to catch an elusive butterfly. “It was the only way. Ella told me some prophecy lines, just for me…. Only fire could stop the emperors, kindled by the most precious firewood, on the bridge to camp. I guessed that she meant the Caldecott Tunnel. She said New Rome needed a new Horatius.”

“Horatius Cocles,” I recalled. “Nice guy. He defended Rome by holding off an entire army single-handedly on the Sublician Bridge.”

Frank nodded. “I…I asked Ella not to tell anyone else. I just…I kind of had to process it, carry it around by myself for a while.” His hand went instinctively to his belt line, where the cloth pouch no longer was.

“You could’ve died,” Hazel said.

“Yeah. ‘Life is only precious because it ends, kid.’”

“Is that a quote?” I asked.

“My dad,” Frank said. “He was right. I just had to be willing to take the risk.”

We remained quiet for a moment, considering the enormity of Frank’s risk, or perhaps just marveling that Mars had actually said something wise.

“How did you survive the fire?” Hazel demanded.

“I don’t know. I remember Caligula burning up. I passed out, thought I was dead. Then I woke up on Arion’s back. And now I’m here.”

“I’m glad.” Hazel kissed his forehead tenderly. “But I’m still going to kill you later for scaring me like that.”

He smiled. “That’s fair. Could I have another…?”

Maybe he was going to say kiss, or sip of nectar, or moment alone with my best friend, Apollo. But before he could finish the thought, his eyes rolled up in his head and he started snoring.


Not all my bedside visits were so happy.

As the morning stretched on, I tried to visit as many of the wounded as I could.

Sometimes I could do nothing but watch as the bodies were prepared for an anti-zombie washing and final rites. Tarquin was gone, and his ghouls seemed to have dissolved with him, but no one wanted to take any chances.

Dakota, longtime centurion of the Fifth Legion, had died overnight from wounds he received fighting in the city. We decided by consensus that his funeral pyre would be Kool-Aid scented.