The Tyrant's Tomb (The Trials of Apollo, #4)(104)

Jacob, the legion’s former standard-bearer and my former archery student, had died at the Caldecott Tunnel when he took a direct hit from a myrmeke’s acidic spray. The magic golden eagle had survived, as magic items tend to do, but not Jacob. Terrel, the young woman who had snatched up the standard before it could hit the ground, had stayed at Jacob’s side until he passed.

So many more had perished. I recognized their faces, even if I didn’t know their names. I felt responsible for every single one. If I’d just done more, just acted more quickly, just been godlier…

My hardest visit was to Don the faun. He’d been brought in by a squad of Nereids who recovered him from the wreckage of the imperial yachts. Despite the danger, Don had stayed behind to make sure the sabotage was done right. Unlike what happened to Frank, the Greek fire explosions had ravaged poor Don. Most of the goat fur had burned away from his legs. His skin was charred. Despite the best healing music his fellow fauns could offer, and being covered with glistening healing goo, he must have been in terrible pain. Only his eyes were the same: bright and blue and jumping from spot to spot.

Lavinia knelt next to him, holding his left hand, which for some reason was the only part of him left unscathed. A group of dryads and fauns stood nearby, at a respectful distance, with Pranjal the healer, who had already done everything he could.

When Don saw me, he grimaced, his teeth speckled with bits of ash. “H-hey, Apollo. Got any…spare change?”

I blinked back tears. “Oh, Don. Oh, my sweet, stupid faun.”

I knelt at his bedside, opposite Lavinia. I scanned the horrors of Don’s condition, desperately hoping I could see something to fix, something the other medics had missed, but of course there was nothing. The fact Don had survived this long was a miracle.

“It’s not so bad,” Don rasped. “Doc gave me some stuff for the pain.”

“Jarritos cherry soda,” said Pranjal.

I nodded. That was powerful pain medicine indeed for satyrs and fauns, only to be used in the most serious of cases, lest the patients become addicted.

“I just…I wanted…” Don groaned, his eyes becoming brighter.

“Save your strength,” I pleaded.

“For what?” He croaked a grotesque version of a laugh. “I wanted to ask: Does it hurt? Reincarnation?”

My eyes were too blurry to see properly. “I—I’ve never reincarnated, Don. When I became human, that was different, I think. But I hear reincarnation is peaceful. Beautiful.”

The dryads and fauns nodded and murmured in agreement, though their expressions betrayed a mixture of fear, sorrow, and desperation, making them not the best sales team for the Great Unknown.

Lavinia cupped her hands around the faun’s fingers. “You’re a hero, Don. You’re a great friend.”

“Hey…cool.” He seemed to have trouble locating Lavinia’s face. “I’m scared, Lavinia.”

“I know, babe.”

“I hope…maybe I come back as a hemlock? That would be like…an action-hero plant, right?”

Lavinia nodded, her lips quivering. “Yeah. Yeah, absolutely.”

“Cool…. Hey, Apollo, you—you know the difference between a faun and a satyr…?”

He smiled a little wider, as if ready to deliver the punchline. His face froze that way. His chest stopped moving. Dryads and fauns began to cry. Lavinia kissed the faun’s hand, then pulled a piece of bubble gum from her bag and reverently slipped it into Don’s shirt pocket.

A moment later, his body collapsed with a noise like a relieved sigh, crumbling into fresh loam. In the spot where his heart had been, a tiny sapling emerged from the soil. I immediately recognized the shape of those miniature leaves. Not a hemlock. A laurel—the tree I had created from poor Daphne, and whose leaves I had decided to make into wreaths. The laurel, the tree of victory.

One of the dryads glanced at me. “Did you do that…?”

I shook my head. I swallowed the bitter taste from my mouth.

“The only difference between a satyr and a faun,” I said, “is what we see in them. And what they see in themselves. Plant this tree somewhere special.” I looked up at the dryads. “Tend it and make it grow healthy and tall. This was Don the faun, a hero.”





If you hate me, fine

Just don’t hit me in the gut

Or, well, anywhere

THE NEXT FEW DAYS were almost as hard as battle itself. War leaves a huge mess that cannot simply be addressed with a mop and a bucket.

We cleared the rubble and shored up the most precarious damaged buildings. We put out fires, both literal and figurative. Terminus had made it through the battle, though he was weak and shaken. His first announcement was that he was formally adopting little Julia. The girl seemed delighted, though I wasn’t sure how Roman law would work out adoption-by-statue. Tyson and Ella were safely accounted for. Once Ella learned that I hadn’t messed up the summoning after all, she announced that she and Tyson were going back to the bookstore to clean up the mess, finish the Sibylline Books, and feed the cat, not necessarily in that order. Oh, and she was also gratified Frank was alive. As for me…I got the feeling she was still making up her mind.

Peaches left us once more to go help the local dryads and fauns, but he promised us, “Peaches,” which I took to mean that we would see him again soon.