The Tyrant's Tomb (The Trials of Apollo, #4)(62)

She didn’t sound angry. It was more like weighed down and weary. I remembered Frank Zhang’s concern about how long Reyna had shouldered the burdens of leadership, how he wished he could do more to relieve her. Apparently, a lot of legionnaires wanted to help Reyna. Not all of that help had been welcome or useful.

“The thing is,” she continued, “I’m not broken.”

“Of course not.”

“So why have you been acting nervous? What does Venus have to do with it? Please don’t tell me it’s pity.”

“N-no. Nothing like that.”

Up ahead, I heard Meg romping through the brush. Occasionally she would say, “Hey, how’s it going?” in a conversational tone, as if passing an acquaintance on the street. I supposed she was talking to the local dryads. Either that or the theoretical guards we were looking out for were very bad at their jobs.

“You see…” I fumbled for words. “Back when I was a god, Venus gave me a warning. About you.”

Aurum and Argentum burst through the bushes to check on Mom, their toothy smiles gleaming like freshly polished bear traps. Oh, good. I had an audience.

Reyna patted Aurum absently on the head. “Go on, Lester.”

“Um…” The marching band in my bloodstream was now doing double-time maneuvers. “Well, I walked into the throne room one day, and Venus was studying this hologram of you, and I asked—just completely casually, mind you—‘Who’s that?’ And she told me your…your fate, I guess. The thing about healing your heart. Then she just…tore into me. She forbade me to approach you. She said if I ever tried to woo you, she would curse me forever. It was totally unnecessary. And also embarrassing.”

Reyna’s expression remained as smooth and hard as marble. “Woo? Is that even a thing anymore? Do people still woo?”

“I—I don’t know. But I stayed away from you. You’ll notice I stayed away. Not that I would’ve done otherwise without the warning. I didn’t even know who you were.”

She stepped over a fallen log and offered me a hand, which I declined. I didn’t like the way her greyhounds were grinning at me.

“So, in other words,” she said, “what? You’re worried Venus will strike you dead because you’re invading my personal space? I really wouldn’t worry about that, Lester. You’re not a god anymore. You’re obviously not trying to woo me. We’re comrades on a quest.”

She had to hit me where it hurt—right in the truth.

“Yes,” I said. “But I was thinking….”

Why was this so hard? I had spoken of love to women before. And men. And gods. And nymphs. And the occasional attractive statue before I realized it was a statue. Why, then, were the veins in my neck threatening to explode?

“I thought if—if it would help,” I continued, “perhaps it was destiny that…Well, you see, I’m not a god anymore, as you said. And Venus was quite specific that I shouldn’t stick my godly face anywhere near you. But Venus…I mean, her plans are always twisting and turning. She may have been practicing reverse psychology, so to speak. If we were meant to…Um, I could help you.”

Reyna stopped. Her dogs tilted their metal heads toward her, perhaps trying to gauge their master’s mood. Then they regarded me, their jeweled eyes cold and accusatory.

“Lester.” Reyna sighed. “What in Tartarus are you saying? I’m not in the mood for riddles.”

“That maybe I’m the answer,” I blurted. “To healing your heart. I could…you know, be your boyfriend. As Lester. If you wanted. You and me. You know, like…yeah.”

I was absolutely certain that up on Mount Olympus, the other Olympians all had their phones out and were filming me to post on Euterpe-Tube.

Reyna stared at me long enough for the marching band in my circulatory system to play a complete stanza of “You’re a Grand Old Flag.” Her eyes were dark and dangerous. Her expression was unreadable, like the outer surface of an explosive device.

She was going to murder me.

No. She would order her dogs to murder me. By the time Meg rushed to my aid, it would be too late. Or worse—Meg would help Reyna bury my remains, and no one would be the wiser.

When they returned to camp, the Romans would ask What happened to Apollo?

Who? Reyna would say. Oh, that guy? Dunno, we lost him.

Oh, well! the Romans would reply, and that would be that.

Reyna’s mouth tightened into a grimace. She bent over, gripping her knees. Her body began to shake. Oh, gods, what had I done?

Perhaps I should comfort her, hold her in my arms. Perhaps I should run for my life. Why was I so bad at romance?

Reyna made a squeaking sound, then a sort of sustained whimper. I really had hurt her!

Then she straightened, tears streaming down her face, and burst into laughter. The sound reminded me of water rushing over a creek bed that had been dry for ages. Once she started, she couldn’t seem to stop. She doubled over, stood upright again, leaned against a tree, and looked at her dogs as if to share the joke.

“Oh…my…gods,” she wheezed. She managed to restrain her mirth long enough to blink at me through the tears, as if to make sure I was really there and she’d heard me correctly. “You. Me? HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA.”