The Tyrant's Tomb (The Trials of Apollo, #4)(66)

“They’re here because of Koronis,” I said miserably. “This is my fault.”

“Who’s Koronis?” Reyna demanded.

“Long story.” I yelled at the birds, “Guys, I’ve apologized a million times!”

The ravens croaked back angrily. A dozen more dropped out of the fog and began to circle us.

“They’ll tear us apart,” I said. “We have to retreat—back to the first platform.”

“The second platform is closer,” Reyna said. “Keep climbing!”

“Maybe they’re just checking us out,” Meg said. “Maybe they won’t attack.”

She shouldn’t have said that.

Ravens are contrary creatures. I should know—I shaped them into what they are. As soon as Meg expressed the hope that they wouldn’t attack, they did.





I’d like to sing a

Classic for you now. Thank you.

Please stop stabbing me.

IN RETROSPECT, I SHOULD have given ravens sponges for beaks—nice, soft, squishy sponges that weren’t capable of stabbing. While I was at it, I should’ve thrown in some Nerf claws.

But nooo. I let them have beaks like serrated knives and claws like meat hooks. What had I been thinking?

Meg yelled as one of the birds dove by her, raking her arm.

Another flew at Reyna’s legs. The praetor leveled a kick at it, but her heel missed the bird and connected with my nose.

“OWEEEEE!” I yelled, my whole face throbbing.

“My bad!” Reyna tried to climb, but the birds swirled around us, stabbing and clawing and tearing away bits of our clothes. The frenzy reminded me of my farewell concert in Thessalonika back in 235 BCE. (I liked to do a farewell tour every ten years or so, just to keep the fans guessing.) Dionysus had shown up with his entire horde of souvenir-hunting maenads. Not a good memory.

“Lester, who is Koronis?” Reyna shouted, drawing her sword. “Why were you apologizing to the birds?”

“I created them!” My busted nose made me sound like I was gargling syrup.

The ravens cawed in outrage. One swooped, its claws narrowly missing my left eye. Reyna swung her sword wildly, trying to keep the flock at bay.

“Well, can you un-create them?” Meg asked.

The ravens didn’t like that idea. One dove at Meg. She tossed it a seed—which, being a raven, it instinctively snapped out of the air. A pumpkin exploded to full growth in its beak. The raven, suddenly top-heavy with a mouth full of Halloween, plummeted toward the ground.

“Okay, I didn’t exactly create them,” I confessed. “I just changed them into what they are now. And, no, I can’t undo it.”

More angry cries from the birds, though for the moment they stayed away, wary of the girl with the sword and the other one with the tasty exploding seeds.

Tarquin had chosen the perfect guards to keep me from his silent god. Ravens hated me. They probably worked for free, without even a health plan, just hoping to have the chance to bring me down.

I suspected the only reason we were still alive was that the birds were trying to decide who got the honor of the kill.

Each angry croak was a claim to my tasty bits: I get his liver!

No, I get his liver!

Well, I get his kidneys, then!

Ravens are as greedy as they are contrary. Alas, we couldn’t count on them arguing with one another for long. We’d be dead as soon as they figured out their proper pecking order. (Oh, maybe that’s why they call it a pecking order!)

Reyna took a swipe at one that was getting too close. She glanced at the catwalk on the crossbeam above us, perhaps calculating whether she’d have time to reach it if she sheathed her sword. Judging from her frustrated expression, her conclusion was no.

“Lester, I need intel,” she said. “Tell me how we defeat these things.”

“I don’t know!” I wailed. “Look, back in the old days, ravens used to be gentle and white, like doves, okay? But they were terrible gossips. One time I was dating this girl, Koronis. The ravens found out she was cheating on me, and they told me about it. I was so angry, I got Artemis to kill Koronis for me. Then I punished the ravens for being tattletales by turning them black.”

Reyna stared at me like she was contemplating another kick to my nose. “That story is messed up on so many levels.”

“Just wrong,” Meg agreed. “You had your sister kill a girl who was cheating on you?”

“Well, I—”

“Then you punished the birds that told you about it,” Reyna added, “by turning them black, as if black was bad and white was good?”

“When you put it that way, it doesn’t sound right,” I protested. “It’s just what happened when my curse scorched them. It also made them nasty-tempered flesh-eaters.”

“Oh, that’s much better,” Reyna snarled.

“If we let the birds eat you,” Meg asked, “will they leave Reyna and me alone?”

“I—What?” I worried that Meg might not be kidding. Her facial expression did not say kidding. It said serious about the birds eating you. “Listen, I was angry! Yes, I took it out on the birds, but after a few centuries I cooled down. I apologized. By then, they kind of liked being nasty-tempered flesh-eaters. As for Koronis—I mean, at least I saved the child she was pregnant with when Artemis killed her. He became Asclepius, god of medicine!”