The Burning Maze (The Trials of Apollo #3)(56)

‘I can’t let it unfold with Piper dying. She and her dad are scheduled to leave town at the end of the week. She’s actually … I don’t know if excited is the right word, but she’s relieved to get out of LA. Ever since I’ve known her, the thing she’s wanted most is more time with her dad. Now they have a chance to start over. She can help her dad find some peace. Maybe find some peace herself.’

His voice caught – perhaps with guilt, or regret, or fear.

‘You wanted to get her safely out of town,’ I deduced. ‘Then you planned to find the emperor yourself.’

Jason shrugged. ‘Well, with you and Meg. I knew you’d be coming to find me. Herophile said so. If you’d just waited another week –’

‘Then what?’ I demanded. ‘You would’ve let us lead you cheerily off to your death? How would that have affected Piper’s peace of mind, once she found out?’

Jason’s ears reddened. It struck me just how young he was – no more than seventeen. Older than my mortal form, yes, but not by much. This young man had lost his mother. He had survived the harsh training of Lupa the wolf goddess. He’d grown up with the discipline of the Twelfth Legion at Camp Jupiter. He’d fought Titans and giants. He’d helped save the world at least twice. But by mortal standards he was barely an adult. He wasn’t old enough to vote or drink.

Despite all his experiences, was it fair of me to expect him to think logically, and consider everyone else’s feelings with perfect clarity, while pondering his own death?

I tried to soften my tone. ‘You don’t want Piper to die. I understand that. She wouldn’t want you to die. But avoiding prophecies never works. And keeping secrets from friends, especially deadly secrets … that really never works. It’ll be our job to face Caligula together, steal that homicidal maniac’s shoes and get away without any five-letter words that start with D.’

The scar ticked at the corner of Jason’s mouth. ‘Drama?’

‘You’re horrible,’ I said, but some of the tension dissolved between my shoulder blades. ‘Are you ready?’

He glanced at the photo of his sister Thalia, then at the model of Temple Hill. ‘If anything happens to me –’

‘Stop.’

‘If it does, if I can’t keep my promise to Kymopoleia, would you take my mock-up design to Camp Jupiter? The sketchbooks for new temples at both camps – they’re right there on the shelf.’

‘You’ll take them yourself,’ I insisted. ‘Your new shrines will honour the gods. It’s too worthy a project not to succeed.’

He picked a shard of lightbulb glass off the roof of the Zeus hotel token. ‘Worthy doesn’t always matter. Like what happened to you. Have you talked to Dad since …?’

He had the decency not to elaborate: Since you landed in the garbage as a flabby sixteen-year-old with no redeeming qualities.

I swallowed back the taste of copper. From the depths of my small mortal mind, my father’s words rumbled: YOUR FAULT. YOUR PUNISHMENT.

‘Zeus hasn’t spoken to me since I became mortal,’ I said. ‘Before that, my memory is fuzzy. I remember the battle last summer at the Parthenon. I remember Zeus zapping me. After that, until the moment I woke up plummeting through the sky in January – it’s a blank.’

‘I know that feeling, having six months of your life taken away.’ He gave me a pained look. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t do more.’

‘What could you have done?’

‘I mean at the Parthenon. I tried to talk sense into Zeus. I told him he was wrong to punish you. He wouldn’t listen.’

I stared at him blankly, whatever remained of my natural eloquence clogged in my throat. Jason Grace had done what?

Zeus had many children, which meant I had many half brothers and half sisters. Except for my twin, Artemis, I’d never felt close to any of them. Certainly, I’d never had a brother defend me in front of Father. My Olympian brethren were more likely to deflect Zeus’s fury by yelling, Apollo did it!

This young demigod had stood up for me. He’d had no reason to do so. He barely knew me. Yet he’d risked his own life and faced the wrath of Zeus.

My first thought was to scream, ARE YOU INSANE?

Then more appropriate words came to me. ‘Thank you.’

Jason took me by the shoulders – not out of anger, or in a clinging way, but as a brother. ‘Promise me one thing. Whatever happens, when you get back to Olympus, when you’re a god again, remember. Remember what it’s like to be human.’

A few weeks ago, I would have scoffed. Why would I want to remember any of this?

At best, if I were lucky enough to reclaim my divine throne, I would recall this wretched experience like a scary B-movie that had finally ended. I would walk out of the cinema into the sunlight, thinking, Phew! Glad that’s over.

Now, however, I had some inkling of what Jason meant. I had learned a lot about human frailty and human strength. I felt … different towards mortals, having been one of them. If nothing else, it would provide me with some excellent inspiration for new song lyrics!

I was reluctant to promise anything, though. I was already living under the curse of one broken oath. At Camp Half-Blood, I had rashly sworn on the River Styx not to use my archery or music skills until I was a god again. Then I had quickly reneged. Ever since, my skills had deteriorated.