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flightfoot · 5 years

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Useful Tyrant’s Tombs quotes

So I know I’m gonna be writing analyses on this book in the future, so I decided to go ahead and pull potentially useful quotations now so I don’t have to hunt for them and type them up later. I figure others might get some good use out of them too though, so I wanted to share them! (I’ll admit though, some of the quotations aren’t ones I think I might use, a few I just put because I really like them)

This song really wasn’t about me at all. (I know. I could hardly believe it, either.) It was “The Fall of Jason Grace”. In the last verses, I sang of Jason’s dream for Temple Hill, his plan to add shrines until ever god and goddess, no matter how obscure, was properly honored. (46)

I realized they weren’t just grieving for Jason. The song had unleashed their collective sorrow about the recent battle, their losses, which - given the sparseness of the crowd - must have been extreme. Jason’s song became their song. By honoring him, we honored all the fallen. (47)

I shuddered. “A caffeinated Meg. Just what I need. How long have I been out?”

“Day and a half.”

“What?!”

“You needed sleep. Also, you’re less annoying unconscious.” (55)

Her expression closed up like a hurricane shutter. “Nightmares. I woke up screaming a couple of times. You slept through it, but...” She picked a clod of dirt off her trowel. “This place reminds me of... you know”

I regretted I hadn’t thought about that sooner. After Meg’s experience growing up in Nero’s Imperial Household, surrounded by Latin-speaking servants and guards in Roman armor, purple banners, all the regalia of the old empire - of course Camp Jupiter must have triggered unwelcome memories. (56)

“Meg and I have been talking, the last day or so, while you were passed out - I mean, recovering - sleeping, you know. It’s fine. You needed sleep. Hope you feel better.”

Despite how terrible I felt, I couldn’t help but smile. “You’ve been very kind to us, Praetor Zhang. Thank you.” (58)

Frank must have read my pained expression.

“It would’ve been much worse if it hadn’t been for you,” he said, which only made me feel guiltier. “If you hadn’t sent Leo here to warn us. One day, out of nowhere, he just flew right in.”

“That must have been quite a shock,” I said. “Since you thought Leo was dead.”

Frank’s dark eyes glittered like they still belonged to a raven. “Yeah. We were so mad at him for making us worry, we lined up and took turns hitting him.”

“We did that at Camp Half-Blood too,” I said. “Greek minds think alike.” (63)

Frank took my arm gently. “One foot in front of the other. That’s the only way to do it.”

I had come here to support the Romans. Instead this Roman was supporting me. (71)

Millennia ago, I’d killed four of my father’s favorites because they had made the lightning bolt that killed my son Asclepius. (And because I couldn’t kill the actual murderer who was, ahem, Zeus). (73)

I had never been a fan of felines. They were self-centered, smug, and thought they owned the world. In other words... All right, I’ll say it. I didn’t like the competition. (76)

No. Of course. The legion had no high priest, no pontifex maximus. Their former auger, my descendant Octavian, had died in the battle against Gaia. (Which I had a hard time feeling sad about, but that’s another story.) Jason would’ve been the logical next choice to officiate, but he was our guest of honor. That meant that I, as a former god, was the ranking spiritual authority. I would be expected to lead the funeral rites. (87)

The golden eagle of the Twelfth loomed over my shoulder, charging the air with ozone. I imagined Jupiter speaking through its crackle and hum, like a voice over shortwave radio: YOUR FAULT. YOUR PUNISHMENT.

Back in January, when I’d fallen to earth, those words had seemed horribly unfair. Now, as I led Jason Grace to his final resting place, I believed them. So much of what had happened was my fault. So much of it could never be made right.

I meant to keep that promise, if I survived long enough. But in the meantime, there were more pressing ways I needed to honor Jason: by protecting Camp Jupiter, defeating the Triumvirate, and, according to Ella, descending into the tomb of an undead king. (88)

I began to speak, the Latin ritual verses pouring out of me. I chanted from instinct, barely aware of the words’ meanings. I had already praised Jason with my song. That had been deeply personal. This was just a necessary formality.

In some corner of my mind, I wondered if this was how mortal felt when they used to pray to me. Perhaps their devotions had been noting but muscle memory, reciting by rote while their minds drifted elsewhere, uninterested in my glory. I found the idea strangely... understandable. Now that I was mortal, why should I not practice nonviolent resistance against the gods, too? (91-92)

In the center, behind a marble altar, rose a massive golden statue of Dad himself: Jupiter Optimus Maximus, draped in a purple silk toga big enough to be a ship’s sail. He looked stern, wise, and paternal, though he was only one of those in real life.

Seeing him tower above me, lightning bolt raised, I had to fight the urge to cower and plead. I knew it was only a statue, but if you’ve ever been traumatized by someone, you’ll understand. It doesn’t take much to trigger those old fears: a look, a sound, a familiar situation. Or a fifty-foot-tall golden statue of your abuser - that does the trick. (94-95)

“My time,” I said. “For what, exactly?”

She nipped the air in annoyance. To be Apollo. The pack needs you.

I wanted to scream I’ve been trying to be Apollo. It’s not that easy! (95)

I stared up at Large Golden Dad.

Zeus had thrown me into the middle of all this trouble. He’d stripped me of my power, then kicked me to the Earth to free the Oracles, defeat the Emperors, and - Oh wait! I got a bonus undead king and a silent god, too! I hoped the soot from the funeral pyre was really annoying Jupiter. I wanted to climb up his legs and finger-write across his chest WASH ME! (98)

Lupa’s message seemed too good to be true. I could contact my fellow Olympians, despite Zeus’s standing orders that they shun me while I was human. I might even be able to invoke their aid to save Camp Jupiter. (98)

I studied the old prophecies set in the floor mosaic. I had lost friends to the Triumvirate. I had suffered. But I realized that Lupa suffered, too. Her Roman children had been decimated. She carried the pain of all their deaths. Yet she had to act strong, even as her pack faced possible extinction.

You couldn’t lie in Wolf. But you could bluff. Sometimes you had to bluff to keep a grieving pack together. What do mortals say? Fake it till you make it? That is a very wolfish philosophy. (99)

Seeing her again, my heart twisted. She had once been a lovely young woman - bright, strong-willed, passionate about her prophetic work. She had wanted to change the world. Then things between us soured... and I had changed her instead.

Her appearance was only the beginning of the curse I had set on her. It would get much, much worse as the centuries progressed. How had I put this out of my mind? How could I have been so cruel? The guilt for what I’d done burned worse than any ghoul scratch. (105)

“Put on your sheet.” Meg threw a toga in my face, which was not the nicest way to be woken up.

I blinked, still groggy, to the smell of smoke, moldy straw, and sweaty Romans lingering in my nostrils. “A toga? But I’m not a senator.”

“You’re honorary, because you used to be a god or whatever.” Meg pouted. “I don’t get to wear a sheet.” (108)

I got dressed, trying to remember how to fold a toga, and mulled over the things I’d learned from my dream. Number one: I was a terrible person who ruined lives. Number two: There was not a single bad thing I’d done in the last four thousand years that was not going to come back and bite me in the clunis, and I was beginning to think I deserved it.

The Cumaen Sibyl. Oh Apollo, what had you been thinking?

Alas, I knew what I’d been thinking - that she was a pretty young woman I wanted to get with, despite the fact that she was my Sibyl. Then she’d outsmarted me, and being the bad loser that I was, I had cursed her.

No wonder I was now paying the price: tracking down the evil Roman king to whom she’d once sold her Sibylline Books. If Tarquin was still clinging to some horrible undead existence, could the Cumaean Sibyl be alive as well? I shuddered to think what she might be like after all these centuries, and how much her hatred for me would have grown. (109)

No one laughed or called me crazy. Gods didn’t intervene in demigod affairs often, but it did happen on rare occasions. The idea wasn’t completely unbelievable. On the other hand, no one looked terribly assured that I could pull it off.

A different senator raised his hand. “Uh, Senator Larry here, Third Cohort, Son of Mercury. So when you say help, do you mean like... battalions of gods charging down in their chariots, or more like the gods just giving their blessing, like, Hey, good luck with that, legion!?”

My old defensiveness kicked in. I wanted to argue that we gods would never leave our desperate followers hanging on like that. But, of course, we did. All the time. (119)

Frank looked crestfallen, which made me feel bad. I hadn’t meant to take out my frustrations on one of the few people who still called me Apollo unironically. (121)

I had loved everything about her - the way her hair had caught the sunlight, the mischievous gleam in her eyes, the easy way she smiled. She didn’t seem to care that I was a god, despite having given up everything to be my Oracle: her family, her future, even her name. Once she pledged to me, she was known simply as the Sibyl, the voice of Apollo.

But that wasn’t enough for me. I was smitten. I convinced myself it was love - the one true romance that would wash away all my past missteps. I wanted the Sibyl to be my partner throughout eternity. As the afternoon went on, I coaxed and pleaded.

“You could be so much more than my priestess,” I urged her. “Marry me!”

She laughed. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am! Ask for anything in return, and it’s yours.”

She twisted a strand of her auburn locks. “All I’ve ever wanted is to be the Sibyl, to guide the people of this land to a better future. You’ve already given me that. So, ha-ha, joke’s on you.”

“But - but you’ve only got one lifetime!” I said. “If you were immortal, you could guide humans to a better future forever, at my side!”

She looked at me askance. “Apollo, please. You’d be tired of me by the end of the week.”

“Never!”

“So, you’re saying” - she scooped up two heaping handfuls of sand - “if I wished for as many years of life as there are grains of this sand, you would grant me that.”

“It is done!” I pronounced. Instantly, I felt a portion of my own power flowing into her life force. “And now, my love-”

“Whoa, whoa!” She scattered the sand, clambering to her feet and backing away as if I were suddenly radioactive. “That was a hypothetical, lover boy! I didn’t agree- “

“What’s done is done!” I rose. “A wish cannot be taken back. Now you must honor your side of the bargain.”

Her eyes danced with panic. “I-I can’t. I won’t!”

I laughed, thinking she was merely nervous. I spread my arms. “Don’t be afraid.”

“Of course I’m afraid!” She backed away farther. “Nothing good ever happens to your lovers! I just wanted to be your Sibyl, and now you’ve made things weird!”

My smile crumbled. I felt my ardor cooling, turning stormy. “Don’t anger me, Sibyl. I am offering you the universe. I’ve given you near-immortal life. You cannot refuse payment.”

“Payment?” She balled her hands into fists. “You dare think of me as a transaction?”

I frowned. This afternoon really wasn’t going the way I’d planned. “I didn’t mean- Obviously, I wasn’t-”

“Well, Lord Apollo,” she growled, “if this is a transaction, then I defer payment until your side of the bargain is complete. You said it yourself: near-immortal life. I’ll live until the grains of sand run out, yes? Come back to me at the end of that time. Then, if you still want me, I’m yours.”

I dropped my arms. Suddenly, all the things I’d loved about the Sibyl became things I hated: her headstrong attitude, her lack of awe, her infuriating, unattainable beauty. Especially her beauty.

“Very well.” My voice turned colder than any sun god’s should be. “You want to argue over the fine print of our contract? I promised you life, not youth. You can have your centuries of existence. You will remain my Sibyl.I cannot take those things away, once given. But you will grow old. You will wither. You will not be able to die.”

“I would prefer that!” Her words were defiant, but her voice trembled with fear.

“Fine!” I snapped.

“Fine!” she yelled back.

I vanished in a column of flame, having succeeded in making things very weird indeed.

Over the centuries, the Sibyl had withered, just as I’d threatened. Her physical form lasted longer than any ordinary mortal’s, but the pain I had caused her, the lingering agony... Even if I’d had regrets about my hasty curse, I couldn’t have taken it back any more than she could take back her wish. Finally, around the end of the Roman Empire, I’d heard rumors that the Sibyl’s body had crumbled away entirely, yet she still could not die. Her attendants kept her life force, the faintest whisper of her voice, in a glass jar.

I assumed that her jar had been lost sometime after that. That the Sibyl’s grains of sand had finally run out. But what if I was wrong? If she were still alive, I doubted she was using her faint whisper of a voice to be a pro-Apollo social media influencer.

I deserved her hatred. I saw that now.

Oh, Jason Grace... I promised you I would remember what it was to be human. But why did human shame have to hurt so much? Why wasn’t there an off button? (131-134)

I had ruined every one of my relationships, brought nothing but destruction and misery to the young men and women I’d loved. (135)

“I appreciate a good boon as much as the next person. But if I’m going to contribute to this quest and not just cower in the corner, I need to know how” - my voice cracked “how to be me again.”

The vibration of the arrow felt almost like a cat purring, trying to sooth an ill human. ART THOU SURE THAT IS THY WISH?

“What do you mean?” I demanded. “That’s the whole point! Everything I’m doing is so-” (138)

I was tired of others keeping me safe. The whole point of consulting the arrow had been to figure out how I could get back to the business of keeping others safe. That used to be so easy with my godlike powers.

Was it, though? another part of my brain asked. Did you keep the Sibyl safe? Or Hyacinthus and Daphne? Or your own son Asclepius? Should I go on?

Shut up, me, I thought back. (140-141)

He laughed. “Just take care of yourself, okay? I don’t think I could handle a world with no Apollo in it.”

His tone was so genuine it made me tear up. I’d started to accept that no one wanted Apollo back - not my fellow gods, not the demigods, perhaps not even my talking arrow. Yet Frank Zhang still believed in me.

Before I could do anything embarrassing - like hug him, or cry, or start believing I was a worthwhile individual - I spotted my three quest partners trudging toward us. (142)

As we passed a silver lake nestled between the hills, I couldn’t help thinking i as just the sort of place my sister would love. Oh, how I wished she would appear with her Hunters!

Despite our differences, Artemis understood me. Well, okay, she tolerated me. I longed to see her beautiful, annoying face again. That’s how lonely and pathetic I had become. (146-147)

What sort of parents would let their children ride such nightmarish creatures? Maybe Zeus, I thought. (150)

I now understood the lines from the Burning Maze: I would face death in Tarquin’s tomb, or a fate worse than death. But I would not allow my friends to perish too. (166)

Then I wondered if Lavinia simply felt more at home in the wild than she did at camp. She and my sister would get along fine (169)

Also, the way she was looking at me, I got the feeling that her grumpy facade might collapse into tears faster than Tarquin’s ceiling had crumbled. (169)

I saw and heard nothing, but I took Hazel’s word for it. “Go. You’ll move faster without me.”

“Not happening,” Meg said. (170)

Home. Such a wonderful word.

I had no idea what it meant, but it sounded nice.

[...]

I dreamed of homes. Had I ever really had one?

Delos was my birthplace, but only because my pregnant mother, Leto, took refuge there to escape Hera’s wrath. The island served as an emergency sanctuary for my sister and me, too, but it never felt like home anymore than the backseat of a taxi would fell like home to a child born on the way to a hospital.

Mount Olympus? I had a palace there. I visited for the holidays. But it always felt more like the place my dad lived with my stepmom.

The Palace of the Sun? That was Helios’s old crib. I’d just redecorated.

Even Delphi, home of my greatest Oracles, had originally been the lair of Python. Try as you might, you can never get the smell of old snakeskin out of a volcanic cavern.

Sad to say, in my four-thousand-plus years, the times I’d felt most at home had all happened during the past few months: at Camp Half-Blood, sharing a cabin with my demigod children; at the Waystation with Emma, Jo, Georgina, Leo, and Calypso, all of us sitting around the dinner table chopping vegetables from the garden for dinner; at the Cistern in Palm Springs with Meg, Grover, Mellie, Coach Hedge, and a prickly assortment of cactus dryads; and now at Camp Jupiter, where the anxious, grief-stricken Romans, despite their many problems, despite the fact that I brought misery and disaster wherever I went, had welcomed me with respect, a room above their coffee shop, and some lovely bed linens to wear.

These places were homes. Whether I deserved to be a part of them or not - that was a different question. (171-172)

Meg huffed, “It’s still light outside. You slept all day.”

“Not turning into a zombie is hard work.”

“I know!” she snapped. “I’m sorry!”

[...]

Just a few minutes ago, Meg had been happily insulting me and gorging on jelly beans. Now... was she crying?

“Meg.” I sat up, trying not to wince. “Meg, you’re not responsible for me getting hurt.

She twisted the ring on her right hand, then the one on her left, as if they’d become too small for her fingers. “I just thought... if I could kill him...” She wiped her nose. “Like in some stories. You kill the master, and you can free the people he’s turned.”

It took a moment for her words to sink in. I was pretty sure the dynamic she was describing applied to vampires, not zombies, but I understood what she meant.

“You’re talking about Tarquin,” I said. “You jumped into the throne room because... you wanted to save me?”

“Duh,” she muttered, without any heat.

I put my hand over my bandaged abdomen. I’d been so angry with Meg for her recklessness in the tomb. I’d assumed she was just being impulsive, reacting to Tarquin’s plans to let the Bay Area burn. But she’d leaped into battle for me - with the hope that she could kill Tarquin erase my curse. That was even before I’d realized how bad my condition was. Meg must have been more worried, or more intuitive, than she’d let on.

Which took all the fun out of criticizing her.

“Oh, Meg,” I shook my head. “That was a crazy, senseless stunt, and I love you for it. But don’t beat yourself up. Pranjal’s medicine bought me some extra time. And you did too, of course, with your cheese-grating skills and your magical chickweed. You’ve done everything you could. When we summon godly help, I can ask for complete healing. I’m sure I’ll be as good as new. Or at least, as good as a Lester can be.”

Meg tilted her head, making her crooked glasses just about horizontal.”How can you know? Is this god going to give us three wishes or something?”

I considered that. When my followers called, had I ever shown up and granted them three wishes? LOL, nope. Maybe one wish, if that wish was something I wanted to happen anyway.

[...]

“I don’t know, Meg,” I confessed. “You’re right. I can’t be sure everything will be okay. But I can promise you I’m not giving up. We’ve come this far. I’m not going to let a belly scratch stop us from defeating the Triumvirate.”

She had so much mucus dripping from her nostrils, she would’ve made Buster the unicorn proud. She sniffled, wiping her upper lip with her knuckle. “I don’t want to lose somebody else.”

My mental gears weren’t turning at full speed. I had trouble wrapping my mind around the fact that by “somebody else,” Meg meant me.

[...]

Now, aside from all the bad memories the Roman trappings of Camp Jupiter might have triggered for her, she was faced with the prospect of losing me. In a moment of shock, like a unicorn staring me right in the face, I realized that despite all the grief Meg gave me, and the way she ordered me around, she cared for me. For the past three months, I had been her one constant friend, just as she had been mine.

[...]

What a horribly insufficient friend I had been.

“Come here.” I held out my arms. “Please?”

Meg hesitated. Still sniffling, she rose from her cot and trudged toward me. She fell into my hug like I was a comfy mattress. I grunted, surprised by how solid and heavy she was. She smelled of apple peels and mud, but I didn’t mind. I didn’t even mind the mucus and tears soaking my shoulder.

I’d always wondered what it would be like to have a younger sibling. Sometimes I’d treated Artemis as my baby sister, since I’d been born a few minutes earlier, but that had been mostly to annoy her. With Meg, I felt as if it was actually true. I had someone who depended on me, who needed me around no matter how much we irritated each other. I thought about Hazel and Frank and the washing away of curses. I supposed that kind of love could come from many different types of relationships. (188-192)

Some of the pandai were young enough to have pure white fur, which made my head hurt, reminding me of my brief friendship with Crest, the youthful aspiring musician who’s lost his life in the Burning Maze. (193)

No matter what happened over the next twenty-four hours, I would not add to Meg’s worries. I would tough it out until the moment I keeled over.

Wow. Who even was I? (195)

she hesitated, then generously decided not to add except for Apollo, who slept through it all (199)

A third group sledded down a dirt hill on their shields.

Hazel sighed. “That would be my group of delinquents. If you’ll excuse me, I’m off to teach them how to slay ghouls.” (203)

I cleared my throat. I’d faced much bigger audience. Why was I so nervous? Oh, right. Because I was a horribly incompetent sixteen-year-old. (205)

I shot at the nearest target - then at the target next farthest out, then at the next - firing again and again in a kind of trance.

Only after my twentieth shot did I realize I’d landed all bull’s-eyes, two in each target, the farthest about two hundred yards away. Child’s play for Apollo. For Lester, quite impossible.

The legionnaires stared at me, their mouths hanging open. We’re supposed to do that?” Dakota demanded.

Lavinia punched my forearm. “See, you guys? I told you Apollo doesn’t suck that much!”

I had to agree with her. I felt oddly not suckish.

The display of marksmanship hadn’t drained my energy. Nor did it feel like the temporary bursts of godly power I’d experienced before. I was tempted to ask for another quiver to see if I could keep shooting at the same skill level, but I was afraid to press my luck. (205-206)

I’d spent a lot of time worrying about the fate of New Rome and Camp Jupiter, the Oracles, my friends, and myself. But these hackberries and crabgrasses deserved to live just as much. They, too, were facing death. They were terrified. If the emperors launched their weapons, they stood no chance. The homeless mortals with their shopping carts in People’s Park would also burn, right along with the legionnaires. Their lives were worth no less. (215)

Honestly, I didn’t know much about dryad life cycles, or how they protected themselves from climate disasters. Perhaps if I’d spent more time over the centuries talking to them and less time chasing them...

Wow. I really didn’t even know myself anymore. (216)

“Why does a strong friendship always have to progress to romance?” (228)

Whether I died today, or turned into a zombie, or somehow managed to live, I would rather face my fate with my conscience clear and no secrets. For one thing, I should tell Meg about my encounter with Peaches. I should also tell her I didn’t hate her. In fact, I liked her pretty well. All right, I loved her. She was the bratty little sister I’d never had. (232)

I crossed my arms. “Well, I’m glad we had this talk, so I could unburden myself of all the things you already knew. I was also going to say that you’re important to me and I might even love you like a sister, but-”

“I already know that, too.” She gave me a crooked grin, offering proof that Nero really should have taken her to the orthodontist when she was younger. “S’okay. You’ve gotten less annoying, too.” (243)

“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 while, 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 tattle-tales 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 level.”

“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!”

“Your girlfriend was pregnant when you had her killed?” Reyna launched another kick at my face. I managed to dodge it, since I’d had a lot of practice cowering, but it hurt to know that this time she hadn’t been aiming at an incoming raven. Oh, no. She wanted to knock my teeth in.

“You suck,” Meg agreed.

“Can we talk about this later?” I pleaded. “Or perhaps never? I was a god then! I didn’t know what I was doing!”

A few months ago, a statement like that would have made no sense to me. Now, it seemed true. I felt as if Meg had given me her thick-lensed rhinestone-studded glasses, and to my horror, they corrected my eyesight. I didn’t like how small and tawdry and petty everythin looked, rendered in perfect ugly clarity through the magic of Meg-O-Vision. Most of all, I didn’t like the way I looked - not just present-day Lester, but the god formerly known as Apollo. (252-253)

“But you’re the- you used to be the god of music, right? If you can charm a crowd, you should be able to repulse one. Pick a song those birds will hate!”

Great. Not only had Reyna laughed in my face and busted my nose, now I was her go-to guy for repulsiveness.

Still... I was struck by the way she said I used to be a god. She didn’t seem to mean it as an insult. She said it almost like a concession - like she knew what a horrible deity I had been, but held out hope that I might be capable of being someone better, more helpful, maybe even worthy of forgiveness. (255)

I wanted to sing for Reyna, to prove that I had indeed changed. I was no longer the god who’d had Koronis killed and created ravens, or cursed the Cumaean Sibyl, or done any of the other selfish things that had once given me no more pause than choosing what dessert toppings I wanted on my ambrosia.

It was time to be helpful. I needed to be repulsive for my friends! (256)

I sighed. “You two are horrible influences on each other.”

Without taking their eyes off me, Reyna and Meg gave each other a silent high five. (265)

THOU HAST FOUND THY GROOVE. AT LEAST THE BEGINNINGS OF THY GROOVE. I SUSPECTED THIS WOULD BE SO, GIVEN TIME. CONGRATULATIONS ARE MERITED. (266)

“What did you do to him?” Meg asked.

I tried to look offended. “Nothing! I may have teased him a bit, but he was a very minor god. Rather silly-looking. I may have made some jokes at his expense in front of the other Olympians.”

Reyna knit her eyebrows. “So you bullied him.”

“No! I mean... I did write zap me in glowing letters on the back of his toga. And I suppose I might have been a bit harsh when I tied him up and locked him in the stalls with my fiery horses overnight-”

“OH MY GODS!” Meg said. “You’re awful!”

I fought down the urge to defend myself. I wanted to shout, Well at least I didn’t kill him like I did my pregnant girlfriend Koronis! But that wasn’t much of a gotcha.

Looking back on my encounters with Harpocrates, I realized I had been awful. I somebody had treated me, Lester, the way I had treated that puny Ptolemaic god, I would want to crawl in a hole and die. And if I were honest, even back when I was a god, I had been bullied - only the bully had been my father. I should have known better than to share the pain.

I hadn’t thought about Harpocrates in eons. Teasing him had seemed like no big deal. I suppose that’s what made it even worse. I had shrugged off our encounters. I doubted he had.

Koronis’s ravens... Harpocrates...

It was no coincidence they were both haunting me today like the Ghosts of Saturnalias Past. Tarquin had orchestrated this with me in mind. He was forcing me to confront some of my greatest hits of dreadfulness. Even if I survived the challenges, my friends would see exactly what kind of a dirtbag I was. The shame would weigh me down and make me ineffective - the same way Tarquin used to add rocks to a cage around his enemy’s head, until eventually, the burden was too much. The prisoner would collapse and drown in a shallow pool, and Tarquin could claim, I didn’t kill him. He just wasn’t strong enough. (269-270)

The emperors would’ve considered Harpocrates just another dangerous, amusing plaything, like their trained monsters and humanoid lackeys.

And why not let King Tarquin be his custodian? The emperors could ally themselves with the undead tyrant, at least temporarily, to make their of Camp Jupiter a little easier. They could let Tarquin arrange his cruelest trap for me. Whether I killed Harpocrates or he killed me, what did it matter to the Triumvirate in the end? Ether way, they would find it entertaining - one more gladiator match to break the monotony of their immortal lives. (273)

“Would that count?” Meg asked. “I mean, if Reyna doesn’t open the door herself, isn’t that cheating the prophecy?”

Reyna shrugged. “Prophecies never mean what you think, right? If Apollo is able to open the door thanks to my help, I’m still responsible, wouldn’t you say?” (274)

If Harpocrates was indeed waiting inside this shipping contained, I would make sure the full force of his anger fell on me, not Reyna or Meg. (276)

The god glared at me. He forced painful images into my mind: me stuffing his head into a toilet on Mount Olympus; me howling with amusement as I tied his wrists and ankles and shut him in the stables with my fire-breathing horses. Dozens of other encounters I’d completely forgotten about, and in all of them I was as golden, handsome, powerful, and powerful as any Triumvirate emperor - and just as cruel. (279)

Just because we both hated the Triumvirate did not make us friends. Harpocrates had never forgotten my cruelty. (280)

She sent Harpocrates her life story, captured in a few painful snapshots. She knew about monsters. She had been raised by the Beast. No matter how much Harpocrates hated me - and Meg agreed that I could be pretty stupid sometimes - we had to work together to stop the Triumvirate.

Harpocrates shredded her thoughts with rage. How dare she presume to understand his misery? (281)

Harpocrates was unmoved. He bent his will toward me, burying me in his hatred.

All right! I pleaded. Kill me if you must. But I am sorry! I have changed!

I sent him a flurry of the most horrible, embarrassing failures I’d suffered since becoming mortal: grieving over the body of Heloise the griffin at the Waystation, holding the dying pandos Crest in my arms in the Burning Maze, and, of course, watching helplessly as Caligula murdered Jason Grace.

Just for a moment, Harpocrates wrath wavered.

At the very least, I had managed to surprise him. He had not been expecting regret or shame from me. Those weren’t my trademark emotions. (282)

For the emperors, the potential loss of their fasces apparently didn’t outweigh the potential benefit of having me destroyed... or the entertainment value of knowing I’d done it to myself. (283)

They had left me the starkest of choices: run away, let the Triumvirate win, and watch my mortal friends be destroyed, or free two bitter enemies and face the same fate as Jason Grace.

It was an easy decision.

I turned to Reyna and Meg and thought as clearly as I could: Destroy the faces. Cut him free. (283-284)

Harpocrates rage pressed down on me, making my knees buckle. The air pressure increased, as if I’d plummeted a thousand feet. I almost blacked out, but I guessed Harpocrates wouldn’t let that happen. He wanted me conscious, able to suffer.

He flooded me with bitterness and hate. My joints began to unknit, my vocal cords dissolving. Harpocrates might have been ready to die, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t kill me first. That would bring him great satisfaction.

I bowed my head, gritting my teeth against the inevitable.

Fine, I thought. I deserve it. Just spare my friends. Please.

The pressure eased.

I glanced up through a haze of pain.

In front of me, Reyna and Meg stood shoulder to shoulder, facing down the god.

They sent him their own flurry of images. Reyna pictured me singing “The Fall of Jason Grace” to the legion, officiating at Jason’s funeral pyre with tears in my eyes, then looking goofy and awkward and clueless as I offered to be her boyfriend, giving her the best, most cleansing laugh she’d had in years (Thanks, Reyna.)

Meg pictured the way I’d saved her in the myrmekes lair at Camp Half-Blood, singing about my romantic failures with such honesty it rendered giant ants catatonic with depression. She envisioned my kindness to Livia the elephant, to Crest, and especially to her, when I’d given her a hug in our room at the cafe and told her I would never give up trying.

In all their memories, I looked so human... but in the best possible ways. Without words, my friends asked Harpocrates if I was still the person he hated so much. (288-289)

“Good-bye, Apollo,” said the Sibyl’s voice, clearer now. “I forgive you. Not because you deserve it. Not for your sake at all. But because I will not go into oblivion carrying hate when I can carry love.”

Even if I could’ve spoken, I wouldn’t have known what to say. I was in shock. Her tone asked for no reply, no apology. She didn’t need or want anything from me. It was almost as if I was the one being erased. (291)

Anger swelled in me. I decided I was done with the ravens’ bitterness. Plenty of folks had valid reasons to hate me: Harpocrates, the Sibyl, Koronis, Daphne... maybe a few dozen others. Okay, maybe a few hundred others. But the ravens? They were thriving! They’d grown gigantic! They loved their new jobs as flesh-eating killers. Enough with the blame. (295)

Reyna must have noticed my worried expression.

“You did good back there,” she said. “You stepped up.”

Reyna sounded sincere. But her praise just made me feel more ashamed.

“I’m holding the last breath of a god I bullied,” I said miserably, “in the jar of a Sibyl I cursed, who was protected by birds I turned into killing machines after they tattled about my cheating girlfriend, who I subsequently had assassinated.”

“All true,” Reyna said. “But the thing is, you recognize it now.”

“It feels horrible.”

She gave me a thin smile. “That’s kind of the point. You do something evil, you feel bad about it, you do better. That’s a sign you might be developing a conscience.”

I tried to remember which of the gods had created the human conscience. Had we created it, or had humans just developed it on their own? Giving mortals a sense of decency didn’t seem like the sort of thing a god would brag about on their profile page.

“I- I appreciate what you’re saying,” I managed. “But my past mistakes almost got you and Meg killed. If Harpocrates had destroyed you when you were trying to protect me...”

The idea was too awful to contemplate. My shiny new conscience would have blown up inside me like a grenade.

Reyna gave me a brief pat on the shoulder. “All we did was show Harpocrates how much you’ve changed. He recognized it. Have you completely made up for all the bad things you’ve done? No. But you keep adding to the ‘good things’ column. That’s all any of us can do.”

Adding to the “good things” column. Reyna spoke of this superpower as if it were one I could actually possess.

“Thank you,” I said. (299-300)

“We’re going to make it,” I said, like a fool.

Once again, I had broken the First Law of Percy Jackson: Never say something is going to work out, because as soon as you do, it won’t. (306)

When had I last felt “whole”? I wanted to believe it was back when I was a god, but that wasn’t true. I hadn’t been completely myself for centuries. Maybe millennia.

At the moment, I felt more like a hole - a void in the cosmos through which Harpocrates, the Sibyl, and a lot of people I cared about had vanished. (316)

I laughed - actually laughed - with satisfaction. It felt so good to be a decent archer again, and to watch Meg at her swordplay. What a team we made! (322)

This was how it ended, I thought bitterly. Not fighting threats from the outside, but fighting against the ugliest side of our own history. (323)

There had only ever been one choice. Deep down, I’d always known which god I had to call.

“Follow me,” I told Ella and Tyson.

I ran for the temple of Diana.

Now I’ll admit I’ve never been a huge fan of Artemis’s Roman persona. As I’ve said before, I never felt like I personally changed that much during Roman times. I just stayed Apollo. Artemis, though...

You know how it is when your sister goes through her moody teenage years? She changes her name to Diana, cuts her hair, hangs out with a different, more hostile set of maiden hunters, starts associating with Hecate and the moon, and basically acts weird? When we first relocated to Rome, the two of us were worshipped together like in the old days - twin gods with our own temple - but soon Diana went off and did her own thing. We just didn’t talk like we used to when we were young and Greek, you know?

I was apprehensive about summoning her Roman incarnation, but I needed help, and Artemis - Sorry, Diana - was the most likely to respond, even if she would never let me hear the end of it afterward. Besides, I missed her terribly. Yes, I said it. If I was going to die tonight, which seemed increasingly likely, first I wanted to see my sister one last time. (332)

Ella rummaged in her supply pouches, pulling out herbs, spices, and vials of oils, which made me realize how long it had been since I’d eaten. Why wasn’t my stomach growling? (333)

The emperors obviously wanted to send a message: they intended to dominate the world at any cost. They would stop at nothing. They would mutilate and maim. They would waste and destroy. Nothing was sacred except their own power.

I rose unsteadily. My hopelessness turned into boiling anger. I howled, “NO!” (340)

A few months ago, I would have been happy to let Frank take this hopeless fight on his own while I sat back, ate chilled grapes, and checked my messages. Not now, not after Jason Grace. I glanced at the poor maimed pegasi chained to the emperors’ chariot, and I decided I couldn’t live in a world where cruelty like that went unchallenged.

“Sorry, Frank,” I said. “You won’t face this alone.” I looked at Caligula. “Well, Baby Booties? Your colleague emperor has already agreed. Are you in, or do we terrify you too much?”

Caligula’s nostrils flared. “We have lived for thousands of years,” he said, as if explaining a simple fact to a slow student. “We are gods.”

“And I’m the son of Mars,” Frank countered. “praetor of the Twelfth Legion Fulminata. I’m not afraid to die. Are you?” (345)

Commodus punched me square in the chest. I staggered backward and collapsed on my butt, my lungs on fire, my sternum throbbing. A hit like that should have killed me. (348)

My first punch left a fist-size crater in the emperor’s gold breastplate. Oh, I thought in some distant corner of my mind. Hello, godly strength! (352)

Commodus fought, but his fists were like paper. I let loose a guttural roar - a song with only one note: pure rage, and only one volume: maximum.

Under the onslaught of sound, Commodus crumbled to ash.

My voice faltered. I stared at my empty palms. I stood and backed away, horrified. The charred outline of the emperor’s body remained on the asphalt. I could still feel the pulse of his carotid arteries under my fingers. What had I done? In my thousands of years of life, I’d never destroyed someone with my voice. When I sang, people would often say I “killed it”, but never meant that literally. (360)

I cobbled together the last shreds of my courage. I channeled my old sense of arrogance, from back in the days when I loved to take credit for things I didn’t do (as long as they were good and impressive). I gave Gregorix and his army a cruel, emperor-like smile.

“BOO!” I shouted.

The troops broke and ran. (362-363)

I grinned at the newcomer. “Hey, sis.”

Then I keeled over sideways. The world turned fluffy, bleached of all color. Nothing hurt anymore.

I was dimly aware of Diana’s face hovering over me, Meg and Hazel peering over the goddess’s shoulders.

“He’s almost gone,” Diana said.

Then I was gone. My slipped into a pool of cold, slimy darkness.

“Oh no, you don’t,” my sister’s voice woke me rudely.

I’d been so comfortable, so nonexistent.

Life surged back into me - cold, sharp, and unfairly painful. Diana’s face came into focus. She looked annoyed, which seemed on-brand for her.

As for me, I felt surprisingly good. The pain in my gut was gone. My muscles didn’t burn. I could breathe without difficulty. I must have slept for decades.

“H-how long was I out?” I croaked.

“Roughly three seconds,” she said. “Now, get up, drama queen.”

[...]

I beamed at my sister. It was so good to see her disapproving I-can’t-believe-you’re-my-brother frown again. “I love you,” I said, my voice hoarse with emotion.

She blinked, clearly unsure what to do with this information. “You really have changed.”

“I missed you!”

“Y-yes, well. I’m here now. Even Dad couldn’t argue with a Sibylline invocation from Temple Hill.”

[...]

I checked my stomach, which was easy, since my shirt was in tatters. The bandage had vanished, along with the festering would. Only a thin white scare remained. “So... I’m healed?” My flab told me she hadn’t restored me to my godly self. Nah, that would have been too much to expect.

Diana raised an eyebrow. “Well, I’m not the goddess of healing, but I’m still a goddess. I think I can take care of my little brother’s boo-boos.”

“Little brother?”

She smirked, then turned to Hazel. (382-384)

I suppose I’d been too focused on Thalia, wondering whether or not she was going to kill me and whether or not I deserved it. (388)

“You also saved me,” I said. “You’re here. You’re actually here.”

She took my hand and squeezed it. Her flesh felt warm and human. I couldn’t remember the last time my sister had shown me such open affection. (389)

“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.” (393)

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

“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.” (395)

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

[...]

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.” (398-399)

She folded her arms and stared at the fire. “I don’t blame you, Apollo. My brother...” She hesitated, steadying her breath. “Jason made his own choices. Heroes have to do that.” (402)

“It seems so cruel,” she continued. “We lose someone and finally get them back, only to lose them again.”

I wondered why she used the word we. She seemed to be saying that she and I shared this experience - the loss of an only sibling. But she had suffered so much worse. My sister couldn’t die. I couldn’t lose her permanently.

Then, after a moment of disorientation, like I’d been flipped upside-down, I realized she wasn’t talking about me losing someone. She was talking about Artemis - Diana.

Was she suggesting that my sister missed me, even grieved for me as Thalia grieved for Jason?

Thalia must have read my expression. “The goddess has been beside herself,” she said. “I mean that literally. Sometimes she gets so worried she splits into two forms, Roman and Greek, right in front of me. She’ll probably get mad at me for telling you this, but she loves you more than anyone else in the world.”

A marble seemed to have lodged in my throat. I couldn’t speak, so I just nodded.

“Diana didn’t want to leave camp so suddenly like that,” Thalia continued. “But you know how it is. Gods can’t stick around. Once the danger to New Rome had passed, she couldn’t risk overstaying her summons. Jupiter... Dad wouldn’t approve.”

I shivered. How easy it was to forget that this young woman was also my sister. And Jason was my brother. At one time, I would have discounted that connection. They’re just demigods, I would have said. Not really family.

Now I found the idea hard to accept for a different reason. I didn’t feel worthy of that family. Or Thalia’s forgiveness. (403-404)

“My whole life, I’ve been living with other people’s expectations of what I’m supposed to be. Be this. Be that. You know?”

[...]

“But you showed me. When you proposed dating...” She took a deep breath, her body shaking with silent giggles. “Oh, gods. I saw how ridiculous I’d been. How ridiculous the whole situation was. That’s what healed my heart - being able to laugh at myself again, at my stupid ideas about destiny. That allowed me to break free - just like Frank broke free of his firewood. I don’t need another person to heal my heart. I don’t need a partner... at least, not until and unless I’m ready on my own terms. I don’t need to be force-shipped with anyone or wear anybody else’s label. For the first time in a long time, I feel like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders. So thank you.” (405-406)

As we stood to accept the legion’s thanks, I felt strangely uncomfortable. Now that I finally had a friendly crowd cheering for me, I just wanted to sit down and cover my head with a toga. I had done so little compared to Hazel or Reyna or Frank, not to mention all those who had died: Jason, Dakota, Don, Jacob, the Sibyl, Harpocrates... dozens more. (413).

Usually I was against re-gifting, but in this case, I was overwhelmed with gratitude. I couldn’t remember when or why I’d given the legion this bow - for centuries, I’d passed them out like party favors - but I was certainly glad to have it back. I drew the string with no trouble at all. Either my strength was godlier than I realized, or the bow recognized me as its rightful owner. Oh, yes. I could do some damage with this beauty. (415)

We’d have to trust the gods for some good luck. (Insert HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA here.) (422)

#ttt spoilers #for future reference #the trials of apollo #trials of apollo #the tyrant's tomb #toa #toa spoilers

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