The Tyrant's Tomb Read online

  I swallowed the last of my food, hoping it might push my heart back down to its proper location. “Perhaps we could concentrate on the not-dying part. For instance, why wait until tonight? Wouldn’t it be safer to go when it’s daylight?”

  “It’s always dark underground,” Hazel said. “Besides, during the daytime, lots of kids will be at the carousel. I don’t want any of them getting hurt. At night, the place will be deserted.”

  Meg plopped down next to us. Her hair now looked like a distressed elderberry shrub. “So, Hazel, can you do other cool underground stuff? Some people were saying you can summon diamonds and rubies.”

  Hazel frowned. “Some people?”

  “Like Lavinia,” Meg said.

  “Oh, my gods!” Lavinia said. “Thanks a lot, Meg!”

  Hazel peered into the sky, as if wishing a giant eagle would come and snatch her away. “I can summon precious metals, yes. Riches of the earth. That’s a Pluto thing. But you can’t spend the stuff I summon, Meg.”

  I leaned back against the roof tiles. “Because it’s cursed? I seem to recall something about a curse—and not because Lavinia told me anything,” I added hastily.

  Hazel picked at her veggie wrap. “It’s not so much a curse anymore. In the old days, I couldn’t control it. Diamonds, gold coins, stuff like that would just pop up from the ground whenever I got nervous.”

  “Cool,” Meg said.

  “No, it really wasn’t,” Hazel assured her. “If somebody picked up the treasures and tried to spend them…horrible things would happen.”

  “Oh,” Meg said. “What about now?”

  “Since I met Frank…” Hazel hesitated. “A long time ago, Pluto told me that a descendant of Poseidon would wash away my curse. It’s complicated, but Frank is a descendant of Poseidon on his mom’s side. Once we started dating…He’s just a good person, you know? I’m not saying I needed a fella to solve my problems—”

  “A fella?” Meg asked.

  Hazel’s right eye twitched. “Sorry. I grew up in the 1930s. Sometimes my vocab slips. I’m not saying I needed a guy to solve my problems. It’s just that Frank had his own curse to deal with, so he understood me. We helped each other through some dark times—talking together, learning to be happy again. He makes me feel—”

  “Loved?” I suggested.

  Lavinia met my eyes and mouthed, Adorable.

  Hazel tucked her feet underneath her. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. But yes. Now I can control my powers a lot better. Jewels don’t pop up randomly when I get upset. Still, they’re not meant to be spent. I think…I have this gut feeling that Pluto wouldn’t like that. I don’t want to find out what would happen if somebody tried.”

  Meg pouted. “So you can’t give me even a small diamond? Like, just to keep for fun?”

  “Meg,” I chided.

  “Or a ruby?”

  “Meg.”

  “Whatever.” Meg frowned at her unicorn shirt, no doubt thinking how cool it would look decorated with several million dollars’ worth of precious stones. “I just wanna fight stuff.”

  “You’ll probably get your wish,” Hazel said. “But remember, tonight, the idea is to explore and gather intel. We’ll need to be stealthy.”

  “Yes, Meg,” I said. “Because, if you’ll recall, Apollo faces death in Tarquin’s tomb. If I must face death, I would rather do so while hiding in the shadows, and then sneak away from it without it ever knowing I was there.”

  Meg looked exasperated, as if I’d suggested an unfair rule in freeze tag. “Okay. I guess I can stealth.”

  “Good,” Hazel said. “And, Lavinia, no chewing gum.”

  “Give me some credit. I have very sneaky moves.” She wriggled her feet. “Daughter of Terpsichore and all that.”

  “Hmm,” Hazel said. “Okay, then. Everybody gather your supplies and get some rest. We’ll meet on the Field of Mars at sundown.”

  Resting should have been an easy assignment.

  Meg went off to explore the camp (read: see the unicorns again), which left me by myself in the café’s upstairs room. I lay in my cot, enjoying the quiet, staring at Meg’s newly planted irises, which were now in full bloom in the window box. Still, I couldn’t sleep.

  My stomach wound throbbed. My head buzzed.

  I thought of Hazel Levesque and how she’d credited Frank with washing away her curse. Everyone deserved someone who could wash away their curses by making them feel loved. But that was not my fate. Even my greatest romances had caused more curses than they lifted.

  Daphne. Hyacinthus.

  And later, yes, the Cumaean Sibyl.

  I remembered the day we had sat together on a beach, the Mediterranean stretching out before us like a sheet of blue glass. Behind us, on the hillside where the Sibyl had her cave, olive trees baked and cicadas droned in the summer heat of Southern Italy. In the distance, Mount Vesuvius rose, hazy and purple.

  Conjuring an image of the Sibyl herself was more difficult—not the hunched and grizzled old woman from Tarquin’s throne room, but the beautiful young woman she’d been on that beach, centuries before, when Cumae was still a Greek colony.

  I had loved everything about her—the way her hair 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 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. The 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 still she could not die. Her attendants kept her life force, the faintest whisper of her voice, in a glass jar.

  I assumed that the 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?

  And thinking of the Sibyl, I couldn’t help considering that other young woman with a curse: Reyna Avila Ramírez-Arellano.

  I’d been completely blindsided the day I strolled into the Olympian throne room, fashionably late for our meeting as usual, and found Venus studying the luminous image of a young lady floating above her palm. The goddess’s expression had been weary and troubled…something I didn’t often see.

  “Who’s that?” I asked, foolishly. “She’s beautiful.”

  That’s all the trigger Venus needed to unleash her fury. She told me Reyna’s fate: no demigod would ever be able to heal her heart. But that did NOT mean I was the answer to Reyna’s problem. Quite the contrary. In front of the entire assembly of gods, Venus announced that I was unworthy. I was a disaster. I had ruined every relationship I was in, and I should keep my godly face away from Reyna, or Venus would curse me with even worse romantic luck than I already had.

  The mocking laughter of the other gods still rang in my ears.

  If not for that encounter, I might never have known Reyna existed. I certainly had no designs on her. But we always want what we cannot have. Once Venus declared Reyna off-limits, I became fascinated with her.

  Why had Venus been so emphatic? What did Reyna’s fate mean?

  Now I thought I understood. As Lester Papadopoulos, I no longer had a godly face. I was neither mortal, nor god, nor demigod. Had Venus somehow known this would happen someday? Had she shown me Reyna and warned me off knowing full well that it would make me obsessed?

  Venus was a wily goddess. She played games within games. If it was my fate to be Reyna’s true love, to wash away her curse as Frank had done for Hazel, would Venus allow it?

  But at the same time, I was a romantic disaster. I had ruined every one of my relationships, brought nothing but destruction and misery to the young men and women I’d loved. How could I believe I would be any good for the praetor?

  I lay in my cot, these thoughts tossing around in my mind, until late afternoon. Finally, I gave up on the idea of rest. I gathered my supplies—my quiver and bow, my ukulele and my backpack—and I headed out. I needed guidance, and I could think of only one way to get it.

  Reluctant arrow

  Grant me this boon: permission

  To skedaddleth

  I HAD THE FIELD of Mars all to myself.

  Since no war games were scheduled that evening, I could frolic through the wasteland to my heart’s content, admiring the wreckage of chariots, broken battlements, smoldering pits, and trenches filled with sharpened spikes. Another romantic sunset stroll wasted because I had no one to share it with.

  I climbed an old siege tower and sat facing the northern hills. With a deep breath, I reached into my quiver and pulled out the Arrow of Dodona. I’d gone several days without talking to my annoying far-sighted projectile weapon, which I considered a victory, but now, gods help me, I could think of no one else to turn to.

  “I need help,” I told it.

  The arrow remained silent, perhaps stunned by my admission. Or perhaps I’d pulled out the wrong arrow and I was talking to an inanimate object.

  Finally, the shaft rattled in my hand. Its voice resonated in my mind like a thespian tuning fork: THY WORDS ARE TRUE. BUT IN WHAT SENSE MEANEST THOU?

  Its tone sounded less derisive than usual. That scared me.

  “I…I am supposed to show strength,” I said. “According to Lupa, I’m supposed to save the day somehow, or the pack—New Rome—will die. But how do I do that?”

  I told the arrow all that had happened in the last few days: my encounter with the eurynomoi, my dreams about the emperors and Tarquin, my conversation with Lupa, our quest from the Roman senate. To my surprise, it felt good to pour out my troubles. Considering the arrow didn’t have ears, it was a good listener. It never looked bored, shocked, or disgusted, because it had no face.

  “I crossed the Tiber alive,” I summed up, “just like the prophecy said. Now, how do I ‘start to jive’? Does this mortal body have a reset switch?”

  The arrow buzzed: I SHALL THINK UPON THIS.

  “That’s it? No advice? No snarky comments?”

  GIVE ME TIME TO CONSIDER, O IMPATIENT LESTER.

  “But I don’t have time! We’re leaving for Tarquin’s tomb, like”—I glanced to the west, where the sun was beginning to sink behind the hills—“basically now!”

  THE JOURNEY INTO THE TOMB WILL NOT BE THY FINAL CHALLENGE. UNLESS THOU SUCKEST MOST WOEFULLY.

  “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

  FIGHT NOT THE KING, said the arrow. HEAREST THOU WHAT THOU NEEDEST, AND SKEDADDLETH.

  “Did you just use the term skedaddleth?”

  I TRY TO SPEAK PLAINLY TO THEE, TO GRANT THEE A BOON, AND STILL THOU COMPLAINEST.

  “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 soothe 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—”

  “Are you talking to that arrow?” said a voice below me.

  At the base of the siege tower stood Frank Zhang. Next to him was Hannibal the Elephant, impatiently pawing the mud.

  I’d been so distracted, I’d let an elephant get the drop on me.

  “Hi,” I squeaked, my voice still ragged with emotion. “I was just…This arrow gives prophetic advice. It talks. In my head.”

  Bless him, Frank managed to maintain a poker face. “Okay. I can leave if—”

  “No, no.” I slipped the arrow back in my quiver. “It needs time to process. What brings you out here?”

  “Walking the elephant.” Frank pointed to Hannibal, in case I might be wondering which elephant. “He gets stir-crazy when we don’t have war games. Bobby used to be our elephant handler, but…”

  Frank shrugged helplessly. I got his meaning: Bobby had been another casualty of the battle. Killed…or maybe worse.

  Hannibal grunted deep in his chest. He wrapped his trunk around a bro
ken battering ram, picked it up, and started pounding it into the ground like a pestle.

  I remembered my elephant friend Livia back at the Waystation in Indianapolis. She, too, had been grief-stricken, having lost her mate to Commodus’s brutal games. If we survived this upcoming battle, perhaps I should try to introduce Livia and Hannibal. They’d make a cute couple.

  I mentally slapped myself. What was I thinking? I had enough to worry about without playing matchmaker to pachyderms.

  I climbed down from my perch, careful to protect my bandaged gut.

  Frank studied me, perhaps worried by how stiffly I was moving.

  “You ready for your quest?” he asked.

  “Is the answer to that question ever yes?”

  “Good point.”

  “And what will you do while we’re gone?”

  Frank ran a hand across his buzz cut. “Everything we can. Shore up the valley’s defenses. Keep Ella and Tyson working on the Sibylline Books. Send eagles to scout the coast. Keep the legion drilling so they don’t have time to worry about what’s coming. Mostly, though? It’s about being with the troops, assuring them that everything is going to be okay.”

  Lying to them, in other words, I thought, though that was bitter and uncharitable.

  Hannibal stuck his battering ram upright in a sinkhole. He patted the old tree trunk as if to say, There you go, little fella. Now you can start growing again.

  Even the elephant was hopelessly optimistic.

  “I don’t know how you do it,” I admitted. “Staying positive after all that’s happened.”

  Frank kicked a piece of stone. “What’s the alternative?”

  “A nervous breakdown?” I suggested. “Running away? But I’m new to this being mortal business.”

  “Yeah, well. I can’t say those ideas haven’t crossed my mind, but you can’t really do that when you’re a praetor.” He frowned. “Though I’m worried about Reyna. She’s been carrying the burden a lot longer than I have. Years longer. The strain of that…I dunno. I just wish I could help her more.”

  I recalled Venus’s warning: You will not stick your ugly, unworthy godly face anywhere near her. I wasn’t sure which idea was more terrifying: that I might make Reyna’s life worse, or that I might be responsible for making her life better.