The Tyrant's Tomb

Ella read aloud:

“O son of Zeus the final challenge face

The tow’r of Nero two alone ascend

Dislodge the beast that hast usurped thy place.”

I waited.

Ella nodded. “Yep, yep, yep. That’s it.” She went back to her cupcakes and balloons.

“That can’t be it,” I complained. “That makes no poetic sense. It’s not a haiku. It’s not a sonnet. It’s not…Oh.”

Meg squinted at me. “Oh, what?”

“Oh, as in Oh, no.” I remembered a dour young man I’d met in medieval Florence. It had been a long time ago, but I never forgot someone who invented a new type of poetry. “It’s terza rima.”

“Who?” Meg asked.

“It’s a style Dante invented. In The Inferno. Three lines. The first and the third line rhyme. The middle line rhymes with first line of the next stanza.”

“I don’t get it,” Meg said.

“I want a cupcake,” Tyson announced.

“Face and place rhyme,” I told Meg. “The middle line ends with ascend. That tells us that when we find the next stanza, we’ll know it’s correct if the first line and third lines rhyme with ascend. Terza rima is like an endless paper chain of stanzas, all linked together.”

Meg frowned. “But there isn’t a next stanza.”

“Not here,” I agreed. “Which means it must be somewhere out there….” I waved vaguely to the east. “We’re on a scavenger hunt for more stanzas. This is just the starting point.”

Watching them walk away together down the Via Praetoria, I felt a warm certainty that the legion was about to see a new golden age. Like Frank, the Twelfth Legion Fulminata would rise from the ashes, though hopefully wearing more than just their undergarments.

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.

My first thought: Oh, cool. I need a new bow.

Then I looked more carefully at the weapon in my hands, and I squealed in disbelief. “This is mine!”

Meg snorted. “Of course it is. They just gave it to you.”

“No, I mean it’s mine mine! Originally mine, from when I was a god!”

I held up the bow for all to ooh and ahh at: a masterpiece of golden oak, carved with gilded vines that flashed in the light as if on fire. Its taut curve hummed with power. If I remembered correctly, the bowstring was woven from Celestial bronze and threads from the looms of the Fates (which…gosh, where did those come from? I certainly didn’t steal them). The bow weighed almost nothing.

“That has been in the principia treasure room for centuries,” Frank said. “No one can wield it. It’s too heavy to draw. Believe me, I would have if I could have. Since it was originally a gift from you to the legion, it seemed only right we give it back. With your godly strength returning, we figured you could put it to good use.”

The entire Fifth Cohort started chanting in unison: “LAVINIA! LAVINIA!”

“What?” Lavinia’s face turned pinker than her hair. “Oh, no. I don’t do leadership!”

“LAVINIA! LAVINIA!”

“Is this a joke? Guys, I—”

“Lavinia Asimov!” Hazel said with a smile. “The Fifth Cohort read my mind. As my first act as praetor, for your unparalleled heroism in the Battle of San Francisco Bay, I hereby promote you to centurion—unless my fellow praetor has any objections?”

“None,” Frank said.

“Then come forward, Lavinia!”

To more applause and whistling, Lavinia approached the rostrum and got her new badge of office. She hugged Frank and Hazel, which wasn’t the usual military protocol, but no one seemed to care. Nobody clapped louder or whistled more shrilly than Meg. I know because she left me deaf in one ear.

Seeing Frank and Hazel side by side, I had to smile. They looked so right together—wise and strong and brave. The perfect praetors. Rome’s future was in good hands.

“Well, guys”—he spread his arms—“I could thank Reyna all day long. She has given so much to the legion. She’s been the best mentor and friend. She can never be replaced. On the other hand, I’m up here all alone now, and we have an empty praetor’s chair. So I’d like to take nominations for—”

Lavinia started the chant: “HA-ZEL! HA-ZEL!”

The crowd quickly joined in. Hazel’s eyes widened. She tried to resist when those sitting around her pulled her to her feet, but her Fifth Cohort fan club had evidently been preparing for this possibility. One of them produced a shield, which they hoisted Hazel onto like a saddle. They raised her overhead and marched her to the middle of the senate floor, turning her around and chanting, “HAZEL! HAZEL!” Reyna clapped and yelled right along with them. Only Frank tried to remain neutral, though he had to hide his smile behind his fist.

“Okay, settle down!” he called at last. “We have one nomination. Are there any other—?”

“HAZEL! HAZEL!”

“Any objections?”

“HAZEL! HAZEL!”

“Then I recognize the will of the Twelfth Legion. Hazel Levesque, you are hereby promoted to praetor!”

“It’s for personal reasons,” Reyna said. “Like, my sanity, for instance. I need time just to be Reyna Avila Ramírez-Arellano, to find out who I am outside the legion. It may take a few years, or decades, or centuries. And so…” She removed her praetor’s cloak and badge and handed them to Frank.

“Thalia?” she called.

Thalia Grace made her way down the central aisle. She winked at me as she passed.

She stood before Reyna and said, “Repeat after me: I pledge myself to the goddess Diana. I turn my back on the company of men, accept eternal maidenhood, and join the hunt.”

Reyna repeated the words. Nothing magical happened that I could see: no thunder or lightning, no silver glitter falling from the ceiling. But Reyna looked as if she’d been given a new lease on life, which she had—infinity years, with zero interest and no money down.

Thalia clasped her shoulder. “Welcome to the hunt, sister!”

Reyna grinned. “Thanks.” She faced the crowd. “And thank you, all. Long live Rome!”

But I was never really sure if I wanted that, or if I just felt like I was supposed to want it. People, well-meaning, would be like, Oh, you poor thing. You deserve somebody in your life. Date him. Date her. Date whoever. Find your soul mate.”

She looked at me to see if I was following. Her words came out hot and fast, as if she’d been holding them in for a long time. “And that meeting with Venus. That really messed me up. No demigod will heal your heart. What was that supposed to mean? Then finally, you came along.”

“Do we have to review that part again? I am quite embarrassed enough.”

“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.”

“You’re welcome?”

She laughed. “Don’t you see, though? Venus put you up to the job. She tricked you into it, because she knew you are the only one in the cosmos with an ego big enough to handle the rejection. I could laugh in your face, and you would heal.”

“Hmph.” I suspected she was right about Venus manipulating me. I wasn’t so sure the goddess cared whether or not I would heal, though. “So what does this mean for you, exactly? What’s next for Praetor Reyna?”

Even as I asked the question, I realized I knew the answer.

“I don’t mean it in a negative way.” Seeing my dubious look, she sighed and stared out at the dark river, its ripples curling silver in the moonlight. “I don’t know if I can explain this. 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?”

“You’re talking to a former god. Dealing with people’s expectations is our job description.”

Reyna conceded this with a nod. “For years, I was supposed to be a good little sister to Hylla in a tough family situation. Then, on Calypso’s island, I was supposed to be an obedient servant. Then I was a pirate for a while. Then a legionnaire. Then a praetor.”

“You do have an impressive résumé,” I admitted.

“But the whole time I’ve been a leader here,” she forged on, “I was looking for a partner. Praetors often partner up. In power. But also romantically, I mean. I thought Jason. Then for a hot minute, Percy Jackson. Gods help me, I even considered Octavian.”