The Tyrant’s Tomb by Rick Riordan

Stop making me cry

Or buy me some new tear ducts

My old ones broke down

PRIORITIES CHANGE WHEN YOU’RErushing a friend to emergency medical care.

It no longer seemed important that we had won a major battle, or that I could finally take BECOME A ZOMBIE off my alert calendar. Lavinia’s heroism and her new dancing shoes were momentarily forgotten. My guilt about Thalia’s presence was also pushed aside. She and I didn’t exchange so much as a word as she rushed in to help along with all the rest of us.

I even failed to register that my sister, who’d been at my side only a moment before, had quietly vanished. I found myself barking orders at legionnaires, directing them to grate some unicorn horn, get me some nectar, stat, and rush, rush, rush Frank Zhang to the medical tent.

Hazel and I stayed at Frank’s bedside until well past dawn, long after the other medics assured us he was out of danger. None of them could explain how he had survived, but his pulse was strong, his skin was remarkably unburned, and his lungs were clear. The arrow punctures in his shoulder and the dagger wound in his gut had given us some trouble, but they were now stitched up, bandaged, and healing well. Frank slept fitfully, muttering and flexing his hands as if he were still reaching for an imperial throat to strangle.

“Where’s his firewood?” Hazel fretted. “Should we look for it? If it’s lost in the—”

“I don’t think so,” I said. “I—I saw it burn up. That’s what killed Caligula. Frank’s sacrifice.”

“Then how…?” Hazel put her fist to her mouth to block a sob. She hardly dared to ask the question. “Will he be okay?”

I had no answer for her. Years ago, Juno had decreed that Frank’s life span was tied to that stick. I wasn’t there to hear her exact words—I try not to be around Juno any more than I have to. But she’d said something about Frank being powerful and bringing honor to his family, et cetera, though his life would be short and bright. The Fates had decreed that when that piece of tinder burned up, he was destined to die. Yet now the firewood was gone, and Frank still lived. After so many years keeping that piece of wood safe, he had intentionally burned it to…

“Maybe that’s it,” I muttered.

“What?” Hazel asked.

“He took control of his destiny,” I said. “The only other person I’ve ever known to have this, er, firewood problem, back in the old days, was this prince named Meleager. His mom got the same kind of prophecy when he was a baby. But she never even told Meleager about the firewood. She just hid it and let him live his life. He grew up to be kind of a privileged, arrogant brat.”

Hazel held Frank’s hand with both of hers. “Frank could never be like that.”

“I know,” I said. “Anyway, Meleager ended up killing a bunch of his relatives. His mom was horrified. She went and found the piece of firewood and threw it in the fire. Boom. End of story.”

Hazel shuddered. “That’s horrible.”

“The point is, Frank’s family was honest with him. His grandmother told him the story of Juno’s visit. She let him carry his own lifeline. She didn’t try to protect him from the hard truth. That shaped who he is.”

Hazel nodded slowly. “He knew what his fate would be. What his fate was supposed to be, anyway. I still don’t understand how—”

“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.”

Hazel frowned. “Juno, doing someone a favor?”

“Doesn’t sound like her, I agree. She does have a soft spot for Frank, though.”

“She had a soft spot for Jason, too.” Hazel’s voice turned brittle. “Not that I’m complaining that Frank is alive, of course. It just seems…”

She didn’t need to finish. Frank’s survival was wonderful. A miracle. But somehow it made losing Jason feel all the more unfair and painful. As a former god, I knew all the usual responses to mortal complaints about the unfairness of dying. Death is part of life. You have to accept it. Life would be meaningless without death. The deceased will always be alive as long as we remember them. But as a mortal, as Jason’s friend, I didn’t find much comfort in those thoughts.

“Umph.” Frank’s eyes fluttered open.

“Oh!” Hazel wrapped her arms around his neck, smothering him in a hug. This wasn’t the best medical practice for someone just returning to consciousness, but I let it pass. Frank managed to pat Hazel feebly on the back.

“Breathe,” he croaked.

“Oh, sorry!” Hazel pulled away. She brushed a tear from her cheek. “You’re thirsty, I bet.” She rummaged for the canteen at his bedside and tipped it toward his mouth. He took a few painful sips of nectar.

“Ah.” He nodded his thanks. “So…are we…good?”

Hazel hiccupped a sob. “Yes. Yes, we’re good. The camp is saved. Tarquin is dead. And you…you killed Caligula.”

“Eh.” Frank smiled weakly. “That was my pleasure.” He turned to me. “Did I miss the cake?”

I stared at him. “What?”

“Your birthday. Yesterday.”

“Oh. I…I have to admit I completely forgot about that. And the cake.”

“So there might still be cake in our future. Good. Do you feel a year older, at least?”

“That’s a definite yes.”

“You scared me, Frank Zhang,” Hazel said. “You broke my heart when I thought…”

Frank’s expression turned sheepish (without him actually, you know, turning into a sheep). “I’m sorry, Hazel. It was just…” He curled his fingers, like he was trying to catch an elusive butterfly. “It was the only way. Ella told me some prophecy lines, just for me…. Only fire could stop the emperors, kindled by the most precious firewood, on the bridge to camp. I guessed that she meant the Caldecott Tunnel. She said New Rome needed a new Horatius.”

“Horatius Cocles,” I recalled. “Nice guy. He defended Rome by holding off an entire army single-handedly on the Sublician Bridge.”

Frank nodded. “I…I asked Ella not to tell anyone else. I just…I kind of had to process it, carry it around by myself for a while.” His hand went instinctively to his belt line, where the cloth pouch no longer was.

“You could’ve died,” Hazel said.

“Yeah. ‘Life is only precious because it ends, kid.’”

“Is that a quote?” I asked.

“My dad,” Frank said. “He was right. I just had to be willing to take the risk.”

We remained quiet for a moment, considering the enormity of Frank’s risk, or perhaps just marveling that Mars had actually said something wise.

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

“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.”

“I’m glad.” Hazel kissed his forehead tenderly. “But I’m still going to kill you later for scaring me like that.”

He smiled. “That’s fair. Could I have another…?”

Maybe he was going to say kiss, or sip of nectar, or moment alone with my best friend, Apollo. But before he could finish the thought, his eyes rolled up in his head and he started snoring.

Not all my bedside visits were so happy.

As the morning stretched on, I tried to visit as many of the wounded as I could.

Sometimes I could do nothing but watch as the bodies were prepared for an anti-zombie washing and final rites. Tarquin was gone, and his ghouls seemed to have dissolved with him, but no one wanted to take any chances.

Dakota, longtime centurion of the Fifth Legion, had died overnight from wounds he received fighting in the city. We decided by consensus that his funeral pyre would be Kool-Aid scented.

Jacob, the legion’s former standard-bearer and my former archery student, had died at the Caldecott Tunnel when he took a direct hit from a myrmeke’s acidic spray. The magic golden eagle had survived, as magic items tend to do, but not Jacob. Terrel, the young woman who had snatched up the standard before it could hit the ground, had stayed at Jacob’s side until he passed.

So many more had perished. I recognized their faces, even if I didn’t know their names. I felt responsible for every single one. If I’d just done more, just acted more quickly, just been godlier…

My hardest visit was to Don the faun. He’d been brought in by a squad of Nereids who recovered him from the wreckage of the imperial yachts. Despite the danger, Don had stayed behind to make sure the sabotage was done right. Unlike what happened to Frank, the Greek fire explosions had ravaged poor Don. Most of the goat fur had burned away from his legs. His skin was charred. Despite the best healing music his fellow fauns could offer, and being covered with glistening healing goo, he must have been in terrible pain. Only his eyes were the same: bright and blue and jumping from spot to spot.

Lavinia knelt next to him, holding his left hand, which for some reason was the only part of him left unscathed. A group of dryads and fauns stood nearby, at a respectful distance, with Pranjal the healer, who had already done everything he could.

When Don saw me, he grimaced, his teeth speckled with bits of ash. “H-hey, Apollo. Got any…spare change?”

I blinked back tears. “Oh, Don. Oh, my sweet, stupid faun.”

I knelt at his bedside, opposite Lavinia. I scanned the horrors of Don’s condition, desperately hoping I could see something to fix, something the other medics had missed, but of course there was nothing. The fact Don had survived this long was a miracle.

“It’s not so bad,” Don rasped. “Doc gave me some stuff for the pain.”

“Jarritos cherry soda,” said Pranjal.

I nodded. That was powerful pain medicine indeed for satyrs and fauns, only to be used in the most serious of cases, lest the patients become addicted.

“I just…I wanted…” Don groaned, his eyes becoming brighter.

“Save your strength,” I pleaded.

“For what?” He croaked a grotesque version of a laugh. “I wanted to ask: Does it hurt? Reincarnation?”

My eyes were too blurry to see properly. “I—I’ve never reincarnated, Don. When I became human, that was different, I think. But I hear reincarnation is peaceful. Beautiful.”

The dryads and fauns nodded and murmured in agreement, though their expressions betrayed a mixture of fear, sorrow, and desperation, making them not the best sales team for the Great Unknown.

Lavinia cupped her hands around the faun’s fingers. “You’re a hero, Don. You’re a great friend.”

“Hey…cool.” He seemed to have trouble locating Lavinia’s face. “I’m scared, Lavinia.”

“I know, babe.”

“I hope…maybe I come back as a hemlock? That would be like…an action-hero plant, right?”

Lavinia nodded, her lips quivering. “Yeah. Yeah, absolutely.”

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

He smiled a little wider, as if ready to deliver the punchline. His face froze that way. His chest stopped moving. Dryads and fauns began to cry. Lavinia kissed the faun’s hand, then pulled a piece of bubble gum from her bag and reverently slipped it into Don’s shirt pocket.

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.”