The Tower of Nero

You have to understand, to a musician like me, no punishment could be as bad as losing one’s hands—to no longer be able to play the keyboard or the fretboard, to never again summon music with one’s fingers. Making music was its own sort of divinity. I imagined Lu felt the same way about her fighting skills. She would never again hold a weapon.

Nero’s cruelty was beyond measure. I wanted to cauterize the smirk off his smug face.

Attend to your patient, I chided myself.

I grabbed pillows from the sofa and positioned them around Lu, trying to make her as comfortable on the carpet as I could. Even if I’d wanted to risk moving her to the sofa, I doubted I would have had the strength. I dabbed her forehead with more cold cloths. I dribbled water and nectar into her mouth. Then I put my hand against her carotid artery and concentrated with all my might. Heal, heal, heal.

Perhaps it was my imagination, but I thought some of my old power stirred. My fingers warmed against her skin. Her pulse began to stabilize. Her breathing came easier. Her fever lessened.

I had done what I could. I crawled across the floor and climbed onto my sofa, my head swimming with exhaustion.

How much time had passed? I didn’t know if Nero had decided to destroy New York or wait until the forces of Camp Half-Blood came within range. The city could be burning around me right now and I’d see no sign of it in this windowless cell within Nero’s self-contained tower. The AC would keep blowing. The chandelier would keep glittering. The toilet would keep flushing.

And Meg…Oh, gods, what would Nero be doing to “rehabilitate” her?

I couldn’t bear it. I had to get up. I had to save my friend. But my exhausted body had other ideas.

My vision turned watery. I keeled over sideways, and my thoughts sank into a pool of shadow.

“Hey, man.”

The familiar voice seemed to come from half a world away over a weak satellite connection.

As the scene resolved, I found myself sitting at a picnic table on the beach in Santa Monica. Nearby stood the fish-taco shack where Jason, Piper, Meg, and I had eaten our last meal before infiltrating Caligula’s fleet of mega-yachts. Across the table sat Jason Grace, glowing and insubstantial, like a video projected against a cloud.

“Jason.” My voice was a ruined sob. “You’re here.”

His smile flickered. His eyes were nothing but smudges of turquoise dye. Still, I could feel the quiet strength of his presence, and I heard the kindness in his voice. “Not really, Apollo. I’m dead. You’re dreaming. But it’s good to see you.”

I looked down, not trusting myself to speak. Before me sat a plate of fish tacos that had been turned into gold, like the work of King Midas. I didn’t know what that meant. I didn’t like it.

“I’m so sorry,” I managed at last.

“No, no,” Jason said. “I made my choice. You’re not to blame. You don’t owe me anything except to remember what I said. Remember what’s important.”

“You’re important,” I said. “Your life!”

Jason tilted his head. “I mean…sure. But if a hero isn’t ready to lose everything for a greater cause, is that person really a hero?”

He weighted the word person subtly, as if to stress it could mean a human, a faun, a dryad, a griffin, a pandos…even a god.

“But…” I struggled to find a counterargument. I wanted so badly to reach across the table, grip Jason’s wrists, and pull him back into the world of the living. But even if I could, I realized I wouldn’t have been doing it for Jason. He was at peace with his choices. I would have been bringing him back for my own selfish reasons, because I didn’t want to deal with the sorrow and grief of having lost him.

“All right,” I relented. A fist of pain that had been clenching in my chest for weeks began to loosen. “All right, Jason. We miss you, though.”

His face rippled into colored smoke. “I miss you, too. All of you. Apollo, do me a favor. Beware Mithras’s servant—the lion, snake-entwined. You know what it is, and what it can do.”

“I—what? No, I don’t! Tell me, please!”

Jason managed one last faint smile. “I’m just a dream in your head, man. You’ve already got the info. I’m just saying…there’s a price for bargaining with the guardian of the stars. Sometimes you have to pay that price. Sometimes, you have to let someone else do it.”

This cleared up absolutely nothing, but the dream allowed me no more time for questions.

Jason dissolved. My golden fish tacos turned to dust. The Santa Barbara coastline melted, and I woke with a start on my comfy sofa.

“You alive?” asked a hoarse voice.

Lu lay on the opposite couch. How she’d gotten herself there from the floor, I couldn’t imagine. Her cheeks and eyes were sunken. Her bandaged stumps were speckled with brown polka dots where new blood had seeped through. But she looked a bit less pale, and her eyes were remarkably clear. I could only conclude that my godly healing powers—wherever they had come from—must have done some good.

I was so surprised, I needed a moment to find my voice. “I—I should be asking you that question. How is the pain?”

She lifted her stumps gingerly. “What, these? I’ve had worse.”

“My gods,” I marveled. “A sense of humor? You really are indestructible.”

Her facial muscles tensed—maybe an attempt to smile, or just a reaction to her constant searing agony. “Meg. What happened to her? How do we find her?”

I couldn’t help but admire her singlemindedness. Despite her pain and her unfair punishment, Lu was still focused on helping our young friend.

“I’m not sure,” I said. “We’ll find her, but first you have to get your strength back. When we break out of here, you’ll have to be able to move under your own power. I don’t think I can carry you.”

“No?” Lu asked. “I was looking forward to a piggyback ride.”

Wow, I guess Gauls get punchy when they suffer life-threatening injuries.

Of course, the whole idea of us busting out of our cell was absurd. Even if we managed it, we were in no shape to rescue Meg or fight the emperor’s forces. But I couldn’t lose hope, especially when my no-handed companion was still able to crack jokes.

Also, my dream of Jason had reminded me that the emperor’s fasces was hidden somewhere on this floor of the tower, guarded by the snake-entwined lion. The guardian of the stars, Mithras’s servant, whatever that meant—it had to be close. And if it required a price for letting us stomp-kick Nero’s rod of immortality into splinters, I was willing to pay it.

“I’ve got some ambrosia left.” I turned and groped for my med pack. “You need to eat—”

The door at the end of the corridor slammed open. Gunther appeared outside our cell, holding a silver tray laden with sandwiches and assorted canned sodas.

He grinned, showing off all three of his teeth. “Lunch.”

The cell’s middle bars dropped with the speed of a guillotine. Gunther slid the tray through, and the bars snapped shut again before I could even think of making a move for our captor.

I needed food badly, but just looking at the sandwiches made my stomach roil. Someone had trimmed the crusts off the bread. They were cut into squares rather than triangles. This is how you can tell when your lunch has been prepared by barbarians.