The Tyrant’s Tomb

“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 broken 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.

Frank apparently misinterpreted my look of concern. “Hey, you’ll be fine. Hazel will keep you safe. She’s one powerful demigod.”

I nodded, trying to swallow the bitter taste in my mouth. 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 or Daphne? Or your own son Asclepius? Should I go on?

Shut up, me, I thought back.

“Hazel seems more worried about you,” I ventured. “She mentioned some crazy stunts in the last battle?”

Frank squirmed as if trying to shake an ice cube out of his shirt. “It wasn’t like that. I just did what I had to.”

“And your piece of tinder?” I pointed to the pouch hanging from his belt. “You’re not worried about what Ella said…? Something about fires and bridges?”

Frank gave me a dry little smile. “What, me worry?”

He reached into the pouch and casually pulled out his life stick: a chunk of charred wood the size of a TV remote control. He flipped it and caught it, which almost gave me a panic attack. He might as well have pulled out his beating heart and started juggling it.

Even Hannibal looked uncomfortable. The elephant shifted from foot to foot, shaking his massive head.

“Shouldn’t that stick be locked in the principia’s vault?” I asked. “Or coated in magical flame retardant at least?”

“The pouch is flameproof,” Frank said. “Compliments of Leo. Hazel carried it for me for a while. We talked about other ways to keep it safe. But honestly, I’ve kind of learned to accept the danger. I prefer having the firewood with me. You know how it is with prophecies. The harder you try to avoid them, the harder you fail.”