The Tyrant's Tomb

“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.”
I couldn’t argue with that. Still, there was a fine line between accepting
one’s fate and tempting it. “I’m guessing Hazel thinks you’re too reckless.”
“That’s an ongoing conversation.” He slipped the firewood back in its
pouch. “I promise you, I don’t have a death wish. It’s just…I can’t let fear
hold me back. Every time I lead the legion into battle, I have to put
everything on the line, commit to the battle one hundred percent. We all do.
It’s the only way to win.”
“That’s a very Mars thing to say,” I noted. “Despite my many
disagreements with Mars, I mean that as a compliment.”
Frank nodded. “You know, I was standing right about here when Mars
appeared on the battlefield last year, told me I was his son. Seems like so
long ago.” He gave me a quick scan. “I can’t believe I used to think—”
“That I was your father? But we look so much alike.”
He laughed. “Just take care of yourself, okay? I don’t think I could
handle a world with no Apollo in it.”
His tone was so genuine it made me tear up. I’d started to accept that no
one wanted Apollo back—not my fellow gods, not the demigods, perhaps
not even my talking arrow. Yet Frank Zhang still believed in me.
Before I could do anything embarrassing—like hug him, or cry, or start
believing I was a worthwhile individual—I spotted my three quest partners
trudging toward us.
Lavinia wore a purple camp T-shirt and ratty jeans over a silver leotard.
Her sneakers sported glittery pink laces that matched her hair and no doubt
helped her with her stealthy moves. Her manubalista clunked against her
shoulder.
Hazel looked slightly more ninja-esque in her black jeans and black zipfront
cardigan, her oversize cavalry sword strapped to her belt. I recalled that
she favored the spatha because she sometimes fought on horseback while
riding the immortal steed Arion. Alas, I doubted Hazel would summon