The Tyrant's Tomb

that she already knew about Jason’s death—perhaps had known for a while
and had gone through a first hard wave of grieving.
I winced with guilt. I should have been the one to deliver the news about
Jason. The cowardly part of me felt relieved that I didn’t have to bear the
initial brunt of Thalia’s anger. The rest of me felt horrible that I felt relieved.
I needed to go talk to her. Then something caught my eye in the crowd
checking out Diana’s chariot. People were packed into its carriage tighter
than New Year’s Eve revelers in a stretch limo’s sunroof. Among them was a
lanky young woman with pink hair.
From my mouth escaped another completely inappropriate, delighted
laugh. “Lavinia?”
She looked over and grinned. “This ride is so cool! I never want to get
out.”
Diana smiled. “Well, Lavinia Asimov, if you want to stay on board,
you’d have to become a Hunter.”
“Nope!” Lavinia hopped off as if the chariot’s floorboards had become
lava. “No offense, my lady, but I like girls too much to take that vow. Like…
like them. Not just like them. Like—”
“I understand.” Diana sighed. “Romantic love. It’s a plague.”
“Lavinia, h-how did you…” I stammered. “Where did you—?”
“This young woman,” said Diana, “was responsible for the destruction of
the Triumvirate’s fleet.”
“Well, I had a lot of help,” Lavinia said.
“PEACHES!” said a muffled voice from somewhere in the chariot.
He was so short, I hadn’t noticed him before, hidden as he was behind
the carriage’s sideboard and the crowd of big folk, but now Peaches
squirmed and climbed his way to the top of the railing. He grinned his
wicked grin. His diaper sagged. His leafy wings rustled. He beat his chest
with his minuscule fists and looked very pleased with himself.
“Peaches!” Meg cried.
“PEACHES!” Peaches agreed, and he flew into Meg’s arms. Never had
there been such a bittersweet reunion between a girl and her deciduous fruit
spirit. There were tears and laughter, hugs and scratches, and cries of
“Peaches!” in every tone from scolding to apologetic to jubilant.
“I don’t understand,” I said, turning to Lavinia. “You made all those
mortars malfunction?”