The Tyrant's Tomb

When Meg and I left the café for the last time, Bombilo actually cried.
Behind his gruff exterior, the two-headed barista turned out to be a real
sentimentalist. He gave us a dozen scones, a bag of coffee beans, and told us
to get out of his sight before he started bawling again. I took charge of the
scones. Meg, gods help me, took the coffee.
At the gates of camp, Lavinia waited, chewing her bubble gum while she
polished her new centurion badge. “This is the earliest I’ve been up in
years,” she complained. “I’m going to hate being an officer.”
The sparkle in her eyes told a different story.
“You’ll do great,” Meg said.
As Lavinia bent to hug her, I noticed a stippled rash running down Ms.
Asimov’s left cheek and neck, unsuccessfully covered by some foundation.
I cleared my throat. “Did you perhaps sneak out last night to see Poison
Oak?”
Lavinia blushed adorably. “Well? I’m told that my centurionship makes
me very attractive.”
Meg looked concerned. “You’re going to have to invest in some
calamine lotion if you keep seeing her.”
“Hey, no relationship is perfect,” Lavinia said. “At least with her, I know
the problems right up front! We’ll figure it out.”
I had no doubt she would. She hugged me and ruffled my hair. “You’d
better come back and see me. And don’t die. I will kick your butt with my
new dancing shoes if you die.”
“Understood,” I said.
She did one last soft-shoe routine, gestured to us like, Over to you, then
raced off to muster the Fifth Cohort for a long day of tap-dancing.
Watching her go, I marveled at how much had happened to all of us since
Lavinia Asimov first escorted us into camp, just a few days before. We had
defeated two emperors and a king, which would have been a strong hand in
even the most cutthroat poker game. We had put to rest the souls of a god
and a Sibyl. We had saved a camp, a city, and a lovely pair of shoes. Most of
all, I had seen my sister, and she had restored me to good health—or what
passed for good health for Lester Papadopoulos. As Reyna might say, we
had added quite a bit to our “good things” column. Now Meg and I were
embarking on what might be our last quest with good expectations and
hopeful spirits…or at least a good night’s sleep and a dozen scones.