The Tyrant's Tomb

Nice stroll into town
Happy birthday to Lester
Here’s some gift-wrapped pain
I DID NOT FEEL up to it.
My gut hurt terribly. My legs could barely support my weight. Even after
using the restroom, washing, dressing, and grabbing a Lemurian-spice latte
and a muffin from our grumpy host, Bombilo, I didn’t see how I could walk
the mile or so to New Rome.
I had no desire to find out more about the prophecy from the Burning
Maze. I didn’t want to face more impossible challenges, especially after my
dream of that thing in the tomb. I didn’t even want to be human. But, alas, I
had no choice.
What do mortals say—suck it up? I sucked it way, way up.
Meg stayed at camp. She had an appointment in an hour to feed the
unicorns with Lavinia, and Meg was afraid if she went anywhere, she might
miss it. Given Lavinia’s reputation for going AWOL, I supposed Meg’s
concern was valid.
Frank led me through the main gates. The sentries snapped to attention.
They had to hold that pose for quite a while, since I was moving at the speed
of cold syrup. I caught them studying me apprehensively—perhaps because
they were worried I might launch into another heartbreaking song, or
perhaps because they still couldn’t believe this shambling heap of
adolescence had once been the god Apollo.