The Tyrant's Tomb

but I assumed this was where he stored his Hera-Cursed Life-Ending
Souvenir.
Or perhaps Frank was somber because he knew what awaited us at
evening muster.
The legion had assembled for the funeral procession.
At the head of the column stood Hannibal, the legion’s elephant, decked
in Kevlar and black flowers. Harnessed behind him was a wagon with
Jason’s coffin, draped in purple and gold. Four of the cohorts had fallen into
line behind the coffin, with purple Lares shifting in and out of their ranks.
The Fifth Cohort, Jason’s original unit, served as honor guards and torch
bearers on either side of the wagon. Standing with them, between Hazel and
Lavinia, was Meg McCaffrey. She frowned when she saw me and mouthed,
You’re late.
Frank jogged over to join Reyna, who was waiting at Hannibal’s
shoulder.
The senior praetor looked drained and weary, as if she’d spent the last
few hours weeping in private and then pulled herself back together as best
she could. Next to her stood the legion’s standard bearer, holding aloft the
eagle of the Twelfth.
Being close to the eagle made my hairs stand on end. The golden icon
reeked of Jupiter’s power. The air around it crackled with energy.
“Apollo.” Reyna’s tone was formal, her eyes like empty wells. “Are you
prepared?”
“For…?” The question died in my throat.
Everyone was staring at me expectantly. Did they want another song?
No. Of course. The legion had no high priest, no pontifex maximus.
Their former augur, my descendant Octavian, had died in the battle against
Gaia. (Which I had a hard time feeling sad about, but that’s another story.)
Jason would’ve been the logical next choice to officiate, but he was our
guest of honor. That meant that I, as a former god, was the ranking spiritual
authority. I would be expected to lead the funeral rites.
Romans were all about proper etiquette. I couldn’t excuse myself without
that being taken as a bad omen. Besides, I owed Jason my best, even if that
was a sad Lester Papadopoulos version of my best.
I tried to remember the correct Roman invocation.
Dearly beloved…? No.
Why is this night different…? No.