“The motion is passed.” Reyna turned to Frank. “Centurion, your party is excused. The senate has other matters to discuss. And, Octavian, if I may confer with you for a moment.”
Percy was incredibly glad to see the sunlight. In that dark hall, with all those eyes on him, he’d felt like the world was riding on his shoulders—and he was fairly sure he’d had that experience before.
He filled his lungs with fresh air.
Hazel picked up a large emerald from the path and slipped it in her pocket. “So…we’re pretty much toast?”
Frank nodded miserably. “If either of you wants to back out, I wouldn’t blame you.”
“Are you kidding?” Hazel said. “And pull sentry duty for the rest of the week?”
Frank managed a smile. He turned to Percy.
Percy gazed across the forum. Stay put, Annabeth had said in his dream. But if he stayed put, this camp would be destroyed. He looked up at the hills, and imagined Gaea’s face smiling in the shadows and ridges. You can’t win, little demigod, she seemed to say. Serve me by staying, or serve me by going.
Percy made a silent vow: After the Feast of Fortuna, he would find Annabeth. But for now, he had to act. He couldn’t let Gaea win.
“I’m with you,” he told Frank. “Besides, I want to check out the Roman navy.”
They were only halfway across the forum when some called, “Jackson!” Percy turned and saw Octavian jogging toward them.
“What do you want?” Percy asked.
Octavian smiled. “Already decided I’m your enemy? That’s a rash choice, Percy. I’m a loyal Roman.”
Frank snarled. “You backstabbing, slimy—” Both Percy and Hazel had to restrain him.
“Oh, dear,” Octavian said. “Hardly the right behavior for a new centurion. Jackson, I only followed you because Reyna charged me with a message. She wants you to report to the principia without your—ah—two lackeys, here. Reyna will meet you there after the senate adjourns. She’d like a private word with you before you leave on your quest.”
“What about?” Percy said.
“I’m sure I don’t know.” Octavian smiled wickedly. “The last person she had a private talk with was Jason Grace. And that was the last time I ever saw him. Good luck and good bye, Percy Jackson.”
PERCY WAS GLAD RIPTIDE HAD RETURNED to his pocket. Judging from Reyna’s expression, he thought he might need to defend himself.
She stormed into the principia with her purple cloak billowing, and her greyhounds at her feet. Percy was sitting in one of the praetor chairs that he’d pulled to the visitor’s side, which maybe wasn’t the proper thing to do. He started to get up.
“Stay seated,” Reyna growled. “You leave after lunch. We have a lot to discuss.”
She plunked down her dagger so hard, the jelly-bean bowl rattled. Aurum and Argentum took their posts on her left and right and fixed their ruby eyes on Percy.
“What’d I do wrong?” Percy asked. “If it’s about the chair—”
“It’s not you.” Reyna scowled. “I hate senate meetings. When Octavian gets talking…”
Percy nodded. “You’re a warrior. Octavian is a talker. Put him in front of the senate, and suddenly he becomes the powerful one.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You’re smarter than you look.”
“Gee, thanks. I hear Octavian might get elected praetor, assuming the camp survives that long.”
“Which brings us to the subject of doomsday,” Reyna said, “and how you might help prevent it. But before I place the fate of Camp Jupiter in your hands, we need to get a few things straight.”
She sat down and put a ring on the table—a band of silver etched with a sword-and-torch design, like Reyna’s tattoo.
“Do you know what this is?”
“The sign of your mom,” Percy said. “The…uh, war goddess.” He tried to remember the name but he didn’t want to get it wrong—something like bologna. Or salami?
“Bellona, yes.” Reyna scrutinized him carefully. “You don’t remember where you saw this ring before? You really don’t remember me or my sister, Hylla?”
Percy shook his head. “I’m sorry.”
“It would’ve been four years ago.”
“Just before you came to camp.”
Reyna frowned. “How did you—?”
“You’ve got four stripes on your tattoo. Four years.”
Reyna looked at her forearm. “Of course. It seems so long ago. I suppose you wouldn’t recall me even if you had your memory. I was just a little girl—one attendant among so many at the spa. But you spoke with my sister, just before you and that other one, Annabeth, destroyed our home.”
Percy tried to remember. He really did. For some reason, Annabeth and he had visited a spa and decided to destroy it. He couldn’t imagine why. Maybe they hadn’t liked the deep-tissue massage? Maybe they’d gotten bad manicures?
“It’s a blank,” he said. “Since your dogs aren’t attacking me, I hope you’ll believe me. I’m telling the truth.”
Aurum and Argentum snarled. Percy got the feeling they were thinking, Please lie. Please lie.