"For the greater good," Luke had promised as he had pressed the cold silver scythe into her hand.
For a few moments, she could remember staring at the innocent charm bracelet resting in her palm, Luke's fingers still touching it. Her first reaction was to glance quickly around the woods, as if checking for dryads or campers or satyrs who were intently listening in. When she saw there was nobody, she looked back at the charm bracelet still in her hand. Luke's azure eyes were watching her intently, and for the first time in memory since he had returned from the gardens of Hesperides, they had a degree of chill in them.
She opened her mouth—planning to reject him, or to run away, or to whip out her knife—but instead she said, "Promise?"
"I promise," Luke said, eyes not straying from hers. "I swear that nobody will get hurt."
And her fingers curled around the scythe.
Luke smiled.
Silena Beauregard eventually became used to the heavy cold of the scythe biting into her wrist. She wore thick wristbands and bangles to hide it. She tucked it under her sleeve. Sometimes she didn't even wear it, just kept it in her pocket and didn't touch it. For a couple of years, she was positive that she was doing the right thing, that she was helping Luke avoid war, helping keep the camp safe. The only time Silena felt a shiver of conscience was when Charles Beckendorf smiled at her (a smile so much warmer and so different from Luke's cold grin.)
For the greater good, she reminded herself as she began spending more and more time with Beckendorf.
For the greater good.
The warmth of Beckendorf's hands chased the cold of the scythe out of her wrists, and his lips tasted like summer fireworks.
These were the two main things keeping Silena's brain occupied during the month of July, and for a while the sweet bliss of Beckendorf was enough to blur out all her guilt. Instead of fretting (was she doing the right thing, what if somebody saw the bracelet, what is the greater good) she started spending more time sitting by the lake with the Hephestaus counselor, often staying out until the Greek heroes and gods began to form in the inky sky and Chiron (and some of their overeager cabinmates) had to come and steer them to their separate cabins. But that summer was a golden summer, and it was unimaginably wonderful to afford to worry about how her hair and makeup looked instead of stealing constant looks at the telltale scythe hiding underneath her wristbands.
But the golden summer soon came to an end, and before long she found herself holding Charlie's hands more and more as the chill of the scythe bit tighter and tighter onto her wrist.
The war had begun.
The war had begun, and with every casualty the scythe bracelet chilled and hardened more on her wrist, and with every nonchalant glance toward her hand Silena had to fight the urge to whip her arm back and clutch it protectively to her chest. Traitor, traitor, traitor. The neverending soundtrack looped through her head every time she laughed with her friends or discussed what Kronos's next move will be.
Charlie casually brushed his hand over her wrist one night as they're studying battle plans in the Hephestaus cabin. That time she really did start, and reeled her arm back.
He raised an eyebrow.
"You okay?"
Silena numbly nodded. "I'm fine," she mumbled to her lap. "Just a bit jumpy." She adjusted her sleeve more firmly over her wrist.
Traitor, traitor, traitor.
Charlie left for the Princess Andromeda the very next morning. He visited her last, out in the woods where they watched the fireworks together.
She opened her mouth, again just barely resisting the urge to scream at him theyknowtheyknowtheyknowyou'recoming, but instead brushed her lips against his cheek. "Good luck."
"Doubt we'll need it." He swapped a wink with her and began to mount his pegasus.
I swear nobody will get hurt, Luke had said in the woods a long time ago.
Silena took a deep breath as Charlie double-checked all his supplies. She would hold him to that.
"Fly safe," she said bracingly as she reached up and kissed him. One last time.
He gave her a mocking salute and a warm smile that lifted the guilt, heavy with cold, from her heart for a few precious moments. Then, as Blackjack's wings unfurled, he waved goodbye as the pegasus spiraled up into the sun, over the trees, and out of sight.
"Goodbye," Silena murmured.
Where's Charlie?
That seemed to be all she was capable of saying.
Where's Charlie?
The tears that tracked down her cheeks were as cold as ice.
No. No.
Clarisse took her back to the Big House, her strong arms wrapped around her shoulders as she kept her on her feet. "No. No. No." Silena was vaguely aware of herself whispering desperately to the green summer grass crunching underneath her feet, before her whispers began to deepen into long, miserable groans. Her stomach lurched, and she tipped over, her knees slamming onto the wooden porch ringing the Big House. "No, no, no, no, no—" She pressed her cold, sweaty forehead onto her knees, her uncombed sheet of hair falling forward into her face.
She was only a little aware of Clarisse patting her on the back, grunting reassurances. "It's all my fault," Silena repeated, another flow of fresh tears gushing from her eyes. "It's all my fault."
"Don't be stupid," Clarisse growled. "You didn't kill Beckendorf, it was that monster—"
Yes, it certainly was, wasn't it?
I swear nobody will get hurt.
Lies. And suddenly a frenzied urge crawled into her bloodstream, the urge to tear the scythe off her wrist, throw it at the wall, smash it into a million pieces—
But she could do nothing. So she cried on that porch for the rest of the sunny afternoon with Clarisse holding her, and no matter how brightly the sun shone, all she could feel was ice.
Bed 1A had now been immaculately made. The sheets stripped and washed, the pillows perfectly arranged, and the comforter neat and straight.
Just like Charlie would have hated.
Silena sat down onto the bed, halfheartedly biting into another cardboard bonbon, and stared at the floor with smarting eyes. But she would not cry. She had cried enough over the last two days, and she wasn't sure if there was another droplet of moisture left in her body. She popped the rest of the bonbon in her mouth. Still tasted like the inside of a box.
Silena turned so that she could sit cross-legged on Charlie's old bed and face the wall. There was a multitude of pictures pinned up on the board above the bed, a mosaic of Charlie's past years at Camp Half-Blood. She had always cherished the fact that she was in over half of them, but now looking at her face in Charlie's pictures caused a bitter twist to yank at her gut.
She let her fingers ghost across a picture in the middle. This had always been her favorite, which she had insisted Charlie put up (even if she hadn't been featured in it.) It was a photograph she had sneaked of Charlie looking up at the fireworks, his face washed in a creatively colored splash of red, white, and blue. The warm smile hung around his lips, and his chocolate brown eyes were bright and happy. And most importantly, alive.
This is not the greater good, a tiny voice in her head whispered.
Silena rolled back her wristbands to see the silver bracelet gleam coldly in the light, winking up at her as if in a mocking fashion. And, looking at Charlie's content face in the photograph, a strong, boiling heat burned in her stomach, and once again she felt the urge to destroy the bracelet, to rip it to glittering cold shreds—
But she took a deep breath. No. If she were going to help take Kronos down, he and Luke (were they one and the same?) had to believe that she was still their faithful spy. Luke hadn't known that she and Beckendorf were friends, much less together. Maybe they wouldn't suspect.
She was the daughter of Aphrodite, and maybe she was underestimated because of that. But her mother was the goddess of love. Kronos had taken from her what she had loved, and that was his fatal mistake.
Clarisse's electric spear felt alien in her hand, and her armor felt hot and heavy on her skin, but it was much more preferable to the ice of the scythe (which she had stored safely in her pocket. There was no way she could keep that thing on her wrist anymore.)
The Ares kids were quick to rally around her. That was the easy part. As they flew back to Manhattan, an electric combination of nerves and fear began to tangle in her stomach.
Only an child of Ares can destroy the drakon.
They were a good couple miles away, but she could still feel the roar of the drakon vibrating through the pavement, sending skyscrapers trembling at their bases. "Come on, come on," Silena desperately muttered to nobody in particular, drumming her fingers on the metal of her war chariot.
Please let this work.
"ARES!"
She brandished Clarisse's spear in her hand, thrusting it up toward the sky as she led the stream of chariots into battle. She heard the telltale hum of the children of Ares's battle cries all thrumming together, and her heart pounded in her ears. Good. It was working.
She led the chariots to circle the drakon, the knots in her stomach winding tighter and tighter as the drakon hissed and spat. Lances shattered against its tough skin, and fire pattered off its scales harmlessly. The wheels of the chariot screeched against the gravel, gouting sparks underneath.
Silena's hand tightened on her friend's spear.
"Aphrodite," she whispered to herself, and then approached the drakon herself, waving the electric spear in the air and with a cry of defiance, thrusting it down toward the dragon's naked eye.
The drakon shrieked.
"You can do it!" Silena vaguely heard a faraway voice whistling in her ears. "A child of Ares is destined to kill it!"
She turned her face toward the voice, her blue eyes (so unlike Clarisse's fiery brown) wide.
And Percy Jackson saw the truth.
"No—WAIT!"
But she lifted the spear high above her head as it crackled and shivered with energy. "ARES!" she cried once more.
And then the drakon lunged, and her skin burned as if a thousand tiny silver scythes had been pressed to it. A scream ripped itself from her mouth.
And Silena fell.
"All my fault," she forced out through wheezing lips as her friends gathered around her, Clarisse's callused hands cradling her head. The scythe—still cold, but much less heavier than she remembered—pressed into the closed fist of her hand, searing her bare skin. They all exchanged disbelieving looks. Hot tears gathered in her eyes, a droplet of water peaking over her eyelashes and sliding down her cheek.
"The drakon, Charlie's death…camp endangered—"
"Stop it!" Clarisse interrupted vehemently, brown eyes oddly bright. "That's not true."
Silena, saying nothing, uncurled her fingers around the scythe.
Percy's green eyes suddenly dulled as the color drained from his face. "You were the spy."
Another warm swell of tears prickled her eyes, a few spilling over and streaking translucent paths down her cheek. She nodded. It hurt to move. Every breath sent another jagged slice of pain through her.
She opened her mouth, and this time the story filtered through. How charming and handsome Luke had been. How he had beguiled her and led her on. How he had promised her he was saving lives. How he had told her nobody would get hurt.
"He told me he wouldn't hurt…Charlie. He lied to me."
The scythe slipped through her fingers and clattered onto the pavement, and the weight on her back lifted. The world was beginning to be lost in a dark haze.
"Forgive me," Silena whispered, another flash of pain darting through her lungs as she wrenched another breath from the air.
"You're not dying," she thought she heard someone say.
Out of the haze emerged Charlie's smooth brown face, laugh lines crinkling around his chocolate eyes as he stretched his arms out to her and smiled his warm smile.
"Charlie." She forced the name out through her lips. "See Charlie…"
…And as Charlie clasped her hands in his, Silena Beauregard's world became all warmth and light.
Not so sure about this one, but I liked it:) The battle with the drakon is one of my most favorite parts in the whole series.
Anyway, thanks for reading, you great person you:)