Chapter One
"Leadership's Spirit"
Leader leads with a heart
that charms one to act
With prudence and tact
Not with a tongue that hurts
Like a dagger's scratch
—Leadership's Spirit, Melvin Banggollay—
My royal purple cloak flutters in the wind. As per usual, I am dressed in standard praetorian fashion: sturdy gold breastplate studded with medals, and a flowing toga, elegantly draped, which is the same colour purple as my cloak.
My mother is Bellona. Warrior goddess. In my head, I hear her, along with my sister Hylla, chiding me for what I am about to do.
But I cannot help it. After all, I am a teenage girl. I discreetly check my reflection in the glimmering lake water.
Despite the breeze, my hair is doing quite nicely. Long and dark, half-pinned up and half in curling waves, it frames my face in a flattering matter, if I do say so myself. My eyes, however, are big and dark, my jaw firm...
I am not so sure if I am pretty or not. Because my mother is a warrior goddess, I suppose it wouldn't have to matter to me. But it does. It does.
I find myself reminiscing about spending my days in Circe's spa with Hylla. She was an excellent role model, an excellent older sister. I remember her telling me that I was...striking. Yes, that was the word. "Not exactly pretty, but striking," she'd say, as she had braided my hair beautifully every morning, both of us facing the intricate gold-framed mirror in our room back at the spa. "You needn't worry," she'd laugh. "Your features are regal. Like a queen. It would make you a great leader, some day. No one wants a silly, vain biddy on a throne.
And Hylla was right. Here I am now, praetor of New Rome. After the pirates had kept us captive, that horrid day so many years ago, Hylla and I had gone our separate ways.
I was praetor. She was Queen of the Amazons.
I do not hear much from her anymore. But I have learned enough from her.
She'd always advised me not to show any weakness. "No one wants to look straight in a leader's eye, needing help, to find their own fear reflected there," she'd say. Because of this, I have learned to mask my features. Learned to formulate successful battle strategy. Learned to be firm, and just.
Learned to not show any weakness.
Because I can't say I don't have one. I do. I truly do. But a leader mustn't show it.
Behind my back, I know I am greatly admired yet greatly feared by the inhabitants of New Rome, Camp Jupiter. They like that I am fair. Yet they think I should 'loosen up'.
I try to balance. But again, Hylla's words of wisdom echoes in my ears, and I become more praetor-like than ever.
I sigh at my reflection. Being a leader is a privilege. But it is also a curse.
You are always alone.
Suddenly, a growl snaps me out of my reverie. I turn around to see Argentum and Aurum. They are my machine greyhounds, Silver and Gold, each with a pair of ruby eyes and deadly pointed veneers. A gift from a god, years ago. They exhibit extreme watchdog senses, for which I'm grateful, as well as the ability to tell whether one is lying or not.
"Easy, guys," I say, a small smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.
"Reyna?" I hear a voice behind me call out.
I whirl around, trying not to act too surprised. Not that there is anything wrong with it, but because I am a leader, and I should not show too much emotion. Wow, I really should loosen up.
"Reyna?" The voice is questioning, respectful, yet underneath that somewhat sincere tone I detect haughtiness.
"Octavian," I sigh, then quickly compose myself. I don't like Octavian much. I know, I know, I'm a praetor. I should be fair. But Octavian is power-hungry, with a taste for being leader, much like the man he was named after. He will make a good leader in a certain light, but I'm afraid that he would be one of those to seek their gain, weighing it over the conditions of those whom they lead. He may seem charming and good-intentioned at first, but after observing his actions (as a leader must), he seems to be as sly as a serpent underneath all that innocent exterior.
He runs his fingers through his short blond hair. "Praetor Reyna," he announces formally, "I have checked the auguries once more. No sign of him."
"No sign of Jason Grace?" I try to keep the disappointment and worry out of my voice, and only show the slight displeasure of a proper praetor.
"No, Praetor Reyna." Octavian clears his throat. "You know what this means, though..."
I shoot him a look of ice. "No, I don't, so you better explain yourself."
At this, Octavian straightens up, his thin, pale frame snapping. "Well, Jason—Praetor Jason, rather," he hastily corrects himself, after seeing the look on my face, "has not returned. And there has been no sign of him, when I summoned the gods. If he doesn't return, well..." He shrugs—lightly, casually. "We'll need a new praetor. Not that you're not doing an excellent job on your own, Praetor Reyna. But, well, we need another praetor, and..." His voice trails off.
"Let me guess," I say, and I can see that his sly, pale-blue eyes light up visibly. "You're—"
"Interested," we both say at the same time. "Yes. Yes, I am." Octavian smiles unnervingly.
I close my eyes and sigh, trying to appear disappointed instead of totally stressed-out. "We've been through this, Octavian."
"But—"
"Jason Grace will be back," I said, trying to sound firm instead of desperate and like I'm convincing myself. "In the meantime-"
"We've made a deadline, haven't we?" Octavian challenges, extremely politely, though I am not fooled. "Six days until the Feast of Fortuna, then elections. And, well, after all those months, wouldn't you say we're out of time?"
"Octavian—"
"I have done my duties to New Rome well," he says calmly, but I know he is on the verge of losing himself. I turn to look at him. "And, well, I'd like to be praetor, Reyna. Wouldn't you agree, after all I've done?"
My blessing, I tell myself. He wants my blessing. As if I haven't realized that he has been campaigning himself ever since my colleague disappeared. "Of course, Octavian," I say, sounding soothing and firm at the same time. "But—" I pause. "We shall see."
Octavian's voice is stilted, yet still polite. "Very well, Praetor. Very well." And he turns and goes, leaving me all alone beside the lake, flanked by my robotic dogs.
I sometimes felt like I was going mad. I know I was born to be a leader. But now, everything is falling apart. Nothing is in its place.
Once, I was alone. I governed solely, bearing the burden of New Rome on my shoulders.
Then there was Jason.
He was Jupiter's son. He was tall and strong, with blond hair the colour of gold. Blue eyes that twinkled even though he wasn't laughing. An infectious sense of humour, and plenty of charisma. Like me, he was a leader. But unlike me, he was more lenient.
But Jason helped me. He was my partner. New Rome was soon governed by two Praetors. And it kept Camp balanced.
I always thought that I could hide my emotions. But it didn't mean that I didn't have them.
I soon fell in love with Jason Grace, the boy who was lonely yet strong, who governed like a true Senator of Rome.
The very boy who was missing now.
Stop it. Stop it! I tell myself, as my eyes begin to tear up. I am a leader. I should not act like this.
I bring my hand to my eyes to wipe them. I know that I loved him from afar, and who knows, maybe he just saw me as a friend.
But I make a firm decision. If—no, when—Jason is found, or when he is returned, I will tell him that I love him. With all my heart.
"Ugh!" I say to myself, out loud, but only because I know that I am alone. My dogs look at me with worry—well, if robots had emotions, anyway.
Jason has to return, I told myself. He will. He will. He will!
I will not let Octavian, sly, slithering serpent that he is, rule New Rome.
Octavian claims that he can read the auguries. Except when this was done in ancient times, the prophets would slaughter animals, offer the entrails to the gods, that they may send a message.
However, since of course we do not have any animals to slaughter, (nor want to slaughter them, for that matter) Octavian settled with stuffed animals.
I am not joking. Stuffed animals.
He still keeps up his claim, though. "I was descended from the god of prophecy, blah blah blah!"
The mountain of ripped-up stuffed animals is a disturbing sight.
I am not sure whether to believe Octavian, or not. Though I have chosen to give him the benefit of the doubt, just for this matter.
I sigh and make my way to the principia, where we shall have a meeting—mostly about Jason Grace, and who might rule in his stead. I brace myself for the worst.
Five minutes into the meeting, Octavian turns on his (fake) charm and starts going on and on about how it's horrible that Jason, amazing praetor that he is, is gone, yet he is interested in filling in for him.
I sit in my high-backed chair, facing everyone, and resist the urge to strangle him. Who did he think he was, anyway?
A leader. Octavian is cunning enough to campaign for himself, to buy or blackmail people into 'loyalty'—not that I have hardcore evidence, but I am aware of what's happening. It is no use to try and stop the inevitable.
I try not to squirm in my seat. At this point, it is useless to show weakness.
Octavian wraps up his little speech with a smile, then turns to me with an icy look in his calculating blue eyes. "And now, Praetor Reyna, if you may…"
And that's when I smile. Not a cheerful smile, nor a cold one, but a leader's smile—firm and just, as I should be. "We lament the loss of our Praetor, Jason Grace—"
"Former praetor," Octavian mutters under his breath, loud enough for only me to hear him.
I silently count to ten before I continue, not wanting to abruptly jump of my high seat and smack him senseless. "Because the Feast of Fortuna is in six days, we shall have another election, election for praetor.
"And—" I muster myself to speak the fair words that pain me. "I support Octavian in his decision."
I can't help but notice the gleeful look in Octavian's eyes. It's what he wanted. I keep telling myself that Jason will come back.
But what if he doesn't?
No. I must not lose hope now.
The meeting adjourns, then. Everybody leaves.
That night, after governing the usual duties of Camp, I head to my bunker.
I am so ready to sleep. All day long we planned the war games that would take place the following day, and I need to rest.
I nod regally at passing kids from the First Cohort before entering my room. Yes, it is a tiring job to be a leader.
But when I close my eyes and try to sleep, dreams came.
I was a little girl again. Running to and fro in the witch Circe's spa, chased by my sister Hylla.
"Reyna!" she calls out, trying to appear stern, but betrayed by the lovely peal of laughter that keeps escaping from her mouth. "Reyna, come back, the visitors will be displeased."
"Catch me if you can!" I call back, giggling, hiking up my skirt that I may run faster.
Those were the best days of my life. I was young and free, with my sister, safe at Circe's spa, where she was willing to teach us magic. There was no need to learn how to fight, no need to battle for survival, no need to exert myself as a leader and hide my weaknesses.
And that's when the dream shifted.
Now I was alone. Barefoot. Standing in the darkness.
"Reyna," I voice behind me says. I whirl around, my hands outstretched, trying to make my way in the darkness.
Suddenly the voice cackles. "Reyna," it says maliciously, "it's Juno."
Juno Moneta? The goddess? I try keeping cool, but it doesn't work. "Ye—yes, milady?"
The goddess laughs evilly. "Reyna, do you remember Percy Jackson?"
I freeze in my tracks—I haven't heard that name in a long time. However, when I speak again, my voice is firm. "Yes, lady."
The goddess giggles. "He is coming to Camp tomorrow, Reyna. He's coming."
No. The guy who set free Blackbeard and all the pirates after us? The guy who ruined my life? I give up trying to be calm. "What?!"
"He is coming," the voice repeats, "to Camp Jupiter."
And that's when I wake up in cold sweat. Because I know demigod dreams, and they are always true.
