So, I was busy as heck with exams and life and Christmas and had no inspiration for two and a half weeks . . . And then I had a burst of inspiration and wrote this 7,000+ word chapter in three days. I guess you all can thank Christmas. ;)

Also, I probably shouldn't be telling you this, but I've already started on the next chapter, so you (hopefully) won't have too long to wait until then.

Thank you so much for the 20 lovely reviews! :') Congratulations to Icestorm238, the 150th reviewer!

Merry Christmas (if you celebrate it)! Happy New Year (since I doubt I'll post again before then :P)!

And enjoy!

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.

Part XI

Reyna didn't stop until she reached the banks of the River Styx. Luckily, her pursuers had fallen behind, giving her a little time, but she wasn't sure what to do with it. Crossing the Styx was going to be impossible without Charon's boat, but people only got favors from him with bribes, and Reyna was fresh out of denarii. Besides, his ferry was nowhere in sight.

Sighing, Reyna started to jog down the bank, hoping to find something useful in the debris that had drifted ashore, praying that her time wasn't ticking down too quickly . . . And then she had a thought. Sure, in the myths, people only got favors from Charon with bribes, but there was a first time for everything, wasn't there? And wasn't a daughter of Bellona, a praetor of Rome, and a girl on a world-saving mission the perfect person to cause that first? Anyway, it wasn't as if she had any other options.

Reyna smiled and pulled Leo's screwdriver out of her pocket. Then she crouched behind a boulder and waited for Charon's ferry to show up.

Octavian woke up exactly one hour before dawn and took his time getting dressed, making sure every piece of regulation clothing was fitted correctly. He tucked his purple shirt crisply into his shorts, covered by his leather kilt. Then he attached his greaves to his legs and put on his lorica segmentata, the armor that covered his torso. In his current position as interim praetor, he really should have been wearing cuirass, fitted and sculpted armor, but there obviously hadn't been enough time to forge it. As soon as they had defeated the Greek camp, he would command a few Vulcan kids to make him some.

Octavian pushed the thought to the back of his head and attached a purple cloak to his shoulders—sure, he wasn't officially praetor, but somebody had to show they were in charge; somebody had to wear it—and adjusted it so that it fell evenly across his back. Then he buckled the belt that held his gladius and dagger around his waist, put on his helmet, and decided against carrying his shield and spear just yet before leaving his tent and bursting into the next one. Once inside, he roughly shook Cornelius awake.

"Octavian—?" he asked, eyes bleary with sleep. "What are you . . . ?"

"Have you forgotten?" Octavian accused. "Today is the day we avenge Reyna's death! We must be at the top of the Greeks' hill by eight a.m.! You must sound the wake-up call!"

"But—"

"Now, Cornelius!"

The twelve-year-old boy knew better than to argue with him. He rolled out of his cot, grabbed the iron pot and spoon by his head, and walked out of the tent, banging on the pot as he went. A crude alarm clock, but effective. Octavian could hear the grumbles of legionnaires as they started to get ready.

Slowly, he smiled. It was five a.m. now. There were just three hours until they would confront those Greeks and destroy them once and for all. They would finally pay the price for destroying half of New Rome, killing Praetor Reyna Concessi, and committing countless other crimes. And better yet, after the battle was over, Octavian was sure that his legion would be so glad that he had led them to victory that they would raise him up on a shield, finally making him praetor permanently.

It was going to be a good day.

Finally, Reyna caught sight of Charon's ferry. She watched as spirits unloaded and drifted towards the gates to the Underworld. Then, just after the last spirit exited, but before Charon could push off from the bank, Reyna sprang forward, tackled him to the floor of his boat, and pressed Leo's screwdriver to his throat.

Charon wheezed, the breath obviously knocked out of him. He flickered between a ghoulish, skeleton-thin figure in a black cloak and a tall man in an Italian-cut suit. "Who dares . . . to try to overpower me . . . ?"

"My name is Reyna Concessi," she told him. "I am a praetor of Rome, and both Camp Half-Blood and Camp Jupiter's only chances of survival rest with me. I just escaped from Tartarus, and I have to get to the surface and travel to Half-Blood Hill in less than three hours. I need you to ferry me across the River Styx and bring me to Orpheus's passage."

Charon just laughed. "You insolent child," he said. "I'm immortal. What damage could you possibly do to me with that"—his eyes flicked down—"screwdriver? Now, if you hop off this boat now, I might just forget that this little exchange every happened. I might let you go free. But I doubt I'll be so forgiving in, oh, about ten seconds." He waited for her to leave.

Instead, Reyna pushed Leo's screwdriver in deeper, breaking Charon's skin ever so slightly. Ichor trickled out. "I once killed forty monsters with a screwdriver just like this one," she said softly, "in about forty seconds. Sure, you might not be able to die, but I know for a fact that even immortals can feel pain. And believe me, I can cause you so much pain, death would be easier." She looked down at him and noticed genuine fear in his immortal eyes. "So, do we have a deal or not?"

Charon gulped against the screwdriver at his throat. "You drive a hard bargain, Reyna Concessi," he muttered. "We . . . We have a deal."

"Good." She removed the screwdriver from his throat, but kept it out and ready. "Now, how far down the Styx do you have to ferry me? How can I keep away those waiting souls on the other side?"

Charon smiled, all the more unnerving because his face flickered from human-like to skeletal just at that moment. "You won't have to," he told her. "Orpheus's passage is located on this side of the Styx."

Reyna raised her eyebrows. "Convenient," she said. "Then it should be all the more easier to take me to it."

Just then, the guards from the death gates reached the riverbank and started scanning from side to side, searching for her. Reyna cursed. "We need to go now."

Charon followed her gaze. "Well, look at that," he drawled. "You're making all kinds of friends today, aren't you, Praetor?"

Reyna casually twirled the screwdriver between her fingers. "Obviously," she said. "Now let's get moving."

It took longer than Reyna would have wanted—too long, always too long—but eventually Charon stopped his ferry next to a black cliff. "We're here," he said. "The entrance to Orpheus's passage is between those two outcroppings of rock." As he spoke, he pointed at the right place. It seemed pretty obvious to Reyna. After all, that was the only cave entrance that she could see.

"We're here," Reyna repeated, trying not to show her relief. She had no idea how long it would have taken her to find this entrance on her own. She'd have to remember to thank Leo for the screwdriver. "Well, that's fortunate, seeing as the Styx becomes a mess of rapids after this." It was true. Any farther, and Charon's ferry would be crushed on the rocks and flotsam—if a ghostly boat for the dead even could be crushed.

Deciding not to wonder about that, Reyna hopped out of the boat, careful not to touch the water. "Thank you, Charon," she said, "my new friend." She winked at him, tipping the screwdriver toward him in a kind of mock salute, and shocked herself with her own behavior. It was so unlike her, it must have been Leo's influence. Oh gods, Leo . . .

"New friend," Charon scoffed, shaking his head and pulling Reyna out of her thoughts. "Right. In fact, we're such good friends now that in appreciation for your little stunt, I'm going to require quadruple the payment for your passage after your death—which might be sooner than you think, praetor of Rome. Oh yes," he said, sneering at her, "we're great friends. I won't forget you. If you don't have enough money with you after your death, you can stay in my lobby for all eternity. Won't that be great, friend?"

Reyna didn't bother arguing with him. She didn't have the time, and anyway, she supposed it was fair. She would just tell everyone she knew to make sure she was buried with eight denarii instead of two. Hopefully, at least one person would remember.

Instead, she smiled wryly. "Pleasure doing business with you, Charon."

He saluted back, eyes glinting with malice. "Same to you, Reyna Concessi. I'll see you soon." And he rowed away.

Gods, Reyna hoped soon was a relative term, in relation to his immortal, everlasting life, and not in relation to her mortal one. But she didn't have the time to worry about that now. Instead, Reyna took a deep breath and ran inside the cave. Inside, she found a flight of stairs that seemed to extend upwards endlessly. She took a deep breath to steady herself—it was her second journey between worlds in as many hours, after all—and started climbing, thanking the gods for the legion training that had gotten her in such good shape. She had a long way to go.

Annabeth glared at the sun shining straight overhead. The sun meant it was almost noon, which meant by extension that it was almost six a.m. in New York. She knew from Malcolm that the Romans would march at eight. Gods, she wished there was something she could do.

No one had slept all night—how could they, knowing what was coming? Frank and Coach Hedge had eventually come back to the Argo II, supplies in hand, but Percy hadn't been with them. According to Frank, he had apparently "noticed something weird" and wanted to check it out. Annabeth could have screamed in frustration, if she didn't know it would scare everyone. She needed her Seaweed Brain with her—to drain the water in their ship, to be the glue the crew needed again, and, gods, to comfort her while all their friends went to an almost certain death. How could he have been out for twelve hours? What in Hades could he be doing that was so important?

Coach Hedge broke the silence that had descended on all the crew members, pulling Annabeth out of her thoughts. "Come on, cupcakes," he said gruffly. "You've skipped two meals already. You need to eat."

Hazel frowned at him. "Eat?" she asked, like it was a foreign concept.

Piper crossed her arms. "How can you even think of food at a time like this?"

Frank shook his head. "We're not hungry anyways, Coach."

"I know you're not hungry!" Coach Hedge growled. "Styx, I'm not hungry! But you still have to eat! You can't skip meals for the rest of your lives, or they'll be measly short ones! You owe it to your friends and siblings to stay strong! Otherwise, how do you think you'll be able to stand up to Gaea when the time comes? How do you think you'll be able to make her pay for the things she's done and finish this, once and for all?" He paused. "Look, cupcakes," he said in a much calmer tone, "we can still get to the dining hall. It isn't washed out. I'll go get some of those magical plates, and you can . . . You can use them if you feel like it." He disappeared into the stairwell.

Hazel leaned into Frank and touched Nico's hand comfortingly. Jason wrapped an arm around Piper. Annabeth wished for Percy more than ever. She couldn't believe they were sitting around, waiting and discussing the merits of eating, while her little brother and all of her friends faced a Roman army. Gods, she hated waiting.

Still, if she had the choice, she'd rather wait like this forever than to allow the sun to keep moving across the sky.

To feel the time in New York inching closer and closer to eight a.m.

After a while, all the stair-climbing became so monotonous that Reyna forgot she was doing it. With each stair, she sank deeper into thought until she was thoroughly immersed in her problems. She worried about the legion for a while—how mean was Octavian to them? How many of them were refusing to follow him? Were any of them injured? Were they marching towards Half-Blood Hill even now?—but quickly decided not to think about them. After all, she was on her way to them right now. She would know the answers to those questions soon enough.

Of course, that meant her thoughts turned to Leo, which was at least equally painful. She still couldn't believe he had stepped aside for her so easily, allowed her to climb into the helicopter instead of him. He had watched out for her the entire time they were in Tartarus, right up until she had to leave. He had saved her life at least as many times as she had saved his. If anything happened to him because of his stupid bravery . . . But no. Reyna pushed that line of thinking out of her mind. She bet that helicopter had already landed back in Tartarus. Leo was probably climbing in right now. He would be safe soon. She couldn't worry about him—her heart couldn't afford to worry about him—because she'd have to face her legion soon, she'd have to look completely calm in front of them, and if she was thinking about Leo at all while she spoke, she'd get distracted, and Octavian would find a way in somehow, and all hope would be lost, so as soon as she reached the surface, she would have to stop thinking about Leo Valdez, period, unless she had to mention him in order to sway all the legionnaires. Of course, she still had a couple thousand steps to go until she reached the surface, right, so she could worry about Leo and think about Leo and remember Leo for at least a while longer and then—

And then Reyna ran out of steps.

She stared at the wall of stone in front of her. She couldn't believe she was almost at the surface already. She just had to do something musical, and then the hidden door would slide open, and Reyna would be in New York.

It was easy. If anyone ever asked her, Reyna would claim that she couldn't sing, and that if they asked again she would tear them to pieces, and that they were crazy for even wondering, but the truth was, she could actually sing pretty well. After all, she had spent years on Circe's island, and besides learning to give decent manicures, Circe had also taught Reyna and the other spa attendants basic magic, most of which involved singing. Even though Reyna had never sung before, she had known that she would have to learn to hold a pitch in order to succeed in those lessons. And back then, she had wanted to do anything to please Circe, so she had done it. She had learned to sing. And while she had since done her best to forget everything she ever learned at Circe's island, Reyna could never quite forget how to sing.

She quickly sang the chorus of a Spanish lullaby she remembered Hylla cooing to her over a decade ago, and the door slid back just as she had expected. Reyna smiled, half triumphantly and half wistfully, and stepped through the doorway and into the mortal world. As soon as her feet crossed the threshold, she did her best to fulfill the deal she'd made with herself and tried to shut off any thoughts concerning Leo Valdez.

Reyna could hardly believe it. After all those days in Tartarus, she had finally escaped completely. She was standing in sunlight—sunlight that was a bit blinding after her week in hell, of course, but sunlight nonetheless—and breathing in fresh air—polluted New York air that was mostly car exhaust, of course, but moving air nonetheless—and enjoying the feeling of grass against the sole of her left foot—which she could only feel because she had thrown her sneaker away to save herself from a three-headed dog, of course, but was grass nonetheless. She was free.

Well . . . as free as a supposedly-dead praetor with an impending deadline to save hundreds of lives could be.

Okay, so maybe it was too early to celebrate.

Reyna stepped away from Orpheus's passage and watched it shut behind her. Then she ran down a random path in Central Park, not even stopping to admire its beauty, until she reached one of Manhattan's immensely crowded streets.

Styx. She had forgotten about that. The roads in New York were always crowded, even this early in the morning. Holy Bellona, how was she going to get all the way to Long Island in time now? She was already seeing sunlight, which meant that it was long after six a.m., which meant she had under two hours to stop what would probably be the bloodiest battle in demigod history. With the kind of traffic Reyna was seeing, it would probably take any taxi driver that long just to get out of Manhattan. What could she—?

Suddenly, another of Annabeth's stories came to mind. When she was thirteen, just a few days before she had seen Reyna for the very first time, Annabeth had had to rush to Camp Half-Blood with Percy after he was confronted by Laistrygonians that blew up his school's gym. (Yeah, it had been a long story.) Annabeth had summoned the Gray Sisters, who apparently drove a super fast taxi, with a Greek drachma. They had gotten her and Percy to Camp Half-Blood in no time.

Reyna's first instinct was to dismiss the idea. After all, she didn't even have a single denarius on her, let alone any Greek money. Without a drachma, she couldn't pay for their services or summon them in the first place. Even if she could, Reyna had no idea whether the Gray Sisters serviced Romans, or just Greeks. There were too many variables. She would have to take her chances with a mortal taxi, or whistle and pray that Scipio could hear her all the way from Long Island and that he wasn't tied up or being used already, or—

Reyna stopped short. Gods, was she even listening to herself? Those weren't options. There was only the slimmest chance that either of those choices would work. The Gray Sisters were the fastest mode of transportation available to Reyna at the moment. They would ensure that she made it to Half-Blood Hill on time. If she couldn't convince them to help her, then she could utilize one of her remaining options, but by the gods, she was at least going to try first.

Although it pained her to stand still for even a second, Reyna stayed planted on the street corner and thought. Sure, she didn't have any real money, but she had to have some kind of substitute, right? Reyna looked down at herself. She doubted the Gray Sisters would place as much value on her right shoe as Cerberus had on her left, and they probably wouldn't even notice if she used a scrap of cloth from her tattered shirt. Her gold breastplate was probably too big to throw onto the ground—but she could drop one of the clasps that used to hold her praetor's cloak. It was round, golden, and about the same size as a Greek drachma. If Reyna cleaned Tartarus's grime from its surface and tore off its metal pin, it could probably fool the Gray Sisters—especially since they only had one eye between them. Even if it didn't work, it was her best shot. Reyna pulled it off, made it as coin-like as possible, said a quick prayer to Mercury (hey, he was the god of travelers, after all—it couldn't hurt), thought of the Gray Sisters, dropped the clasp into the street, and held her breath.

The clasp clattered onto the pavement and rolled a few feet before stopping. It hadn't sunk into the ground like in Annabeth's story. Reyna bit her lip and hoped they would show up anyway . . . but nothing happened.

She cursed. Were the Gray Sisters too smart? Did they realize she wasn't Greek? Did they know she hadn't offered up a real drachm—?

Reyna cursed again, mostly because she couldn't believe she was being so stupid. Annabeth hadn't just tossed the coin onto the ground—she had said something in Greek first. What was it? "Stop, Chariot of Damnation"? But gods of Olympus, Reyna only knew a few phrases in Greek. "Hello", "Good morning", "One hot chocolate, please", "Don't try to eat me or I'll stab you through the heart" . . . just the basics. How did you call for a taxi in Ancient Greek? Reyna thought about it for a while before deciding that she would never be able to guess. She'd just say the phrase in Latin and pray it worked.

Reyna scooped up her clasp, shouted, "Subsiste, pilentum damnationis!", and dropped it on the road again. This time, it sank into the ground—excruciatingly slowly, but it sank. Reyna resisted the urge to whoop in triumph. She'd probably get strange looks from the New York pedestrians.

Within a minute, the ground around the vanished clasp melted into a reddish ooze, and a smoky gray taxi rose out of the mess until it stood in front of Reyna. One of the Gray Sisters rolled down the window and mumbled, "Passage? Passage?" just as Annabeth had described.

Reyna could hardly believe her good luck. "Take me to Camp Half-Blood, please," she said, climbing into the back of the cab.

The sister turned around in her seat and peered at her—at least, she would have been peering at her, if she had eyes. Reyna resisted the urge to gag. "Are you a Greek?" she asked suspiciously. "You called us in Latin."

Reyna thought fast. "Sorry," she said. "I just started at camp a few months ago. Before that, I took Latin in school for four years. I still know more Latin than Greek."

The sister nodded like her explanation made sense, and Reyna had to stop herself from letting out a sigh of relief. "To Camp Half-Blood, then," she said, grinning toothlessly. "It'll cost you three drachmas."

"Fine, fine," Reyna said, trying not to worry about how she was going to get that much Greek money. "Just get there fast."

The sister grinned wider. "Of course, dear," she said. Then, to the one mostly in the driver's seat, "Step on it, Tempest!"

Tempest cackled as the taxi took off. Reyna was glad she hadn't eaten in days, or she would have thrown up her most recent meal.

"I have the tooth today!" the middle sister crowed. "That means I get to bite her coin, Wasp!"

Oh gods, Reyna hadn't thought about this. They were going to bite her coin—to verify its authenticity, but it wasn't authentic. As soon as they found out . . . Oh Styx. She would be screwed.

Luckily, it didn't look like they would be doing that any time soon. "It's not really your turn, Anger!" Wasp argued. "You know you yanked that tooth right out of my mouth this morning!"

"Only because you had it yesterday, and it's my turn, fair and square!" Anger screamed.

"Don't be fools!" Tempest yelled, swerving around a minor accident as she spoke. "It's my turn!"

"Not if you have the eye, it's not!" Wasp shrieked. "If you want the tooth, hand the eye over!"

"I'm driving!"

"That's not an excuse!"

"Yes, it is! You used it yesterday!"

Apparently Wasp didn't care about technicalities. She lunged over Anger and plucked the eye out of Tempest's socket. While they were squabbling, Anger took the opportunity to grab the clasp in Wasp's hand. She put it in her mouth and bit, obviously expecting to taste Ancient Greek gold . . . But as soon as her tooth touched the clasp, she spit it into Wasp's side.

"Fake!" she screeched. "It's a fake!"

Both Tempest and Wasp whirled around to face Reyna, as did Anger. "Fake?" they squawked. "You dare to deceive us?! Who do you think you are, you mortal little vermin—"

But just then, since no sister was paying attention, the taxi flew over the corner of a curb and skidded in a circle before coming to a stop. The eye flew out of Wasp's hand and straight into the seat next to Reyna. Immediately, the sister panicked.

"The eye!" she squealed. "Who stole my eye?"

"It's our eye, you fool!" Anger growled. "And it wasn't me! It must have been Tempest!"

"Tempest, I'm going to kill you!"

"It wasn't me!"

"Well, it wasn't Anger!"

"I wish it was," Anger grumbled. "It was my turn anyway."

Both sisters whirled on her. "You liar!" they yelled in unison. "It was mine!" Realizing what the other had said, they then whirled on each other. "You liar!" they repeated. "It was mine!"

A full-blown catfight ensued, all three sisters scratching the others while arguing about whose turn it was and who was the biggest idiot. Eventually, Anger broke it up. "We're all fools! Why are we fighting over the eye, when that girl just tried to summon us with a fake drachma?"

"For once, you're right!" Tempest cried. The Gray Sisters turned on Reyna in the backseat.

"You're a liar and a fool, to dare to summon us incorrectly!" Wasp declared. "Get out! Get out right now, and maybe we won't place charges!"

"Wait!" Tempest started sniffing the air. "No! I don't believe it! With all the Greek and Roman schizophrenia going on these days, I wasn't sure for a long time . . . But I'm certain now! This girl isn't even Greek! She's a Roman!"

"Roman?" Wasp shrieked. "That's a double lie! Forget it! We're definitely pressing charges now!"

"You should have known better than to mess with the Gray Sisters, child!" Anger screamed. "We have connections! We can make your life into absolute misery!"

"You'll find out how soon enough!" Tempest claimed shrilly. "But for now, get out get out GET OUT!"

Reyna stayed firmly planted in the backseat, bearing their threats calmly. "I could get out now," she agreed conversationally. "However, I don't think you want me to."

"What?" Tempest squawked. "Of course we want you to! Haven't you been paying attention, girl?"

"All right," Reyna said, starting to move towards the cab door. "I guess I'll just take your eye with me, then."

"WHAT?!"

The lock on the door snapped closed.

All of the Gray Sisters started leaning toward Reyna, their long talon-like fingernails almost scraping her face. "Give it to me!" Anger yelled. "Or I'll destroy you!"

"No!" Wasp screamed. "Give it to me!"

"Give it to me!" Tempest cried.

"Give it to one of us!" they shrilled together.

Reyna scooted backwards in her seat, keeping out of the way of their claws. "If I give it to you, you'll make my life a living hell anyway, won't you?"

"Of course we will!" the Gray Sisters chorused. "You tried to deceive us!"

Reyna pulled Leo's screwdriver out of her pocket—Holy Bellona, she thought, this thing is useful—and pointed it towards them, making sure she scraped each of their hands so they knew that she really had a weapon. "In that case," she said, "I might as well cause you as much suffering as I possibly can before then. I guess I'll just carve apart your eye with this screwdriver."

Suddenly, all of their squabbling stopped. The cab went absolutely silent.

"C . . . carve apart our eye?" Wasp stammered. "You aren't serious?"

Reyna held Leo's screwdriver poised over their eye. "I'm completely serious," she said. "My screwdriver's centimeters away from it right now."

Before she could help herself, Tempest let out a little moan of fear.

Anger trembled. "Be reasonable, child," she said. "There's no need for this."

"Oh, but there is," Reyna countered. "I'm Roman, it's true, but I care about Greeks. The reason I need you to take me to Half-Blood Hill is because my legion is on their way to attack Camp Half-Blood right now. They're doing it because they think I'm dead. They think the Greeks killed me, and Octavian is egging them on. I'm the praetor of the Twelfth Legion. If I can get to them in time, I think I can stop them from attacking. I can stop pointless bloodshed and countless deaths, and therefore keep Gaea from winning." She hesitated. "You aren't on Gaea's side, are you?"

"Never!" Wasp shouted. "She would destroy all demigods! Who would we get to ride in our taxi then?"

"How would we make any money?" Anger added.

"Good," Reyna said. "So you don't want Gaea to win. Then you should know that I might be the only person who can stop her at this moment. If I can convince my legion to stand down, Romans and Greeks might be able to forge an alliance. Together, we could defeat Gaea once and for all."

She frowned at the slimy eyeball in her palm. "I don't want to stab your eye," she told them. "I have no reason to make you suffer."

"Then don't!" Anger cried. "Give it back!"

"It's not that simple," Reyna said. "I might not want to, but if it comes down to it, I will. I won't hesitate to stab this if you don't help me. You all can be blind for the rest of your immortal lives. I won't care. You're planning on making my life miserable anyway." She stared them down. Even if they couldn't see how serious her expression was, Reyna could tell that they could feel it. The sisters gave a collective whimper.

"That's Option One." She paused. "I don't like Option One. Do you?"

All three sisters vigorously shook their heads.

"That's what I thought," Reyna said. "Luckily, there's another choice. You could decide to forgive me for using a fake coin and summoning you even though I'm Roman. I only did what was necessary. In fact, I'm only doing what's necessary right now. If you choose, you could be gracious and drive me to Half-Blood Hill as fast as possible. I won't be able to pay you immediately, but after I convince everyone not to attack each other—assuming I live through my negotiations, of course—I'll get money from one of the Greek campers, and I'll pay you double what I owe. I'll swear to do that on the River Styx if you agree. And of course, I won't destroy your eye. After all, it won't be necessary then."

Reyna took a deep breath. "That's Option Two." She arched an eyebrow, even though she knew none of the sisters could see. "It's up to you three. Which option do you choose?"

Leo woke up with a ferocious headache, bone-deep pain in his back, and the terrifying realization that he couldn't feel his arms. Holy Hephaestus, had they cut his arms off—?!

But no, if Leo twisted to the side as far as he could—not far, considering that he was lashed to a stalagmite—he could see the faintest outline of his fingers. His arms weren't missing, just asleep. Leo wriggled around, trying to get feeling back into his trapped limbs. He had just started to feel aching pins and needles in his fingertips when something crashed into the ground beside him. Leo yelped.

If I didn't need you for my awakening on August 1st, that stalactite would have crushed you, not the ground, a booming voice threatened. Consider yourself lucky, Leo Valdez.

Leo gulped, but he remembered to keep up his act. "Lucky?" he gasped out. "Lucky? Our escape failed—Reyna's dead—and you think I'm lucky? Lady, have you forgotten how incredibly bad my luck is?"

Gaea didn't even bother to agree with him. Your talking annoys me, boy, she said instead. You talk your way out of too many things. Your talking is so dangerous, you nearly managed to escape because of it. From now on, you will not speak unless I direct you to. Understand?

Leo wasn't sure if that counted as a direction to speak, so he just gulped again and nodded.

Good.

For a few minutes, there was silence. Leo was almost beginning to hope that Gaea was finished with him when she started chuckling. He wanted to ask her what she found so funny, but he didn't want to find out what would happen if he defied Gaea's orders one too many times. Eventually, she calmed down enough to tell him herself.

You tried so valiantly to escape, spawn of Hephaestus, she mocked. You and your praetor were so certain that you could get out of here. You really believed you could get to the Romans in time and convince them to stand down. But now you can see what happens when you attempt to defy me. You're still my prisoner, your girlfriend is dead, and even now Rome's augur is marching up Half-Blood Hill. Your shot at escape accomplished nothing and only brought you greater pain. She paused, and Leo imagined her grinning creepily. I hope you have learned your lesson, Leo Valdez.

Leo decided that this warranted a response. He ignored the implication that he was dating Reyna—if Gaea had at all been paying attention, she would know that it was a miracle they were even friends—and pinched his newly-functioning arm. When added to his existing injuries, the flash of pain was just enough to successfully bring tears to his eyes. He did his best to blink them away convincingly. "Reyna's dead, Gaea," he said remorsefully, while secretly praying to all the gods that his words weren't true. "Consider my lesson learned." He let the tears keep falling. The more broken he looked, the better.

I believe you, godspawn, Gaea agreed. At least, I believe that you think you've learned your lesson. But just in case . . . Now Leo was certain she was grinning creepily. I think that I will let you witness the destruction of your newest home firsthand.

There was a pause, and then a massive image flashed into view. Leo couldn't help but gasp.

At the angle the image was positioned from, Leo could just see Thalia's pine tree in the corner of his vision. It was as if he was standing just behind the protective barriers, in the front row of Greek demigods. He had a perfect view of the Romans marching forward, glinting in the sunlight that reflected off their golden armor and gold-plated shields and gold-tipped spears and golden lightning-shooting eagle. Leo bit his lip. Where in Hades was Reyna?

He got a chilling thought. What if, despite all their best efforts, Reyna just couldn't escape in time? What if he really did have to watch the deaths of almost all of his closest friends? Gods, he didn't think he would be able to take it.

Come on, Rey, he thought. Please almost be there. Please get there in time. Please manage to save everyone.

Then he got another scary thought. What if Reyna did manage to save everyone? This projection basically confirmed that Gaea was watching the impending battle. If Reyna made it in time—no, when she made it in time, because she had to make it, Leo believed in her—Gaea would see her immediately. She would know Leo had been lying about Reyna's death all this time. Oh gods, what was Gaea going to do to him when she found out?

Octavian stopped at the top of the hill. His armor was impeccable, his spear pointed straight toward Olympus, and his shield, heavy as it was, never wavered toward the ground. He raised his chin, proudly standing at the head of his legion, and smirked at the girl in crimson armor. She glared back, and he had to admit that her narrowed brown eyes were a little unnerving. But he didn't let her bother him. After all, there was no way these graeci could hold out against Rome's vastly superior forces.

"Can't you at least hear us out?" the boy next to her begged one last time. "Look, my name is Malcolm, and I speak for this entire camp when I say—we didn't do the things you've accused us of. We don't want this war; we want to form an alliance. Our weapons are only for self-defense. We'll put them down if you agree to do the same with yours. All we ask is for you to listen."

"Listen?" Octavian scoffed, turning his attention to the boy who called himself Malcolm. He had gray eyes and mousy brown hair. Gray eyes? Oh gods; he was probably another unholy offspring of Minerva. Octavian resisted the urge to gag. "Listen? You turned the allegiance of one of our leaders, Jason Grace. You sent in Percy Jackson, one of your own, to try and infiltrate our camp and cause discord. One of your campers destroyed half of our city. You—"

"That wasn't us!" Malcolm cried. "Leo was possessed by one of Gaea's minions—an eidolon—when he fired those ballistae! And as for the rest . . . You know Hera—Juno—the queen of the gods sent Percy to you! And it wasn't to divide us; it was to unite us! And Jason's allegiance hasn't swayed from your camp; it's merely spread to ours! He isn't against you! Percy isn't against you! None of us are against you! We're not pro-Greece and anti-Rome! We're pro-Olympus and anti-Gaea! Don't you see? We have that in common, at least! Don't we?"

Pria, Octavian's fellow First Cohort centurion, bit her lip and turned toward him. "Octavian . . ." she muttered. "He looks like he's telling the truth. What if we're wrong? What if we're making a huge mistake? Shouldn't we—?"

But Octavian was not about to back down now. If even the First Cohort was beginning to hesitate, he could only imagine how uneasy the rest of the legion was growing. In fact, he didn't have to imagine it. He could hear the whispers. It was time to crush all doubts, once and for all. It was time for the coup de grâce.

"Stop this!" he yelled. Immediately his legion—and with all three praetors dead or on the run, it really was his legion now—dropped into silence.

"Idiots!" he said, glaring at the nearest legionnaire, which happened to be Pria. She shrank back, but Octavian didn't care. "Of course, if Grace's betrayal, Jackson's espionage, and Leo Valdez's destruction were the only problems"—Malcolm opened his mouth to protest, but Octavian didn't let him get a word in—"the Greeks had caused, we might have been willing to open negotiations. But have you forgotten already?" He turned and spread his arms wide, addressing his entire legion. "Have you forgotten that these graeci killed our last loyal praetor? Have you forgotten that Reyna Concessi's death is culpa graecorum? Are you willing to stand down and negotiate with murderers?"

His words had the desired effect—his legion's ranks straightened. His legionnaires gripped their pilae firmly, raised their shields, and held their heads high. That was all the confirmation Octavian needed. He turned to the graecus in the front row, whose gray eyes held desperation and—yes—fear. Fear that his crimes were about to be punished, no doubt.

Octavian lifted his pila into the air. "We stand here in the name of our tragically deceased praetor, Reyna Concessi!" he announced. "We seek justice for her murder, in the form of victory on today's battlefield! Nothing you graeci could say will sway us!" He lowered his pila and pointed it toward the spawn of Athena. After the unnatural circumstances of his birth, as well as his attempts at deception . . . He would be the first to die.

Beside him, the standard-bearer lifted the flag of the Twelfth Legion Fulminata, the eagle proudly perched on top.

Octavian opened his mouth. "Atta—"

"STOP!"

Octavian was so surprised that he actually did, halfway through his first stride. He quickly put his other foot down to keep him from falling and started to turn, his disbelief mounting with every inch. The shout had come from the mortal road at the bottom of the hill. It was a girl's voice, and there was only one girl Octavian had ever known who could give orders with such authority that everyone instantly obeyed them, whether they agreed or not. But that was impossible. . . . He had been so sure that she was dead. . . .

The first gasps of shock rippled through his legion, peppered with squeaks of delight. "I never . . ." "You left Aurum and Argentum behind . . ." "We even found your dagger . . ." "No trace . . ." "We all thought . . ."

"There will be time for that later," the girl's voice promised. "But first, we will stop this advancement against the Greeks. They mean us no harm. This battle is over."

Octavian finally managed to finish turning around. His ears didn't offer enough proof. He had to see it with his eyes as well.

Unfortunately, his eyes saw it too. She was battered—her cloak was missing, her armor was crooked, her shirt and jeans were torn, and she was missing a shoe—but she was standing there at the top of the hill.

Reyna Concessi, Rome's tragically deceased praetor, had just risen from the dead.