"Right after I washed them, too!"
Reyna submerged her jeans underwater, scrubbing vigorously with her hands, digging her fingernails into the cloth as if it were Clarisse's neck. Nico rubbed a smooth stone over the fabric of his aviator jacket, trying to work the juice stains from them. His own jeans were splattered with chocolate and punch alike, the sticky liquids clinging to his skin. His T-shirt laid on the shore beside him, drying for the second time since his arrival–after almost two hours of cleaning, he managed to make the stains slightly less visible. He never realized how stubborn liquid chocolate and fruit juice could be.
"This camp is more foolish than the fauns at New Rome. Gods, we try to help them, and they repay us by assaulting us with cups? They will regret that, I swear on the River–"
"Watch it," Nico warned. "You don't want to go throwing around deadly promises like that."
Reyna had been ranting nonstop about the Greeks and their delusion, telling stories of arrogant heroes and their obsession with violence. Nico had tried to remind her that it was the Romans who were waging war in the first place, but she seemed to overlook that fact.
She didn't speak for so long after that, Nico wondered if she'd finally run out of air. Then she sat up straight, like a spider just crawling across her back, and clutched her jeans ever tighter.
"Soon. They'll be here soon–tomorrow, probably, or maybe even today if they are in a hurry." She paused, staring at her hands. "So we have failed."
"What? What do you mean? We got the Parthenos to camp."
"Yes, but that was only part of the quest. We are supposed to negotiate peace between the two sides. How are we to do that when we can't even show our faces without something being thrown at us?"
"No one said we had to do it. Clarisse, Mr. D and the others said they'll offer the Parthenos and attempt to negotiate."
"Attempt. They said if the Romans attack first, they'd counter."
"So we'll convince them not to attack." But Nico's own voice was less certain now.
Reyna shook her head. "How can we do that when we can't even commune with them?"
Nico stopped cleaning. He was in the middle of wringing the lake water out of his jacket, his fingers clenched around two sleeves. "Maybe we can commune." He dug through his pockets, but only came up with several pomegranate seeds and his old skull ring.
"By any chance, do you have any drachmas?" Nico asked Reyna.
"Drachmas?" Reyna frowned. "No, I didn't think we'd need money on a quest to make peace. Why–are you planning to bribe the Romans?"
"No. We need them for an IM."
"Instant-message?"
"Iris-message."
Reyna's frown deepened. Nico splayed out his jacket on the gravel beside his shirt and crouched, duck-walking through the bushes."
"What are you doing?" she asked, trailing behind him.
"Stealing some drachmas," he put calmly, not stopping to glance behind him.
"What? Nico, you can't just steal–"
"Why not? We stole these clothes," he said, referring to the baggy Camp Half-Blood tee that hung off his skeletal frame and the short sweatpants that cut off just below Reyna's knees.
"We borrowed–"
"You're the one nagging me about the camp. Why defend them now?"
Nico didn't wait for her to respond. He crawled on, circling the cabins from the brush until he reached the Iris cabin. Then he emerged and sprinted for the cabin, praying it was empty. Fortunately, it was. Unfortunately, that left Nico vulnerable to the horrors inside.
There were rainbows pouring in through every window–probably some kind of magical enchantment, since the sun was hidden behind dozens of thick, gray clouds. The walls were painted in four differently irritating colors–yellow, lime green, vibrant purple and pure white. It was as if a giant clown had sat on the cabin; the beds, the furniture, even the picture frames were all brightly colored. The loudness of the place both nauseated Nico and temporarily blinded him.
Reyna burst in behind him, gasping when she caught sight of the room.
"Oh my," she said, squinting. "Was a unicorn slaughtered in here?"
"I don't think a single unicorn could cause all this," Nico answered, moving through the room, shielding his eyes with his hands. At the far end was a fountain–the only somewhat normal object in the cabin. It was made out of marble, the base shaped into a cloud (why was he not surprised?), with a small statue of Iris in her Greek robes spraying water from her hand. And, of course, the water was reflecting–wait for it–rainbows.
On either side of the fountain, there were two large stacks of golden drachmas. Nico took one from each pile, so it wouldn't be uneven and too suspicious. He tossed the first one in the water, and chanted, "Oh Iris, goddess of the Rainbow, please accept my offering."
At first, nothing happened. Nico worried that Iris didn't accept stolen offerings. Then the water shimmered, a cloud of mist appearing from it, and the drachma dissipated. The goddess must have been on her lunch break or something.
He hesitated, tempted to call for Bianca–spirit or not, he wanted to know how his sister was. But his mission was to contact the Twelfth Legion, not chat with his sibling.
"Show me Octavian," he ordered. The mist shifted, swirling like a miniature storm cloud, forming an image–the blonde himself, scowling, surrounded by dozens of others. They all had various armor and weapons, some carrying spears and wearing thin leather, others wielding swords and donning heavy iron. Behind them, green pastures and hills stretched–they couldn't be too far.
"Di Angelo." Octavian's scowl grew when he saw Nico.
"Listen, I came to talk, not spit insults."
"There is nothing to talk about. Your kind has insulted us. They have fired upon us. We claim our revenge."
Nico resisted the urge to tell the augur to shut his yap. Octavian was always out for blood–he was brainwashed, convinced the Greeks were his enemy. In a way, he was worse than Gaea. At least Gaea sat off to the side, subtly meddling with the war instead of leaping in the middle of it and waving her arms.
"We are not your enemy," Nico said calmly. "The firing was an accident–Gaea's servants, the eidolons, they–"
"Do not attempt to deceive us, Graecus!" Octavian bellowed, startling his own men. "We have had enough of your trickery!"
Nico clenched his fists. Negotiation with the Romans would be a lot simpler if they didn't have a vengeful maniac leading them.
"We are not deceiving you," Nico replied, unable to keep the edge from his voice. "We are trying to end the feud between the Romans and the Greeks–to stop the war between Camp Jupiter and Camp Half-Blood. Your praetor, Reyna, is here now–"
"Reyna? Preposterous! She left on a quest across the ancient lands to find your silly ship!"
Nico's veins sizzled, and he wanted to slap the Roman upside the head. Fortunately, before he could say something out of hand, Reyna pushed into the picture.
"I am here, Octavian," she said, her voice like metal. Octavian's features softened a little upon seeing her, but his voice was still hard.
"Reyna, what in the name of Jupiter are you doing with the Greeks? You are making a fool out of yourself!"
"No, I am not. They are our allies, dim-witted as they are." Nico struggled to stay quiet as she spoke that part. "They did not deceive us–Annabeth Chase was in Tartarus, and before that, she uncovered the Athena Parthenos. We were given a task to bring it to Camp Half-Blood, Nico and myself."
"By whom?" Octavian demanded.
"The Seven of the Great Prophecy. Percy Jackson–"
Octavian scoffed, opening his mouth to speak, but Reyna continued.
"–and Jason Grace, along with the others. We are here now; the Athena Parthenos is resting on this hill of theirs, waiting for you to claim it."
Octavian knit his eyebrows. "Waiting for us? What do you mean?"
"The Greeks offer it as a symbol of peace–an offering, if you will. They say we can have it, keep it, so long as the war ends."
"Lies!" he shrieked. "The oracle and satyr claimed a Roman delivering the statue to the camp would create peace, mend the gods' personalities. We are still on the verge of battle! The gods are still warring with themselves! The statue did nothing, and now you wish to send it over as an offering? This is an obvious trick!"
Reyna pursed her lips in confusion. "That... That cannot be true. They said keeping it would simply be a spoil of war. They claimed offering it to the legion would be better. They–"
"They played with your mind, Reyna!" Around him, the Roman soldiers shifted uneasily, their expressions uncertain. Octavian's eyes were as hard as rock. "Like I have said before: the Greeks are infamous for their trickery! They have puzzled you, dulled your way of thinking! They will kill us all if we do not attack first!"
Reyna seemed like she wanted to protest, but Nico could see the uneasiness in her eyes. Even Nico himself was starting to believe Octavian–of course, it could always just be his persuasive speaking, but why else would the Greeks offer the Romans the Parthenos? Why else would they refuse Nico and Reyna any detailed information? They were foolish to think Clarisse would want to negotiate peace that quickly. The Athena Parthenos was not an offering–it never was.
It's a trap.
"Octavian," Nico said quickly, pushing past Reyna so he was visible. "Do not attack, but do not let your guard down either. The Athena Parthenos is a trap."
"I knew it! The Greeks are enemies and must be–"
"Can it, Romanus!" Nico had no time for keeping his cool. "When you arrive, do not fire on us. Stand your ground, do your best to delay the battle. I– I will try to stop them."
Octavian scoffed, his eyes alight with fury. "What can a child of the Underworld do? Wherever you go, they shun you–demigods, gods, even monsters! There is nothing you can do to prevent this inevitable war–we will fight, and we will succeed!"
With that, the Roman swiped his hand through the image, and the mist dissipated, Octavian and the army evaporating into the air.
Nico leaned back, his muscles like lead. Reyna stared at the fountain in disbelief, her expression a mix of disappointment, shock and anger.
All this time, he'd turned his nose up at the Romans for making things up about the Greeks and their deceit. He'd figured it was just an excuse to go to war. But they were right–Camp Half-Blood wanted to lure them in with the Parthenos, offer it and peace, then attack while the legion's guard was let down. It was so disappointing, to discover how low they would stoop. He'd never known the camp to be so conniving. It felt as if the entire sky was just lowered onto his shoulders.
The oracle and satyr claimed a Roman delivering the statue to the camp would create peace, mend the gods' personalities.
Nico had no idea who the satyr meant–possibly one of Percy's friends–but he remembered Rachel Elizabeth Dare, the oracle of Camp Half-Blood. Jason had said she'd visited the Twelfth Legion to convince Reyna about the Athena Parthenos, telling her it'd prevent the war. Had Rachel known about the assault plan then? Did she know now?
"Reyna, follow me," he said, standing and starting toward the door. She turned, her eyes glittering with rage.
"Why?" Her tone held accusation, as if Nico were to blame for the camp's actions.
"We're going to find the oracle and ask her some things."
They found Rachel in a cave at the edge of camp. Through the beads serving as an entryway, the place reminded Nico of a vintage hippie house–lanterns hung from the ceiling, the walls covered with paintings of all sorts. Several unfinished works were strewn across the floor, and a dozen canvases were stacked in a corner. The bed was a mattress piled high with pillows and blankets, an old, thick book resting beside it.
The oracle herself was even brighter than the Iris cabin. She wore a tie-dyed T-shirt and tattered jeans rolled up at the ankles, her colorful socks mismatched. Her curly mane of red hair seemed to scream at Nico, her green eyes piercing against her pale skin.
They told her about their quest, the bonfire, and the call with Octavian. The entire time, Rachel remained silent, nodding occasionally, her lips pursed as she listened. When they finished, she hesitated, opening and closing her mouth as if unsure of what to say. She fiddled with a blue plastic hairbrush, turning the handle over in her fingers.
"I don't understand," she said finally. "Why would they want to do this?"
Nico shook his head. He didn't know why they wanted to do this. The lies, the aggression and betrayal–that was nothing like the warm, gushy Camp Half-Blood Nico knew.
"I don't know," he replied. "But they're doing it. And unless we stop them..." He didn't need to continue. Nico had seen some disturbing images in Katoptris, Piper McLean's fortune-telling dagger–Half-Blood Hill littered with the bodies of the fallen, Greeks and Romans alike. A shifting face in the dirt, a woman's face, her eyes opening slowly. Horrible, dreadful things–and they'd all begin with a single arrow, a single slash of a sword.
"How can you be so sure? Maybe it isn't a trick. Maybe they are offering peace–"
"No. They're doing it. That much I'm certain of."
Rachel pursed her lips again, her eyes glassy and deep in thought.
"So you aren't associated with this at all?" Reyna asked, her voice jagged like a shard of broken glass. She studied Rachel with hard eyes, her fists clenched tightly at her sides. She wasn't being fair to Rachel, but Nico couldn't say he blamed her after what they'd discovered.
"No. I just found out."
"You have absolutely nothing to do with the ignorant betrayal of your camp?"
A flash of hurt passed over Rachel's eyes, quickly replaced by a kind of cautious anger. Nico instinctively reached for his sword–he'd seen that look far too many times, and it was never good.
"Listen, Romanus," she spat. "I don't know what your deal is. I had no idea about this whole thing until you told me. If you want to be so hostile then be my guest, just don't take it out on me!"
Reyna's eyes blazed like a wildfire. She opened her mouth to speak, but Nico cut her off, stepping slightly between the two.
"That doesn't matter," he said calmly. "We have to focus on the problem at hand. Rachel, can you talk to Mr. D or Chiron about this? Try to reason with them?"
"I don't even think Chiron knows about this," Rachel admitted. "He went to find the Party Ponies two weeks ago. Besides, Chiron isn't a violent idiot–if he knew, he'd put a stop to this right away."
"Then why don't you contact him? Iris-message?"
"I tried, to fill him in on the preparations, but he doesn't answer. He said he wouldn't have time for camp updates."
"Well, what about Mr. D?"
"He only hears what he wants to hear–he'd never listen to me."
Nico swallowed his frustration. It was starting to seem impossible to reason with either camps. Both were so blinded by war and overcame by vengeance and justice, that they ignored anything besides battle. They failed to see the clear solution, what was right in front of them.
"Is there anything you can do?" It came out harsher than Nico intended. Rachel stiffened then turned away, running her fingertips gently across a painting on the wall. She stared at the colors as if trying to see beyond them. It was a while before she replied.
"I can warn them. Meet them at the hill when they arrive and talk, tell them not to attack but still be careful, things like that. But it'll be safer if someone goes with me–someone who they're familiar with, one of their own." She gazed warily at Reyna.
Reyna pretended she hadn't noticed, glancing around the cave as if searching for an escape.
"Reyna," Nico said. She winced and looked at him, her gaze almost as toxic as the katoblepones' was back in Venice. "She's right."
She hesitated, glaring at Nico as if debating whether or not to chop off his head. Then she hung her shoulders and sighed. "Okay–fine, I'll accompany the oracle."
That left Nico. He'd gave the Romans his word that'd he would try to stop the attack, but how could he do such a thing when the campers shunned him–when everyone shunned him?
Octavian was right about one thing–a child of the Underworld could never stop a war. He was the son of Hades–darkness rolled off him, grass withered in his wake. He wasn't meant to shine light on a situation. He wasn't meant to save the world.
What was he meant to do?
"Nico," Reyna said, her voice tentative. Nico realized his fists were clenched around the hem of his T-shirt, his fingernails digging into the fabric. His shoulders were stiff, his back tense.
"I'm fine. We should go sleep–the Romans will be here tomorrow."
Reyna nodded, her eyes stormy. Rachel plopped down on her bed, lifting the large book onto her lap and flipping furiously through it. He and Reyna pushed through the beaded entrance and out of the cave, the evening air bittersweet. There was no bonfire tonight, only the dim lights inside the cabins as the campers settled down for the night. Clarisse and the guards positioned themselves around the Athena Parthenos, staring grimly beyond the horizon, where the last patches of sunlight melted into darkness. Clarisse gripped her spear, as if eager to use it on anyone who crossed her path. She watched them as they passed, her lips twisting into a sneer and eyes flickering like a dying flame.
The Hades cabin was painted purely black, scenes of torture and death carved into the walls. It reminded Nico of the House of Hades, of the destroyed alter Hazel had told him about. When he climbed into bed, the sheets cold and thin, he turned his back to the wall and squeezed his eyes shut.
As Nico fell asleep, a stone settled in his gut. He remembered what Reyna had said: We are supposed to negotiate peace between the two sides. How are we to do that when we can't even show our faces without something being thrown at us?
He'd thought their quest was over–they'd gotten the Parthenos to Camp Half-Blood. But Reyna had been right. Their quest wasn't over; it'd just barely begun.