The Burning Maze (The Trials of Apollo, #3)

by Rick Riordan

The words that memory wrought are set to fire, Ere new moon rises o’er the Devil’s Mount. The changeling lord shall face a challenge dire, Till bodies fill the Tiber beyond count. Yet southward must the sun now trace its course, Through mazes dark to lands of scorching death To find the master of the swift white horse And wrest from him the crossword speaker’s breath. To westward palace must the Lester go; Demeter’s daughter finds her ancient roots. The cloven guide alone the way does know, To walk the path in thine own enemy’s boots. When three are known and Tiber reached alive, ’Tis only then Apollo starts to jive.

“Meg!” I said. “I told you not to kill it! You’ll get cursed!” “I didn’t kill it. It committed suicide against that wall.”

The arrow buzzed, no doubt trying to access Wikipedia. It denies using the Internet. Perhaps, then, it’s just a coincidence the arrow is always more helpful when we are in an area with free Wi-Fi.

Grover raised his face to the light. He sniffled, tears glistening on his cheeks. “Are you hurt?” I asked. He stared at me. The heartbreak on his face was more painful to look at than the sunlight. “The smell of warm strawberries,” he said. “Like Camp Half-Blood. It’s been so long….” I felt an unfamiliar twinge in my chest. I patted Grover’s knee. I had not spent much time at Camp Half-Blood, the training ground for Greek demigods on Long Island, but I understood how he felt.

GROVER led us to the first intact greenhouse, which exuded a smell like the breath of Persephone. That’s not a compliment. Miss Springtime used to sit next to me at family dinners, and she was not shy about sharing her halitosis.

“You’re Aloe Vera,” I realized. “I used to make healing ointments out of you.” She beamed. “He remembers me! Apollo remembers me!”

The longer I was mortal, the more affected I was by even the smallest loss.

Alas, I found myself stymied by my own accursed love handles. In short, I got stuck. “Apollo, come on!” Grover yelled. “I’m trying!” “Suck it in, boy!” screamed the coach.

“The emperor is better known by his childhood nickname,” I said. “Which he despises, by the way. History remembers him as Caligula.”

“Caligula’s always had the same goal,” I croaked. “He wants to be the center of creation, the new god of the sun. He wants to supplant me, the way I supplanted Helios.”

IS’T HOT IN HITHER? the arrow asked. OR IS’T JUST ME?

Agave squeezed Meg’s hand. “I understand now why your father was able to build Aeithales. His work must have been special indeed. Not only did he come from a long line of Demeter’s heroes, he attracted the personal attention of the goddess, your mother. We are honored that you’ve come home.” “Home,” agreed Prickly Pear. “Home,” Joshua echoed. Meg blinked back tears.

the thing she’s wanted most is more time with her dad. Now they have a chance to start over. She can help her dad find some peace. Maybe find some peace herself.” His voice caught—perhaps with guilt, or regret, or fear.

“You would’ve let us lead you cheerily off to your death? How would that have affected Piper’s peace of mind, once she found out?” Jason’s ears reddened. It struck me just how young he was—no more than seventeen. Older than my mortal form, yes, but not by much. This young man had lost his mother. He had survived the harsh training of Lupa the wolf goddess. He’d grown up with the discipline of the Twelfth Legion at Camp Jupiter. He’d fought Titans and giants. He’d helped save the world at least twice. But by mortal standards, he was barely an adult. He wasn’t old enough to vote or drink.

He glanced at the photo of his sister Thalia, then at the model of Temple Hill. “If anything happens to me—” “Stop.” “If it does, if I can’t keep my promise to Kymopoleia, would you take my mock-up design to Camp Jupiter? The sketchbooks for new temples at both camps—they’re right there on the shelf.”

“I know that feeling, having six months of your life taken away.” He gave me a pained look. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do more.” “What could you have done?”

“I mean at the Parthenon. I tried to talk sense into Zeus. I told him he was wrong to punish you. He wouldn’t listen.” I stared at him blankly, whatever remained of my natural eloquence clogged in my throat. Jason Grace had done what?

Certainly, I’d never had a brother defend me in front of Father.

This young demigod had stood up for me. He’d had no reason to do so. He barely knew me. Yet he’d risked his own life and faced the wrath of Zeus.

Jason took me by the shoulders—not out of anger, or in a clinging way, but as a brother. “Promise me one thing. Whatever happens, when you get back to Olympus, when you’re a god again, remember. Remember what it’s like to be human.”

OH MAN.

The people who deserved to die took forever to do so. Those who deserved to live always went too soon.

“One good stab in the back deserves another.” Piper kissed Medea on the cheek. “I’d tell you to say hello to Jason for me, but he’ll be in Elysium. You…won’t.”

“ALL HAIL THE MEG!” they cried. “DAUGHTER OF THE CREATOR!”