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

by Rick Riordan

Such perfect camaraderie is rare, even in an immortal life.

The smallest seedlings, Demeter often told me, grow into century oaks.

He had accepted that death meant death, the way Piper McLean had accepted that Oklahoma meant Oklahoma.

“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.”

Piper arched her eyebrows. “Are you sensing a disturbance in the Force?” “Please,” I muttered. “I’m sensing my usual bad luck. In a place this harmless-looking, there’s no way we will not find trouble.”

Like plants, Demeter worked slowly and quietly. Her designs grew over the course of centuries. But when those designs came to fruition (bad fruit pun, sorry), they could be extraordinary. Like Meg McCaffrey.

Power makes good people uneasy rather than joyful or boastful. That’s why good people so rarely rise to power.

Perhaps this quest had ended on a suspended fourth chord. We still had much to do. But from now on, I would be more than Lester. I would be more than an observer. I would be Apollo. I would remember.