The Tyrant's Tomb (The Trials of Apollo, #4)

by Rick Riordan

The pack is weak, she signaled with a glance toward the funeral pyre. Too many have died. When the enemy surrounds this place, you must show strength. You must summon help.

The way will be clearer. To defeat the great silence. Then summon help. Without this, the pack will die.

I should have known better than to share the pain.

“Good-bye, Apollo,” said the Sibyl’s voice, clearer now. “I forgive you. Not because you deserve it. Not for your sake at all. But because I will not go into oblivion carrying hate when I can carry love.”

“It’s fine,” Frank said. “Terminus, can you open our defensive barriers here at the main gate?” “Why would I do that?” “We’ll try the Wakanda thing.”

To my surprise, I realized I did not want my godhood back that badly. I didn’t even want to live that badly. If Jupiter expected me to crawl to him for help, begging for mercy, he could stick his lightning bolt right up his cloaca maxima.

After centuries of being treated as delightful, fanciful creatures who frolicked in meadows and danced through rainbows, these unicorns finally felt seen and appreciated. Meg had recognized their natural talent for kicking undead posterior.