The Titan's Curse (Percy Jackson and the Olympians, #3)

by Rick Riordan

Grover blushed. “I was sort of camped outside the Artemis cabin.” “What for?” “Just to be, you know, near them.” “You’re a stalker with hooves.”

Pinecone Face!”

I looked at Thalia and Zoë, and I decided it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to die fighting with friends like this. “Now,” I said. Together, we charged.

For a moment, Artemis and I bore the weight together. It was the heaviest thing I’d ever felt, as if I were being crushed under a thousand trucks. I wanted to black out from the pain, but I breathed deeply. I can do this.

I concentrated on breathing. If I could just keep the sky aloft a few more seconds. I thought about Bianca, who had given her life so we could get here. If she could do that, I could hold the sky.

“The stars,” Zoë murmured. “I cannot see them.”

“Like Santa Claus’s sleigh,” I murmured, still dazed with pain. Artemis took time to look back at me. “Indeed, young half-blood. And where do you think that legend came from?”

“I am sorry we argued,” Zoë said. “We could have been sisters.” “It’s my fault,” Thalia said, blinking hard. “You were right about Luke, about heroes, men—everything.” “Perhaps not all men,” Zoë murmured. She smiled weakly at me. “Do you still have the sword, Percy?” I couldn’t speak, but I brought out Riptide and put the pen in her hand. She grasped it contentedly. “You spoke the truth, Percy Jackson. You are nothing like…like Hercules. I am honored that you carry this sword.” A shudder ran through her body. “Zoë—” I said. “Stars,” she whispered. “I can see the stars again, my lady.” A tear trickled down Artemis’s cheek. “Yes, my brave one. They are beautiful tonight.” “Stars,” Zoë repeated. Her eyes fixed on the night sky. And she did not move again.

For a moment I didn’t see anything different. Then Annabeth gasped. Looking up in the sky, I saw that the stars were brighter now. They made a pattern I had never noticed before—a gleaming constellation that looked a lot like a girl’s figure—a girl with a bow, running across the sky. “Let the world honor you, my Huntress,” Artemis said. “Live forever in the stars.”

She touched the new streak of gray in my hair that matched hers exactly—our painful souvenir from holding Atlas’s burden.

“So,” Annabeth said. “What did you want to tell me earlier?” The music was playing. People were dancing in the streets. I said, “I, uh, was thinking we got interrupted at Westover Hall. And…I think I owe you a dance.” She smiled slowly. “All right, Seaweed Brain.” So I took her hand, and I don’t know what everybody else heard, but to me it sounded like a slow dance: a little sad, but maybe a little hopeful, too.