¹Royal Cries, p. jackson

013.

ROYAL CRIES
━━ chapter thirteen

━━ THE THREE FATES themselves took Luke's body.

               Elisa had never seen the Fates before, but she didn't expect them to be old, wrinkly sacks of skin. She would never tell them that, though. They scared her—three ghoulish grandmothers with bags of knitting needles and yarn.

               One of them looked at her and, even though the Fate didn't say anything, Elisa saw her life flash before her very eyes. Suddenly she was twenty. Then she was a middle-aged woman. Then she turned old and withered. All the strength left her body, and she saw her own tombstone and an open grave, a coffin being lowered into the ground. All this happened in less than a second.

               It is done, the Fate said.

               She held up the snippet of blue yarn—part of Elisa feared it was Percy's based on the color, but she knew deep down it wasn't. She realized it was Luke's. The three gathered up Luke's body, now wrapped in a white-and-green shroud, and began carrying it out of the throne room.

               "Wait," Hermes said.

               The messenger god was dressed in his classic outfit of white Greek robes, sandals, and a helmet. The wings of his helm fluttered as he walked. The snakes George and Martha curled around his caduceus, murmuring, 'Luke, poor Luke.'

               Hermes unwrapped Luke's face and kissed his forehead. He murmured some words in Ancient Greek—a final blessing.

               "Farewell," he whispered. Then he nodded, and allowed the Fates to carry away his son's body.

               As they left, Elisa thought about the Great Prophecy. The lines now made sense now that it was all over—which was typically the case. The hero's soul, cursed blade shall reap. The hero was Luke, in some twisted way considering all the horrible things he did. The cursed blade was the knife he'd given Annabeth so long ago—cursed because Luke had broken his promise and betrayed his friends. A single choice shall end his days. Percy's choice—to give Luke the knife, and to believe in him as Annabeth had, that Luke was still capable of setting things right. Olympus to preserve or raze. By sacrificing himself, Luke had saved Olympus—in his own odd, twisted way.

               Rachel was right. In the end. Even Elisa—as begrudgingly as she could—had to admit it.

               Next to Elisa, Annabeth's knees buckled. The black-haired girl caught her but the blonde cried out in pain, and she realized she grabbed Annabeth's broken arm.

               "Oh my gods," Elisa gasped. "I'm so sorry!"

               "It's all right," the blonde managed to croak before she passed out.

               Elisa looked at Percy, looking like a deer caught in headlights. She clearly hadn't expected her friend to pass out.

               "She needs help!" Percy yelled.

               "I've got this." Apollo stepped forward. His fiery armor was so bright it was hard to look at, and his matching Ray-Bans and perfect smile made him look like a male model for battle gear. "God of Medicine, at your service."

               He passed his hand over Annabeth's face and spoke an incantation. Immediately the bruises faded. Her cuts and scars disappeared. Her arm straightened, and she sighed in her sleep.