by Rick Riordan
Nico scanned the atrium. He focused on some steps in the far corner, leading down.
“I’ve been here before.” His eyes were as dark as his blade. “With my mother and Bianca. A weekend trip from Venice. I was maybe…six?”
“That was when…the 1930s?”
“’Thirty-eight or so,” Nico said absently. “Why do you care? Do you see that winged guy anywhere?”
“No…” Jason was still trying to wrap his mind around Nico’s past.
Jason always tried to build a good relationship with the people on his team. He’d learned the hard way that if somebody was going to have your back in a fight, it was better if you found some common ground and trusted each other. But Nico wasn’t easy to figure out. “I just…I can’t imagine how weird that must be, coming from another time.”
“No, you can’t.” Nico stared at the stone floor. He took a deep breath.
“Look…I don’t like talking about it. Honestly, I think Hazel has it worse. She remembers more about when she was young. She had to come back from the dead and adjust to the modern world. Me…me and Bianca, we were stuck at the Lotus Hotel. Time passed so quickly. In a weird way, that made the transition easier.”
“Percy told me about that place,” Jason said. “Seventy years, but it only felt like a month?”
Nico clenched his fist until his fingers turned white. “Yeah. I’m sure Percy told you all about me.”
His voice was heavy with bitterness—more than Jason could understand. He knew that Nico had blamed Percy for getting his sister Bianca killed, but they’d supposedly gotten past that, at least according to Percy. Piper had also mentioned a rumor that Nico had a crush on Annabeth. Maybe that was part of it.
Still… Jason didn’t get why Nico pushed people away, why he never spent much time at either camp, why he preferred the dead to the living. He really didn’t get why Nico had promised to lead the Argo II to Epirus if he hated Percy Jackson so much.
Nico’s eyes swept the windows above them. “Roman dead are everywhere here… Lares. Lemures. They’re watching. They’re angry.”
“At us?” Jason’s hand went to his sword.
“At everything.” Nico pointed to a small stone building on the west end of the courtyard. “That used to be a temple to Jupiter. The Christians changed it to a baptistery. The Roman ghosts don’t like that.”
Jason stared at the dark doorway.
He’d never met Jupiter, but he thought of his father as a living person—the guy who’d fallen in love with his mom. Of course he knew his dad was immortal, but somehow the full meaning of that had never really sunk in until now, as he stared at a doorway Romans had walked through, thousands of years ago, to worship his dad. The idea gave Jason a splitting headache.
“And over there…” Nico pointed east to a hexagonal building ringed with freestanding columns. “That was the mausoleum of the emperor.”
“But his tomb isn’t there anymore,” Jason guessed.
“Not for centuries,” Nico said. “When the empire collapsed, the building was turned into a Christian cathedral.”
Jason swallowed. “So if Diocletian’s ghost is still around here—”
“He’s probably not happy.”
The wind rustled, pushing leaves and food wrappers across the peristyle. In the corner of his eye, Jason caught a glimpse of movement—a blur of red and gold.
When he turned, a single rust-colored feather was settling on the steps that led down.
“That way.” Jason pointed. “The winged guy. Where do you think those stairs lead?”
Nico drew his sword. His smile was even more unsettling than his scowl. “Underground,” he said. “My favorite place.”
Underground was not Jason’s favorite place.
Ever since his trip beneath Rome with Piper and Percy, fighting those twin giants in the hypogeum under the Colosseum, most of his nightmares were about basements, trapdoors, and large hamster wheels.
Having Nico along was not reassuring. His Stygian iron blade seemed to make the shadows even gloomier, as if the infernal metal was drawing the light and heat out of the air.
They crept through a vast cellar with thick support columns holding up a vaulted ceiling. The limestone blocks were so old, they had fused together from centuries of moisture, making the place look almost like a naturally formed cave.
None of the tourists had ventured down here. Obviously, they were smarter than demigods.
Jason drew his gladius. They made their way under the low archways, their steps echoing on the stone floor. Barred windows lined the top of one wall, facing the street level, but that just made the cellar feel more claustrophobic. The shafts of sunlight looked like slanted prison bars, swirling with ancient dust.
Jason passed a support beam, looked to his left, and almost had a heart attack. Staring right at him was a marble bust of Diocletian, his limestone face glowering with disapproval.
Jason steadied his breathing. This seemed like a good place to leave the note he’d written for Reyna, telling her of their route to Epirus. It was away from the crowds, but he trusted Reyna would find it. She had the instincts of a hunter. He slipped the note between the bust and its pedestal, and stepped back.
Diocletian’s marble eyes made him jumpy. Jason couldn’t help thinking of Terminus, the talking statue-god back at New Rome. He hoped Diocletian didn’t bark at him or suddenly burst into song.
“Hello!”
Before Jason could register that the voice had come from somewhere else, he sliced off the emperor’s head. The bust toppled and shattered against the floor.
“That wasn’t very nice,” said the voice behind them.
Jason turned. The winged man from the ice cream stand was leaning against a nearby column, casually tossing a small bronze hoop in the air. At his feet sat a wicker picnic basket full of fruit.
“I mean,” the man said, “what did Diocletian ever do to you?”
The air swirled around Jason’s feet. The shards of marble gathered into a miniature tornado, spiraled back to the pedestal, and reassembled into a complete bust, the note still tucked underneath.
“Uh—” Jason lowered his sword. “It was an accident. You startled me.”
The winged dude chuckled. “Jason Grace, the West Wind has been called many things…warm, gentle, life-giving, and devilishly handsome. But I have never been called startling. I leave that crass behavior to my gusty brethren in the north.”
Nico inched backward. “The West Wind? You mean you’re—”
“Favonius,” Jason realized. “God of the West Wind.”
Favonius smiled and bowed, obviously pleased to be recognized. “You can call me by my Roman name, certainly, or Zephyros, if you’re Greek. I’m not hung up about it.”
Nico looked pretty hung up about it. “Why aren’t your Greek and Roman sides in conflict, like the other gods?”
“Oh, I have the occasional headache.” Favonius shrugged. “Some mornings I’ll wake up in a Greek chiton when I’m sure I went to sleep in my SPQR pajamas. But mostly the war doesn’t bother me. I’m a minor god, you know—never really been much in the limelight. The to-and-fro battles among you demigods don’t affect me as greatly.”
“So…” Jason wasn’t quite sure whether to sheathe his sword. “What are you doing here?”
“Several things!” Favonius said. “Hanging out with my basket of fruit. I always carry a basket of fruit. Would you like a pear?”
“I’m good. Thanks.”
“Let’s see…earlier I was eating ice cream. Right now I’m tossing this quoit ring.” Favonius spun the bronze hoop on his index finger.
Jason had no idea what a quoit was, but he tried to stay focused. “I mean why did you appear to us? Why did you lead us to this cellar?”
“Oh!” Favonius nodded. “The sarcophagus of Diocletian. Yes. This was its final resting place. The Christians moved it out of the mausoleum. Then some barbarians destroyed the coffin. I just wanted to show you”
—he spread his hands sadly—“that what you’re looking for isn’t here. My master has taken it.”
“Your master?” Jason had a flashback to a floating palace above Pikes Peak in Colorado, where he’d visited (and barely survived) the studio of a crazy weatherman who claimed he was the god of all the winds. “Please tell me your master isn’t Aeolus.”
“That airhead?” Favonius snorted. “No, of course not.”
“He means Eros.” Nico’s voice turned edgy. “Cupid, in Latin.”
Favonius smiled. “Very good, Nico di Angelo. I’m glad to see you again, by the way. It’s been a long time.”
Nico knit his eyebrows. “I’ve never met you.”
“You’ve never seen me,” the god corrected. “But I’ve been watching you. When you came here as a small boy, and several times since. I knew eventually you would return to look upon my master’s face.”
Nico turned even paler than usual. His eyes darted around the cavernous room as if he was starting to feel trapped.
“Nico?” Jason said. “What’s he talking about?”
“I don’t know. Nothing.”
“Nothing?” Favonius cried. “The one you care for most…plunged into Tartarus, and still you will not allow the truth?”
Suddenly Jason felt like he was eavesdropping.
The one you care for most.
He remembered what Piper had told him about Nico’s crush on Annabeth. Apparently Nico’s feelings went way deeper than a simple crush.
“We’ve only come for Diocletian’s scepter,” Nico said, clearly anxious to change the subject. “Where is it?”
“Ah…” Favonius nodded sadly. “You thought it would be as easy as facing Diocletian’s ghost? I’m afraid not, Nico. Your trials will be much more difficult. You know, long before this was Diocletian’s Palace, it was the gateway to my master’s court. I’ve dwelt here for eons, bringing those who sought love into the presence of Cupid.”
Jason didn’t like the mention of difficult trials. He didn’t trust this weird god with the hoop and the wings and the basket of fruit. But an old story surfaced in his mind—something he’d heard at Camp Jupiter. “Like Psyche, Cupid’s wife. You carried her to his palace.”
Favonius’s eyes twinkled. “Very good, Jason Grace. From this exact spot, I carried Psyche on the winds and brought her to the chambers of my master. In fact, that is why Diocletian built his palace here. This place has always been graced by the gentle West Wind.” He spread his arms. “It is a spot of tranquility and love in a turbulent world. When Diocletian’s Palace was ransacked—”
“You took the scepter,” Jason guessed.
“For safekeeping,” Favonius agreed. “It is one of Cupid’s many treasures, a reminder of better times. If you want it…” Favonius turned to Nico. “You must face the god of love.”
Nico stared at the sunlight coming through the windows, as if wishing he could escape through those narrow openings.
Jason wasn’t sure what Favonius wanted, but if facing the god of love meant forcing Nico into some sort of confession about which girl he liked, that didn’t seem so bad.
“Nico, you can do this,” Jason said. “It might be embarrassing, but it’s for the scepter.”
Nico didn’t look convinced. In fact he looked like he was going to be sick. But he squared his shoulders and nodded. “You’re right. I—I’m not afraid of a love god.”
Favonius beamed. “Excellent! Would you like a snack before you go?” He plucked a green apple from his basket and frowned at it. “Oh, bluster. I keep forgetting my symbol is a basket of unripe fruit. Why doesn’t the spring wind get more credit? Summer has all the fun.”
“That’s okay,” Nico said quickly. “Just take us to Cupid.”
Favonius spun the hoop on his finger, and Jason’s body dissolved into air.
JASON HAD RIDDEN THE WIND MANY TIMES. Being the wind was not the same.
He felt out of control, his thoughts scattered, no boundaries between his body and the rest of the world. He wondered if this was how monsters felt when they were defeated—bursting into dust, helpless and formless.
Jason could sense Nico’s presence nearby. The West Wind carried them into the sky above Split. Together they raced over the hills, past Roman aqueducts, highways, and vineyards. As they approached the mountains, Jason saw the ruins of a Roman town spread out in a valley below—crumbling walls, square foundations, and cracked roads, all overgrown with grass—so it looked like a giant, mossy game board.
Favonius set them down in the middle of the ruins, next to a broken column the size of a redwood.
Jason’s body re-formed. For a moment it felt even worse than being the wind, like he’d suddenly been wrapped in a lead overcoat.
“Yes, mortal bodies are terribly bulky,” Favonius said, as if reading his thoughts. The wind god settled on a nearby wall with his basket of fruit and spread his russet wings in the sun. “Honestly, I don’t know how you stand it, day in and day out.”
Jason scanned their surroundings. The town must have been huge once. He could make out the shells of temples and bathhouses, a half-buried amphitheater, and empty pedestals that must have once held statues. Rows of columns marched off to nowhere. The old city walls wove in and out of the hillside like stone thread through a green cloth.
Some areas looked like they’d been excavated, but most of the city just seemed abandoned, as if it had been left to the elements for the last two thousand years.
“Welcome to Salona,” Favonius said. “Capital of Dalmatia! Birthplace of Diocletian! But before that, long before that, it was the home of Cupid.”
The name echoed, as if voices were whispering it through the ruins.
Something about this place seemed even creepier than the palace basement in Split. Jason had never thought much about Cupid. He’d certainly never thought of Cupid as scary. Even for Roman demigods, the name conjured up an image of a silly winged baby with a toy bow and arrow, flying around in his diapers on Valentine’s Day.
“Oh, he’s not like that,” said Favonius.
Jason flinched. “You can read my mind?”
“I don’t need to.” Favonius tossed his bronze hoop in the air. “Everyone has the wrong impression of Cupid…until they meet him.”
Nico braced himself against a column, his legs trembling visibly.
“Hey, man…” Jason stepped toward him, but Nico waved him off.
At Nico’s feet, the grass turned brown and wilted. The dead patch spread outward, as if poison were seeping from the soles of his shoes.
“Ah…” Favonius nodded sympathetically. “I don’t blame you for being nervous, Nico di Angelo. Do you know how I ended up serving Cupid?”
“I don’t serve anyone,” Nico muttered. “Especially not Cupid.”
Favonius continued as if he hadn’t heard. “I fell in love with a mortal named Hyacinthus. He was quite extraordinary.”
“He…?” Jason’s brain was still fuzzy from his wind trip, so it took him a second to process that. “Oh…”
“Yes, Jason Grace.” Favonius arched an eyebrow. “I fell in love with a dude. Does that shock you?”
Honestly, Jason wasn’t sure. He tried not to think about the details of godly love lives, no matter who they fell in love with. After all, his dad, Jupiter, wasn’t exactly a model of good behavior. Compared to some of the Olympian love scandals he’d heard about, the West Wind falling in love with a mortal guy didn’t seem very shocking. “I guess not. So…Cupid struck you with his arrow, and you fell in love.”
Favonius snorted. “You make it sound so simple. Alas, love is never simple. You see, the god Apollo also liked Hyacinthus. He claimed they were just friends. I don’t know. But one day I came across them together, playing a game of quoits—”
There was that weird word again. “Quoits?”
“A game with those hoops,” Nico explained, though his voice was brittle. “Like horseshoes.”
“Sort of,” Favonius said. “At a
ny rate, I was jealous. Instead of confronting them and finding out the truth, I shifted the wind and sent a heavy metal ring right at Hyacinthus’s head and…well.” The wind god sighed. “As Hyacinthus died, Apollo turned him into a flower, the hyacinth. I’m sure Apollo would’ve taken horrible vengeance on me, but Cupid offered me his protection. I’d done a terrible thing, but I’d been driven mad by love, so he spared me, on the condition that I work for him forever.”
CUPID.
The name echoed through the ruins again.
“That would be my cue.” Favonius stood. “Think long and hard about how you proceed, Nico di Angelo. You cannot lie to Cupid. If you let your anger rule you…well, your fate will be even sadder than mine.”
Jason felt like his brain was turning back into wind. He didn’t understand what Favonius was talking about, or why Nico seemed so shaken, but he had no time to think about it. The wind god disappeared in a swirl of red and gold. The summer air suddenly felt oppressive. The ground shook, and Jason and Nico drew their swords.
So.
The voice rushed past Jason’s ear like a bullet. When he turned, no one was there.
You come to claim the scepter.
Nico stood at his back, and for once Jason was glad to have the guy’s company.
“Cupid,” Jason called, “where are you?”
The voice laughed. It definitely didn’t sound like a cute baby angel’s. It sounded deep and rich, but also threatening—like a tremor before a major earthquake.
Where you least expect me, Cupid answered. As Love always is.
Something slammed into Jason and hurled him across the street. He toppled down a set of steps and sprawled on the floor of an excavated Roman basement.
I would think you’d know better, Jason Grace. Cupid’s voice whirled around him. You’ve found true love, after all. Or do you still doubt yourself?
Nico scrambled down the steps. “You okay?”
Jason accepted his hand and got to his feet. “Yeah. Just sucker punched.”
Oh, did you expect me to play fair? Cupid laughed. I am the god of love. I am never fair.