This Cold Year ― Percy Jackson & Annabeth Chase²

―x. camp against camp, blood against blood

THEY DIDN'T MAKE IT TO THE SHIP.

Halfway across the dock, three giant eagles descended in front of them, blocking their bath. Each deposited a Roman legionnaire in purple and denim with glittering gold armor, sword, and shield. The eagles flew off, and the Roman in the middle raised his visor.

"Surrender to Rome!" Octavian shrieked.

Hazel drew her cavalry sword and grumbled, "Fat chance, Octavian."

The two legionnaires with Octavian raised their visors, and Naomi's chest tightened. Isaac and Michael. She tried to catch either one of their gazes, but they wouldn't even look at her.

"Octavian, wait," Naomi said, holding up her empty hands in a placating gesture.

"You swore on your life the Greeks wouldn't attack!" Octavian shouted, expression smug. "Your life is forfeit now."

"What happened at camp was a setup," Piper said. "We can explain."

"Can't hear you!" Octavian yelled. "Wax in our ears—standard procedure when battling evil sirens. Now, throw down your weapons and turn around slowly so I can bind your hands."

"Let me skewer him," Hazel muttered. "Please."

Naomi sent Michael a pleading look, but she knew it was hopeless. Even if he wanted to help—which, after what had happened at Camp Jupiter, why would he?—it wasn't as if he could defy Octavian's orders. Octavian was the senior centurion, and Naomi wasn't a praetor anymore, not to them.

She was a traitor.

She felt something wet on her lips, but didn't move to wipe it away. She already knew it had to be blood.

The ship was only fifty feet away, but there was no sign of Coach Hedge on deck. He was probably below deck. Jason's group wasn't due back until sunset, and Percy would be underwater, unaware of the invasion. If they could get on board, they could use the ballistae; but there was no way to get around the Romans.

The eagles circled overhead, crying out as if to alert their friends: Hey, some tasty Greek demigods over here! Naomi couldn't see the flying chariot anymore, but she assumed it was close by. They had to figure out something before more Romans arrived.

"Well?" Octavian demanded. Michael and Isaac brandished their swords. She tried again to catch Isaac's eyes, silently begging him to at least let her explain.

They locked eyes, and Naomi's heart ached at the coldness in them. A week ago, they had been on the way to being close. Now, it was like she was only ever an enemy to him.

Was this Gaea's plan all along? To set not only camp against camp, but blood against blood?

Annabeth moved in Naomi's peripheral vision. She slowly drew her dagger, but instead of dropping it like Octavian wanted, she tossed it as far as she could into the water.

Octavian made a squeaking sound. "What was that for? I didn't say toss it! That could've been evidence. Or spoils of war!"

Annabeth feigned a dopey smile, like: Oh, silly me. No one who knew her would have been fooled, but Octavian bought it. He huffed in exasperation.

"You other three..." He pointed his blade at Naomi, Hazel, and Piper. "Put your weapons on the dock. No funny bus—"

All around Octavian, Michael, and Isaac, Charleston Harbor erupted like a Las Vegas fountain putting on a show. When the wall of seawater subsided, the three Romans were in the bay, spluttering and frantically trying to stay afloat in their armor. Percy stood on the dock, holding Annabeth's dagger.