Daughter of Wine

Callida

"Parry!" I yell, sitting cross-legged on one of our seats in the mess hall, watching Piper and Hazel as they practice their swordplay. I've started teaching Piper Greek swordfighting, so that she can have an even balance of Greek and Roman style. I feel better, helping someone else learn, rather than thinking about everything that threatens to overwhelm me. 

My mom told me I'm not built for this. I don't know exactly what she meant. Leadership? This quest? Being a hero? Either way, being told you're not cut out for any of those things doesn't feel good. On top of that, we're sailing for Athens, where all of the giants, the one's we've fought and the ones we haven't, are waiting for us. If they can kill just two of us, they'll have the blood they need to wake Gaea, which will be the destruction of everything. 

Full steam ahead!

Piper blocks a strike from Hazel using a move I taught her. My eyes feel heavy. We didn't sleep last night, so we've been up for forty-eight hours. I can feel it wearing on me. 

"Strike!" I yell,  and Piper swings her sword. Hazel has to jump out of the way to avoid being hit. 

"How-how'd you know I was open?" Hazel asks incredulously. 

"Practice." I tell her. It's not a lie. I've seen many many swordfights. Clarisse, as awful as she is, made me watch a million swordfights. I learned how to predict what's going to happen, simply from watching. 

"Alright, kids." I yawn, stretching my arms. I'd given myself a thousand-finger massage in the chair, but my back still feels tense. "I'm gonna hit the hay."

"You sure?" Hazel asks. "I thought we could... I dunno, talk about what happened in the House of Hades." 

"We will." I promise. "Just not tonight. I'm tired." 

That's not a lie either. I'm absolutely exhausted. I know Percy and Annabeth are watching over the ship now, and in a while it'll be Piper and Jason. This is my time to sleep, and I don't want to let it go to waste. Who knows if something's going to happen to disturb my slumber. But also, I don't want to talk about everything yet. My mom, who I haven't seen in seven years, appearing to me and gave my friends advice... that's not something I want to discuss yet. Besides, what she said to me about secrets...

The note I wrote so many years ago feels like it's pinching my skin underneath my shirt. "Goodnight, guys."

I head to my bunk, enjoying the familiar surroundings. I have a habit of filling my spaces with things that make me happy. My plants, my picture frames, my little knick-knacks that I pick up. Every space I end up in tends to have shades of red and purple and leopard print and just everything very Dionysus-y. The way I feel towards my dad, I want to burn the whole bunk down and start fresh. I'm still in disbelief that he sent me and my friends into a fight to the dearth. The Dionysus I know adores me. He protects me. He trusts me. But his Roman form, Bacchus, he sent me into a fight to the death, and only jumped in to claim the victory. Of course, I know Dionysus and Bacchus are different aspects of the same being. But deep down, they're the same. If Dionysus truly cared about me, Bacchus would too. But no. He told me he knew about me, but not how he felt about me. Which means my dad doesn't love me as much as I thought. Which means I'm on my own. 

I lay down, even though my mind is restless. I know I need to sleep. 

Leo was gone, and I couldn't sleep. Then we found him, and we rushed to Epirus, where we spent the night in the House of Hades. 

Technically, I haven't slept in a week. You'd think I'd pass out in a dreamless sleep, but you'd be wrong. 

I dream I'm on Half-Blood Hill. Octavian stands beside me. He raises his sword, and the legions of Roman troops behind us do the same, their ranks outnumbering the Greeks by too many. I blink, and suddenly, the field is strewn with fallen soldiers, both Greek and Roman. I stand in the middle, breathing heavily. It's weird, looking at myself in a dream. I don't even look like myself. I look tired, worn, sad, angry, and everything I'm not supposed to be. I want to scream at myself to stop, to look around, see what I've done, but my voice doesn't work in my dream. I watch as the earth rolls into itself, like a rolling pin rolling over unflattened dough. The entire landscape changes from piles of dead demigods to the face of a sleeping woman. An all too familiar face. Gaea.