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Thalia waited until the witching hour on the night of the new moon to steal from her cabin and make for the Sound.
She’d given it a week. One week of listening to their explanations, of attending their silly lessons. One week of chores and pretending to make friends and wearing that lurid orange shirt.
One week of three-square meals a day. One week of talking to Annabeth, of hugging Annabeth, of staring in wonder at the ways her little Annabeth had grown over these years that had passed for Thalia in the blink of an eye.
One week of missing Luke.
It was enough.
Thalia slipped through the woods like a thief in the night, because that’s what she was, really. That’s what she’d always been. A thief of joy, a thief of promise. A thief of potential.
A thief of hope.
And, of course, a thief in the most literal sense of the word, because surviving on the run for so long was no joke. Gotta eat to live, gotta steal to eat. Otherwise, we’d get along.
Thalia laughed lightly to herself as she finally arrived at the beach. She pulled off her boots and socks and left them lying on the grass as she stepped out to the sand and took a long breath. She continued calmly, head held high as her feet reached the waves. The water was cold; it felt nice on her toes. The knife in her right hand twitched briefly as she gripped the hilt tighter.
The waves were shadows around her without the light of the moon to guide their way. It should have been terrifying. On any other night, it would have been terrifying. Thalia knew the power of the ocean; she understood the danger she was willingly putting herself in.
She just didn’t care anymore.
The water felt nice. The sound of the waves was soothing.
Her mother had taken her to the seaside once. A week in Cornwall, not long before Jason was born. She remembered how brightly her mother had smiled that week, how at peace she’d seemed. The sun had shone high through the holiday, they’d found more seashells and sea glass than they had buckets to fill, and Thalia had been happy.
Happier than she’d ever been again.
That wasn’t exactly fair to say. Jason had made her happy. Jason was the best thing that had ever happened to Thalia.
Losing him made it hard to remember the good, though.
With an impatient huff, Thalia wiped the tears off her cheeks with her left hand. She raised her right hand, still gripping the familiar dagger, and stared.
This was the right choice.
The world had moved on without Thalia. Luke was working for Kronos, Annabeth with the gods and camp. And Annabeth…Annabeth had grown up. She was so strong, so smart and wise and beautiful. Thalia got Annabeth to where she needed to be, where she could thrive. And Annabeth had.
She didn’t need Thalia to take care of her anymore.
And Luke…
Thalia missed Luke. She missed him. Maybe she loved him. Thalia didn’t know if she knew how to love someone in that way. But Luke…
Luke would help her if Thalia asked. He would take Thalia away from here, keep her safe, hide her from the gods—
If she fought for Kronos.
Thalia’s father turned her into a tree because of a prophecy.
Zeus’s father ate all his siblings and attempted to eat him because of a prophecy.
Thalia loved Luke. But she really, really didn’t want to fuck with the baby-eating Titan.
She really didn’t want to fight anymore.
Which brought Thalia here. To this moment, dagger raised, feet bare. Standing in the Sound, preparing to—
The dagger turned to sand in Thalia’s grip.
No.
No.
Thalia choked on a scream and fell to her knees, fingers clawing in the sand as though her will alone could bring the weapon back.
Thalia bowed her head as the presence behind her approached. Ozone built on the back of her tongue in response, and her ears popped with the change in pressure and power, so much power—
“Don’t bother with the tree this time,” Thalia choked out. “Just—just end it. Please end it. I don’t belong here; you don’t want me here. Father, please.”
The figure settled beside her in the sand. “I am not your father, Thalia Grace.”
Thalia’s head snapped up. She sat back on her heels and stared. The god beside her, for he could be nothing but a god, was dressed in a linen shirt. His hair was thick, skin light. He had lines around his mouth like he smiled often, but not then. Not at her. As the god looked at Thalia, she could describe his expression as nothing but unspeakably sad.
“No,” she replied quietly. “You’re Percy’s.” It was remarkable, really, just how much Percy Jackson resembled his father.
Percy Jackson.
The thing Thalia Grace hated most about Percy Jackson was how little she actually hated him. He had everything. He was everything. He should be insufferable. Thalia should have hated him.
But Percy Jackson was kind.
That was the problem, wasn’t it? Percy was kind and thoughtful, strong and witty, loyal to a fault. The kid already followed around Annabeth like a lost puppy, and how could Thalia hate anyone who recognized just how special Annabeth was?
Percy had Annabeth. And Annabeth had Percy.
Thalia supposed she was intended to instinctively resent him, and he her. Their fathers’ rivalry was running through their veins, meant to bleed out of them as they fought one another to the death. But Thalia was tired. And Percy Jackson, every time Thalia caught him staring, just looked startlingly ill. Like the thought of Thalia’s struggles, the truth of what her own father had done to her, made him want to retch.
“I’m so sorry,” Percy finally told her that first night, after Annabeth had let her go and Chiron had a chance to explain. “I’m so sorry this happened to you.” His eyes had been bright, voice deeply and annoyingly sincere and Thalia—
--damn it all, Thalia liked the kid.
Thalia liked Percy Jackson.
He was the other reason Thalia knew the dagger was the right choice. Perfect Percy could save the world. Thalia was bound the end everything, just as her father knew from the very beginning—
“Thalia,” Poseidon said calmly. She realized her feet were dry. She was sitting on her bum, a few feet from the water, and Poseidon was in front of her, one hand settled firmly on her shoulder. It didn’t hurt, but the grip was hard enough to be grounding. Thalia nodded at the god then met his eyes.
“Do you have any other weapons with you, child?” Poseidon asked softly. She recognized suddenly that Poseidon had positioned himself between her and water so she wouldn’t try to walk in. It made her want to laugh.
“Don’t you—why won’t you let me?” Thalia asked quietly. “Don’t you want it to be Percy?”
“No.”
“Oh. Will it kill me, then? The prophecy?” Poseidon grimaced, then put his other hand on her shoulder and bowed his head, and Thalia knew she was right.
“You just want me to live so I can die at the right moment.” Thalia wrenched herself out of Poseidon’s grasp and stood. “You’re all the same, selfish and pathetic pieces of nothing who think you’ve earned the right to rule all our lives just because you fucking exist. I hate you, I hate your brothers, I hate my father, I will never, ever, ever--,”
“I’m not going to hurt you, Thalia.” Poseidon was standing too, arms wide. The tears were back on Thalia’s cheeks. She didn’t know when during her rant they’d begun to fall. “I am not your father. I am not my brother. I will not hurt you.”
“Why?” Thalia screeched. “Why won’t you? Hades hates me, he had no problem hunting me down, Hera tried to curse me a hundred times at least, my own father turned me into a fucking tree. Why won’t you hurt me? Why won’t you give me what I finally want? Because you love your son? I don’t believe you, I don’t believe the gods are capable of love--,”
“Because I love my son,” Poseidon said the words firmly, his rumble of a voice rippling through the waves. “And if my son was feeling the way you do right now, and I couldn’t be there, I hope—I hope someone would stop him. I hope someone would talk to him, would listen to him. I love my son very, very much.”
It was the tone of his voice that killed Thalia. Because Percy’s wasn’t as deep yet, and the accent was different, but their voice was the same, the way it rolled through you and touched your heart, and the words felt too close, too sincere, too much. It was “I’m sorry this happened to you” all over again, and suddenly Thalia was just bowed in half and sobbing, sobbing in a way she hadn’t all week long, sobbing like she hadn’t since Jason—
Then strong arms were around her, and a warm hand was holding the back of her head, and Poseidon was hugging Thalia like the father she never had.
It took a long time for the tears to subside. Poseidon didn’t let go. And when Thalia finally did, Poseidon stepped back gently to hand her a clean, blue handkerchief from his pocket.
“Do you like it here? Camp, I mean?” Poseidon asked, as Thalia wiped her eyes and blew her nose noisily. She held the handkerchief up half-heartedly, and Poseidon shook his head slightly. Thalia put it in her back pocket.
She shrugged. “It’s—it’s fine. I just…” Thalia trails off.
“It feels like Zeus is watching your every move?” Thalia bit her lip as she nodded. Her eyes welled up with tears once again, and she angrily brushed them away.
“I know—I know he’s the king,” Thalia muttered. “I know there’s really nowhere to hide. He’s—he rules everything. And I’m part of him, he will always…” The horror of it made her throat close over for a moment. “But especially here. It will always…I’m so scared. I’m so frightened all the time here.” Thalia stared up at the stars to avoid looking into the god’s pitying eyes.
“How would you feel about going to school?”
Thalia’s teeth clacked together in shock as she rushed to meet Poseidon’s gaze.
“School?”
“Yes, in the city. You wouldn’t be too far from camp, and there’s a woman I know who would foster you. She’s very kind, and her home would be safe.”
Thalia swallowed thickly. “Who?”
“Her name is Sally Jackson.”
Thalia huffed out a soft laugh through her nose. “Percy’s mum? You want me to live with Percy and his mum?”
Poseidon smiled softly. “I think it would be a good experience for both of you.”
Thalia began chewing on her lip as she thought. “What about my father?”
“Swear to me on the Styx you won’t do this again,” Poseidon said seriously. “Swear to me you won’t attempt to harm yourself like this again, Thalia. I will take care of your father. I will keep him away from you. I’ll keep you safe.”
“If I swear on the Styx?”
“Even if you don’t. But I hope—I hope you do. I hope you know how much you matter.”
“Because of the prophecy.”
Poseidon put his hand back on her shoulder and gripped it warmly. “Because you found a little girl cold and alone in an alley and decided to look after her because you are a good person. Because you got that little girl to safety, and she grew up to save my son a hundred times over.
“Because you are a child, and you deserve a life. You deserve to be happy. You should not be punished for the sins of your father. I am sorry that you have been. I truly am, Thalia Grace. You do not deserve the pain you have lived through.”
The tears, it seemed, would never cease their falling. Thalia sniffed and looked back up to the stars.
“Sally Jackson is kind?”
Thalia could see Poseidon’s smile out of the corner of her eye. “The kindest person I have ever known.”
“And she won’t mind…”
“No, she won’t.”
Thalia Grace looked up at the stars and thought about it all. She thought about her dead mother and her missing brother, her sinister, all-powerful father and the friends she’d unwillingly left behind, the divide that had grown between them because she was gone. Thalia thought about the dagger in the sand and the water between her toes, the sunshine on her face in Cornwall and the way her mother smiled every time Thalia gave her a seashell.
Thalia hadn’t prayed that night, purposely not wishing to wake anyone, divine or otherwise, who would attempt to thwart her plans. But by fate or chance, Thalia Grace had gone to her uncle’s domain and expected to be ignored. Perhaps prayers weren’t necessarily words spoken, but memories shared. Feelings released to the world. Perhaps Thalia had stepped into the water thinking of her joy, and Poseidon had listened as it turned to despair.
Whatever the reason, Thalia was glad that he had come.
“All right. I’ll—I’ll give it a try.”
A kind foster mother, an archrival as a foster brother, school for the first time in years…and an uncle who cared. An uncle who smiled like she was doing him a favor, who sighed in relief as he helped her gather her boots and walked her to the Big House to talk to Chiron.
It was hard not to have hope.
***