The Last Olympian

only for my own interest, especially if I were Poseidon. Sitting in his throne, I felt like I had the entire sea at my command—vast cubic miles of ocean churning with power and mystery. Why should Poseidon listen to anyone? Why shouldn’t he be the greatest of the twelve?
    Then I shook my head. Concentrate.
    The throne rumbled. A wave of gale-force anger slammed into my mind:
    WHO DARES—
    The voice stopped abruptly. The anger retreated, which was a good thing, because just those two words had almost blasted my mind to shreds.
    Percy. My father’s voice was still angry but more controlled. What—exactly—are you doing on my throne?
    “I’m sorry, Father,” I said. “I needed to get your attention.”
    This was a very dangerous thing to do. Even for you. If I hadn’t looked before I blasted, you would now be a puddle of seawater.
    “I’m sorry,” I said again. “Listen, things are rough up here.”
    I told him what was happening. Then I told him my plan.
    His voice was silent for a long time.
    Percy, what you ask is impossible. My palace—
    “Dad, Kronos sent an army against you on purpose. He wants to divide you from the other gods because he knows you could tip the scales.”
    Be that as it may, he attacks my home.
    “I’m at your home,” I said. “Olympus.”
    The floor shook. A wave of anger washed over my mind. I thought I’d gone too far, but then the trembling eased. In the background of my mental link, I heard underwater explosions and the sound of battle cries: Cyclopes bellowing, mermen shouting.
    “Is Tyson okay?” I asked.
    The question seemed to take my dad by surprise. He’s fine. Doing much better than I expected. Though “peanut butter” is a strange battle cry.
    “You let him fight?”
    Stop changing the subject! You realize what you are asking me to do? My palace will be destroyed.
    “And Olympus might be saved.”
    Do you have any idea how long I’ve worked on remodeling this palace? The game room alone took six hundred years.
    “Dad—”
    Very well! It shall be as you say. But my son, pray this works.
    “I am praying. I’m talking to you, right?”
    Oh . . . yes. Good point. Amphitrite—incoming!
    The sound of a large explosion shattered our connection.
    I slipped down from the throne.
    Grover studied me nervously. “Are you okay? You turned pale and . . . you started smoking.”
    “I did not!” Then I looked at my arms. Steam was curling off my shirtsleeves. The hair on my arms was singed.
    “If you’d sat there any longer,” Annabeth said, “you would’ve spontaneously combusted. I hope the conversation was worth it?”
    Moo , said the Ophiotaurus in his sphere of water.
    “We’ll find out soon,” I said.
    Just then the doors of the throne room swung open. Thalia marched in. Her bow was snapped in half and her quiver was empty.
    “You’ve got to get down there,” she told us. “The enemy is advancing. And Kronos is leading them.”

EIGHTEEN

MY PARENTS GO
COMMANDO
    By the time we got to the street, it was too late.
    Campers and Hunters lay wounded on the ground. Clarisse must’ve lost a fight with a Hyperborean giant, because she and her chariot were frozen in a block of ice. The centaurs were nowhere to be seen. Either they’d panicked and ran or they’d been disintegrated.
    The Titan army ringed the building, standing maybe twenty feet from the doors. Kronos’s vanguard was in the lead: Ethan Nakamura, the dracaena queen in her green armor, and two Hyperboreans. I didn’t see Prometheus. The slimy weasel was probably hiding back at their headquarters. But Kronos himself stood right in front with his scythe in hand.
    The only thing standing in his way was . . .
    “Chiron,” Annabeth said, her voice trembling.
    If Chiron heard us, he didn’t answer. He had an arrow notched, aimed straight at Kronos’s face.
    As soon as Kronos saw me, his gold eyes flared. Every muscle in my body froze. Then the Titan lord turned his attention back to Chiron. “Step aside, little son.”
    Hearing Luke call Chiron his son was weird enough, but Kronos put contempt in his voice, like son was the worst word he could think of.
    “I’m afraid not.” Chiron’s tone was steely calm, the way he gets when he’s really angry.
    I tried to move, but my feet felt like concrete. Annabeth, Grover, and Thalia were straining too, like they were just as stuck.
    “Chiron!” Annabeth said. “Look out!”
    The dracaena queen became impatient and charged. Chiron’s