He waited a few moments and Annabeth focused on not throwing up, but Will did not come. "Will!" Percy called again, desperate.
Still, there was neither a response nor a doctor, simply bone chilling silence. A bitter tang wafted into the room but Annabeth wasn't coherent enough to recognize . . .
But Percy did.
Percy froze, his arms locking around Annabeth, his heart thundering in her ear from where she was perched against his chest. Annabeth struggled to sit up but Percy shoved her behind him. Percy quietly handed her a dagger, and Annabeth, bewildered, opened her mouth to inquire about it, but she stopped short. Annabeth's eyes locked on the doorway and the crimson substance flowing around the corner, trekking into her chamber to haunt her. Annabeth's heart hiked up its skirts and fled to her toes as bile surpassed it to rise in her throat.
A high pitched shriek came from around the corner and then a loud thwack, quickly followed by gurgling which could only mean one thing—someone choking on their own blood. Percy jumped to his feet instantly, alert as ever and Annabeth slowly rose too, her whole boy thrumming with adrenaline, her weakness cast aside like an annoying cloak. A bead of sweat slipped from the back of her neck and past her shoulder blades and she jolted forward, knocking into Percy. Percy steadied her and gestured for her to stay back—Annabeth shook her head sharply twice. Percy clearly understood the message; I'm not letting you fight my battles alone.
Annabeth and Percy crept to the door, sidestepping the blood seeping into the floor. Percy pulled his sword from its sheath—she hadn't even seen him put it back there in the first place—and swung it in a quick, malicious circle at his side. Annabeth stuck her dagger out in front of her and pushed the bluriness at the edge of her vision deep into the depths of her head; now was not the time for hallucinations.
But then a horrifying thought occurred to her—what if this was a hallucination? The thought pricked at her mind and she wanted to scream. How was she supposed to differentiate?!
Percy slinked around the corner, practically melting into the shadows. As the pair rounded the corner, the first of the bodies greeted them. Annabeth shoved a hand to her mouth as tears pricked her eyes; it was one of her guards, Michael Yew, barely gracing the age of seventeen. Michael's throat was slit as blood spilled between his fingertips where he had desperately tried to stem the bleeding—in the end his bright blue eyes were wide open in terror, clouded with blood. Annabeth turned her face away as a tear slipped down her cheek, Percy shied away too but leaned down to close his eyes anyways. Annabeth had never understood the desire to close a dead person's eyes in books, but now that the problem presented itself, she finally understood.
It wasn't totally about them and resting peacefully—the haunting look that dead eyes cast was absolutely terrifying and disturbing.
Blood slicked the floor around them and Annabeth murmured a prayer to the gods, her tongue dry as it slipped past her lips and teeth. Casting one last mournful glance at the first of the dead, Annabeth couldn't help but wonder if she would end up the same way.
* * *
Every sound set Annabeth's teeth on edge and her heart bouncing up to her throat. Percy crouched down, looking for any signs of footprints from the blood when they heard it.
Annabeth's back straightened and her head whipped around. The sound of a sword sliding across the marble floor was unmistakable and fingers of fear slid down her spine, freezing her organs and joints up. Annabeth raised her sword and everything seemed to speed up—
Percy yelling a warning cry, Percy pushing Annabeth behind him, a shadow rising to strike. A flash of blonde hair and blue eyes whirled past, and Percy rose to match the strike, metal on metal clanging and resounding through the room. All of the air in Annabeth's lungs whooshed out of her. How could —
It was a hallucination. It had to be a hallucination! Luke was in a cell, four floors below Annabeth, tens of guards awaiting any move he could possibly make; he could not escape Annabeth focused on steadying her breathing and racked her brain on how to diffuse the hallucination. Annabeth pinched herself and closed her eyes, but when she opened them she was still greeted by the sight of her betrothed viciously defending himself against the wild and crazed monster that called itself Luke Castellan.
Luke's eyes rose to meet hers and he panted out, in between blows, "What do you think Annabeth? Hallucination?"
Annabeth gulped and tried to find something to focus on. Annabeth had read somewhere that in dreams and hallucinations one cannot read—the language is foreign and when one focused too hard on something, the image would scatter. Annabeth chose to focus on Luke's blue eyes. Annabeth knew those eyes better than the back of her own hand; she saw them in her nightmares and they seared the backs of her eyelids every time she closed them. Luke contributed to stare back, but his fighting never slackened and Percy was tiring. Annabeth had to do something because what if it wasn't a dream?
As Annabeth focused all of her attention on Luke's cold eyes, she knowledge that they never wavered in their survey of her screamed at her. Annabeth squeezed her dagger so tight that the leather binding sawed at her skin. Luke raised a perfect eyebrow at her, "You're hallucinating."
"Annabeth," Percy breathed laboriously, "you're not hallucinating! Go get help! Now!"
Annabeth broke her eye contact with Luke and snapped to attention. Percy broke contact with his sword, rolling to avoid a blow and partied with a matched force. Percy and Luke were nearly equal in swordsmanship, and Luke had the advantage of surprise. This fight could last until one of them tired, and Annabeth couldn't be sure that the victor would be the Crown Prince.
"Yes," Annabeth mused to herself, turning on her heel, "help."
A shout rose from the two boys and a chill ran a race down her spine. Everything around Annabeth froze in place and she whirled back around, launching her dagger before she could even aim or consider what was transpiring. Annabeth just felt this feeling of direness, something needed to be done and her body had responded in kind. Annabeth could no longer deny that this was happening, a fight had broke out, guards were killed, Percy could be too. This was not a hallucination and she had to act.
Annabeth heard a thunk and someone collapsed. Annabeth was gasping for breath—please let her aim have been true, she thought desperately, please let Percy be okay. Annabeth blinked slowly before looking up into the face of —
Percy.
Annabeth let out a sob and collapsed into his arms, wrapping hers around his neck, sobbing into his shoulder. "Annabeth," he said with pride yet also confusion, "your back was turned, how did you – "
"I don't know," Annabeth said, her voice muffled. "I just felt like something bad was going to happen, so I acted in kind."
"You saved my life," he murmured into her hair, "Luke got the upper hand for a minute and nearly separated my head from my body, then you . . . "
Percy trailed off but the meaning stood. Annabeth could feel his gratitude, but she didn't want it. The truth was that Annabeth didn't deserve it. Annabeth had destroyed his life and committed treason even if she was manipulated—she was a Princess of Athens! No manipulation or actions should warrant such despicable acts.
Annabeth didn't deserve Percy.
Annabeth untangled herself from the Crown Prince of Crete and dared to force her eye to the ground where a body laid at her feet.
Annabeth's dagger was buried deep in Luke's neck, blood gushing from the wound, buried to the hilt. Annabeth had killed her enemy, the monster that tried to turn her against her soon to be husband and her people.
Annabeth had killed her demon—so why didn't she feel better?
