02   a knife is not a welcoming committee

Medea lingers behind the other demigods like a shadow.

It's undeniable that they've probably forgotten about her existence. Most watch, standing patiently as the Argos II breaks through the cloud threshold towards Roman territory. Closest to Medea, Annabeth paces the length of the Argos II's deck, checking and double checking every single little detail that is going into their descent to the Roman camp. She's never been as subtle as she thought she is with her anxiety—the jittering of her shoes, frantically twisting silver rings around the bone of her finger until there's a line of raw red and the blonde curl by her face that's always twisted in one particular direction. It's the little details that make up the whole picture, Medea's learnt. Their fearless captain isn't as fearless as one might assume.

The only lingering detail that gives away Medea's own anxiety is the chewed state of her nails. She'd ripped them into jagged lines last night, hiding in the safety of her cabin with her packed bag at her feet. The rest of the demigods didn't know that Medea had sneaked out of the camp to join them on their quest. She's never been one to ask permission. Or even forgiveness.

Medea braces herself on the railings, pulling away from the shadows and into the curved sunlight. The rest of the crew mates take their places: Leo rushing around like a madman as he checks over his pristine machine; Piper pacing back and forth between the mainmast and ballistae, practising her lines; Jason, the golden light at the end of the bow on the raised crossbow platform, dressed in a toga and purple cloak. A shiver dances its way up Medea's spine. She can feel eyes on her, flickering between her back and Jason's figure in the front. 

The city of New Rome glints. A flickering beacon that Medea couldn't even hope to miss. There's evidence of a battle, wreckage left behind in broken pieces as dozens of teenagers and kids in togas pour out from the Senate House to get a better look at their ship. Their gawking faces do nothing to amuse or entertain Medea. Her nose wrinkles as a child waves to her in the clouds and she turns away.

As Medea steps away from the railing, a BOOM resonates through the air, almost knocking her overboard. She turns, facing the side profile of a particularly angry statue—embers crackling on the curls of his hair and yellow smoke rolling off his shoulders in waves.

          "Unacceptable!" He shrieks in Annabeth's face. "I will not have weapons inside the Pomerian Line! I certainly will not have Greeks!"

Jason shoots Annabeth a look, flicking over Medea like she isn't there.

          "Terminus," he says. "It's me. Jason Grace."

          "Oh, I remember you, Jason!" Terminus grumbles. "I thought you had better sense than to consort with the enemies of Rome!"

          "But they're not enemies—"

          "That's right," Piper jumps in. "We just want to talk. If we could—"

          "Ha!" snaps Terminus. "Don't try that charmspeak on me, young lady. And put down that dagger before I slap it out of your hands!"

Piper glances down at her bronze dagger like she forgot it was there. "Um...okay. But how would you slap it? You don't have any arms."

          "Impertinence!" Terminus waves a stone hand, Piper's dagger smoking in her palm as a flash flares brightly. It causes her to shriek, dropping it.

          "Perhaps it's not wise to piss off the thing between us and our goal." Medea muses softly, lips pressed together and head cocked to the side like a cat.

          "Lucky for you I've just been through a battle," Terminus says. "If I were at full strength, I would've blasted this flying monstrosity out of the sky already!"

          "Hold up." Leo steps forward, wagging his Wii controller. He knocks shoulders with Medea who glares at him. "Did you just call my ship a monstrosity? I know you didn't do that."

This seems to snap Annabeth back to life as she raises her hands to show that she has no weapons. "Let's all calm down. I take it you're Terminus, the god of boundaries. Jason told me you protect the city of New Rome, right? I'm Annabeth Chase, daughter of—"

          "Oh, I know who you are!" The statue glares at her with blank white eyes. "A child of Athena, Minerva's Greek form. Scandalous! You Greeks have no sense of decency. We Romans know the proper place for that goddess."

Annabeth's jaw clenches. "What exactly do you mean, that goddess? And what's so scandalous about—"

          "Right!" Jason interrupts. "Anyway, Terminus, we're here on a mission of peace. We'd love permission to land so we can—"

          "Impossible!" the god squeaks. "Lay down your weapons and surrender! Leave my city immediately!"

          "Am I supposed to be afraid of a squeaking statue who can barely hit a dagger out of my hand?" Medea questions, stepping further forward behind Leo. She pokes Terminus' stone cheek with a finger over the safety of Leo's shoulder.

          "Both!" Terminus says. "Surrender, then leave. I am slapping your face for asking such a stupid question, you ridiculous girl! Do you feel that?"

          "Wow." Leo studies Terminus with keen interest. His shoulder brushes Medea's as he moves closer. "You're wound up pretty tight. You got any gears in there that need loosening? I could take a look." He pulls his screwdriver from his belt, tapping the statue's cheek.

          "Stop that!" Terminus insists. Another small explosion made Leo drop his screwdriver. "Weapons are not allowed on Roman soil inside the Pomerian Line."

          "The what?" Piper asks.

          "City limits," Jason translates, looking at Piper.

          "And this entire ship is a weapon!" Terminus said. "You cannot land!"

Medea looks over the railing. Underneath their ship, halfway to the city, the legion's forces are gathering in a mass of at least a hundred. Annabeth pushes into place beside Medea. She can hear the girl's breath hitch as a familiar figure comes into view—purple cape, the mark of a praetor, hanging from his back and black curls just as wild as the day he went missing.

Annabeth hits her hands on the railing. "Leo, stop the ship."

          "What?"

          "You heard me. Keep us right where we are." Annabeth says.

Leo pulls out his controller, yanking it upward. All ninety oars freeze in place, the ship halting.

          "Terminus," Annabeth starts, "there's no rule against hovering over New Rome, is there?"

The statue frowns. "Well, no..."

          "We can keep the ship aloft," Annabeth continues. "We'll use a rope ladder to reach the forum. That way, the ship won't be on Roman soil. Not technically."

The statue seems to ponder this. "I like technicalities. Still..."

          "All our weapons will stay aboard the ship," Annabeth promises.

          "Speak for yourself." Medea mutters.

Leo elbows her side and she digs her own straight back into his ribs.

          "I assume the Romans—even those reinforcements marching toward us—will also have to honour your rules inside the Pomerian Line if you tell them to?" Annabeth says, ignoring Medea and Leo.

          "Of course!" Terminus says. "Do I look like I tolerate rule breakers?"

          "Uh, Annabeth..." Leo interjects. "You sure this is a good idea?"

Annabeth clasps her fists, shoulders tense like she's terrified that she's making the wrong decision. But her mind only has one focus—Percy is down there, so close and every single bone in her body aches to reach him.

          "It'll be fine," she says. "No one will be armed. We can talk in peace. Terminus will make sure each side obeys the rules. Do we have an agreement?"

Terminus sniffs. "I suppose. For now. You may climb down your ladder to New Rome, daughter of Athena. Please try not to destroy my town."

Annabeth looks back at her crew, thrumming with unchecked energy. "Let's go."

Medea lets herself drop from the rope ladder like a deadweight and lands heavily on the ground, her boots kicking up a cloud of dust. She maintains a blank expression, standing tall and stretching out her cramped limbs. Her presence is menacing, a distinct trail of shadows follows her similar to a manner that they've seen before and each person who looks in her direction has a tendency to look away. Some are tense, others nervous, others simply angry. Bandages wrap around hands and splints from recent injuries that match the wreckage from the battle around them. But no one attacks, they hold strong.

The crowd parts for their group as they follow Annabeth through the forum. There are entire families—something that Medea has never seen before. It's rare that demigods make it past the age of twenty. At least for Greek demigods that's the case. Couples with babies, toddler's clinging to their parents' legs, even older couples with hands clasped together watch the Greeks walk through their forum, all dressed in an odd combination of modern and Roman robes. The sight of an entire multigenerational community causes a flutter in Medea's stomach. She ignores it, shoving it down to the bottom of her being and clamping down on it tightly. This shouldn't matter to her. She only has one goal.

As Medea's arms move while she walks, the daughter of Persephone can feel the grip of her knife carefully tucked into an armband underneath her jumper sleeve. The Stygian Iron seems to have made it past the threshold, now it is just up to Medea to ensure it isn't seen. She resists the urge to press her fingers to the tip of the blade, her usual reminder that she's armed and therefore safe in the hands of her own protection, and instead focuses on the sight of Tyson the Cyclops and Mrs O'Leary, Percy Jackson's beloved hellhound at the other end of the forum.

They come to a stop as a girl with dark tumbling hair and Roman armour approaches, causing the crowd to part ways for her. Reyna, Medea hears Leo whisper to Piper. She purses her lips, levelling out an iron gaze as Reyna and her connection eyes momentarily. But any possibility for introduction comes to a halt as Annabeth's vision tunnels, focusing on a familiar black-haired boy with a troublemaking smile that appears behind Reyna. Sea-green eyes glinting wickedly at the sight of his girlfriend, Percy's presence causes the blonde to be too stunned to move.

The praetor, Reyna, straightens. With apparent reluctance, she turns toward Jason. "Jason Grace, my former colleague... I welcome you home. And these, your friends—"

Medea, tired of the formalities already, gives Annabeth a shove forward and that's when she snaps into action. Annabeth surges forward, and Percy throws his arms around her. Medea almost regrets springing them into action as they kiss. Far too wrapped up in each other to remember they have an audience. But there's a smile on Annabeth's face that Medea can't quite seem to shake the image of. Is this what she's missing?

Percy pulls away and studies her face between his hands on her cheeks. "Gods, I never thought—"

Annabeth grabs his wrist and flips him over her shoulder. There's a thud as he's slammed into the stone pavement, causing laughter to erupt from Medea's lips. She slaps a hand over her mouth as Leo shoots her an indignant look.

Romans cry out. Some surge forward, but Reyna shouts, "Hold! Stand down!"

Annabeth puts her knee on Percy's chest, pushing her forearm against his throat. She doesn't care what the Romans think, what anyone thinks. There's a white-hot lump of anger expanding in her chest—a tumour of worry and bitterness—and it's time for Percy to realise what she's feeling.

          "If you ever leave me again," she says, her eyes stinging with tears. "I swear to all the gods—"

Percy has the nerve to laugh and something in Annabeth shifts, the tension from her shoulders melting.

          "Consider me warned," Percy says. "I missed you, too."

Annabeth rises to her feet, helping Percy once she's stood stable.

Jason clears his throat. "So, yeah....It's good to be back." He turns to the group behind him, realising they haven't been introduced or made proper greetings. "This is Piper," Piper waves. "That's Leo," the boy throws up a peace sign as Reyna turns to him. "That's Medea." Medea nods slightly, wound tight. "And this is Annabeth. Uh, normally she doesn't judo-flip people."

Reyna's eyes sparkle. "You sure you're not a Roman, Annabeth? Or an Amazon?"

Annabeth looks as if she can't figure out if that was a compliment or not, but she held out her hand. "I only attack my boyfriend like that," she promises. "Pleased to meet you."

Reyna clasps her hand firmly. "It seems we have a lot to discuss. Centurions!"

Medea notes that her call is heeded immediately, a few Roman campers hustling forward, seemingly at least some of the senior officers. Two kids appear at Percy's side—a particularly burly Asian guy sporting a buzzcut and a curly-haired girl with dark skin, her amber eyes particularly piercing. She tucks her cavalry helmet underneath her arm, frowning in Piper and Leo's directions like they're a bad memory.

Tuning back into the conversation, Medea hears Reyna giving orders to her officers. "...tell the legion to stand down. Dakota, alert the spirits in the kitchen. Tell them to prepare a welcome feast. And, Octavian—"

          "You're letting these intruders into the camp?" A tall guy with stringy blond hair elbows his way forward. "Reyna, the security risks—"

Medea already doesn't like him and his whiny voice. She keeps her mouth tightly shut, lest she run her mouth.

          "We're not taking them to the camp, Octavian." Reyna gives him a stern look. "We'll eat here, in the forum."

          "Oh, much better," Octavian grumbles. "You want us to relax in the shadow of their warship."

Medea resists the urge to roll her eyes, the dying relevance to finding her brother is beginning to wear on her nerves.

          "These are our guests." Reyna says in a clipped tone. "We will welcome them, and we will talk to them. As augur, you should burn an offering to thank the gods for bringing Jason back to us safely."

          "Good idea," Percy butts in. "Go burn your bears, Octavian."

Reyna looks like she was trying not to smile. "You have my orders. Go."

The officers disperse, Octavian shooting Percy a look of absolute loathing. He stalks away, knocking shoulders with Medea. She lurches forward but Leo catches her wrist before she makes it even a step away.

          "Don't blow this." He mutters.

Medea sneers.

          "We'll be fine," Annabeth says, trying to believe it, and successfully snapping Medea's attention back to the task at hand.

          "Excellent," Reyna says. She turns to Jason, and Annabeth thought there was a hungry sort of gleam in her eyes. "Let's talk, and we can have a proper reunion."