SAFE . . . reyna ramirez-arellano

60 - insistence

BRIAR AND REYNA took charge of cleaning the lower deck, which had been thrown into chaos during the monster attack. Reorganizing sickbay and battening down the storage area took them most of the day, but Briar didn't mind. For one thing, she got to spend time with Reyna. For another, last night's explosions had given Briar a healthy respect for Greek fire. She didn't want any loose vials of that stuff rolling through the corridors in the middle of the night. And the dogs that followed them around didn't hurt.

As they were fixing up the stables, Briar thought about the night Annabeth and Percy had spent down here accidentally. Briar thought about doing that once or twice — sneaking into Reyna's room, or somehow getting up on the crow's nest without anyone noticing. But she hadn't, because they'd just gone through a rough patch. What was she supposed to do then?

Now, they actually could sneak out. Not that they'd done it often together at night. On nights where Piper was sleeping, Briar would go to the gardens because she'd gotten spooked from a nightmare, and Reyna would follow. They'd never planned anything during the night.

But during the day . . . they could get up to some shenanigans.

Briar swept the hay into piles. Reyna fixed a broken door on one of the stables. The glass floor hatch glowed from the ocean below — a green expanse of light and shadow that seemed to go down forever. Briar kept glancing over, afraid she'd see a monster's face peeping in, or something; but all she saw was an occasional school of herring.

As she watched Reyna work, she admired how easily Reyna did each task, whether it was fixing a door or oiling saddles. It wasn't just her strong arms and her skillful hands, though Briar liked those just fine, but the way she acted so nonchalant. She did what needed to be done without complaint. She kept her sense of humor, despite the fact that she had to be dead on her feet after not having slept the night before.

Briar's mind unwillingly went to her mother's tea party in Charleston. She wished her mom hadn't showed up at all.

Venus had paid so much attention to Reyna, Annabeth, and Hazel, it had made Briar uneasy. When her mom got interested in somebody's love life, usually that was a bad sign. It meant trouble was coming. Or as Venus would say, twists and turns.

Venus had barely looked at Briar, until she'd lashed out. And even then, Venus hadn't really reacted much, had she? Briar was just . . . angry. First, she'd played with Briar as if she was a toy that a little girl would throw away once the slightest thing went wrong with it. Then, she'd played with Piper's entire life, and Briar hadn't remembered until the voice had given her that vision.

All of you are such excellent stories, Venus had said. I mean, girls.

Briar hated that. She had never wanted to be a plaything for the gods — no matter how much she bragged about being the favored one of the gods. Least of all her mother. She had never wanted to be looked down on, as if she was lesser than anyone. Because Briar is better than most people. Why do people treat her like she's not?

"What are you thinking?" Reyna asked.

Briar realized she'd been making a sour face. In the reflection of the glass bay doors, she looked like she'd swallowed a teaspoon of salt. She'd done that before as a dare from Piper.

"Nothing," Briar said, trying to ignore the sudden chest pain from thinking about Piper. "I mean . . . a lot of things. Kind of all at once."

Reyna laughed. "You know I know you, right? I know when you're thinking about . . . your mother."

Briar was forcefully reminded of when she had been standing on the bow of the ship with Jason. He'd told her that he knew her. But did he? She didn't even know who she was.