Two months had passed since Frank left. Hazel knew because she marked each day, etching a line on a piece of wood. As the days added up, sadness descended upon her. It was spring and the earth was teeming with life, but Hazel's dreams were filled with death. Some nights she lay awake, too scared to shut her eyes for the fear of seeing Frank go down once more in a furious mêlée. Other nights she rocked Kore in her arms, her daughter crying because she sensed something was up.

     Hazel would sing lullabies her mother had sang to her before everything turned sour. Singing those songs helped Hazel feel a connection to her lost mother. Sometimes when she gazed down upon the little bundle in her arms, a fierce joy pierced through her heart. Other times, sorrow just as pierce ripped through it as she remembered all she'd lost.

     Life was passing by strangely without Frank. Sometimes time dragged along like a petulant child. Other times Hazel saw her daughter reaching her milestones and marveled at how easily the days had passed by. She tried to burn every moment into her memory to share with Frank when he returned. If he returned, a cruel voice in her head whispered. No, she replied; he must return.

Hazel repeated this mantra in her head as she readied herself for Mass. She washed her face and then cut up some vegetables that she put in a pot of soup. The fire would die out during services, but before then, the soup would be thoroughly cooked and only need to be warmed up again for dinner.

Hazel changed out Kore's clothes and then swaddled her up, ready to go to church. There was a knock at the door as she neared it. Hazel used one foot to push the door open and saw her brother, his face wan even in the spring, smiling slightly.

Standing beside him was Will, a smile playing on his lips. The monk had become a frequent visitor, often accompanying Nico when he came over to help with agricultural concerns. Hazel was grateful for the two of them; it was quite hard enough running the household with their help. At least she wasn't alone.

Nico reached over and ruffled Kore's curls. "I see that my niece is growing well," he said.

Hazel couldn't help but smile. Who knew that Nico would get along so well with her daughter? Most children — and animals — were spooked by the dark-haired man, but Kore seemed only curious. Perhaps part of her knew that Nico was her uncle. Kore was equally comfortable with Will who would sing her nursery rhymes and play games while Hazel cooked. Hazel used to think all monks were dour, but Will was as far from that as one could be.

      Kore was getting plenty of love and attention from her uncles, but Hazel still worried about how Frank's absence could hurt her. What if the other children made fun of Kore because her father was gone? The thought left a burning impression in Hazel's chest. Her mother, her sister, her first pregnancy . . . All the past sorrows swam in her thoughts now, threatening to flood over the carefully constructed walls she's built to keep herself calm

     It wasn't true what people said. There was no getting used to the pain. It could numb you out at times, but no past sorrow can ever prepare you for a future one. Hazel thought of this as her daughter smiled, unaware of the gloomy thoughts stirring in her mother's mind.

      Hazel felt someone squeeze her hand and she looked up to see her brother. His face was grim, his eyes dark and melancholy, mirroring the pain she felt inside. "He will come back," Nico promised.

    Hazel began to shed soft tears, a warm sea bathing her face. "How do you know?"

      "I can feel it," Nico said simply.

     Hazel stared at her brother, remembering the time he had a premonition before the deaths of his sister and mother. He'd been scared then, afraid that he'd been touched by the devil. It was one of the reasons he closed himself up after their deaths; he blamed himself. "I pray that you are right," Hazel said, her voice shaking ever so slightly.

She raised her head, putting on a mask of courage. "Come on. It's time for Mass."

***

As she intoned the prayers more out of rite memory than devotion, Hazel realized there was something different in the air today. She looked around and saw she was not the only one whose voice didn't try to soar to heaven. Piper and Calypso both looked uncharacteristically somber. With a pang Hazel remembered she was not the only one who was hurting.

Where are they now? Hazel pictured the men sent on the crusade. Were they sweltering under a harsh sun? Were they yearning for home as much as their loved ones yearned for them?

Chiron's words broke through her thoughts. "As Easter approaches, we contemplate the sacrifice of our Lord and the sacrifices we have made. All of us miss the men who went to retake Jerusalem and I ask that we take a moment of silence to pray for their safe return."

A hush fell over the crowd. Hazel felt a hand squeezing her heart. Please God, she prayed, bring my husband back home in one piece.

    After the silent prayer ended, Chiron finished the service. His face was more lined than Hazel had ever seen it. He suffers alongside us, she thought; he feels our pain. Annabeth and Percy came up to Hazel. The former's grey eyes were narrowed in thought. "Chiron told us to pray for the soldiers' safe return," she said.
   
     "Yes?" Hazel asked, raising an eyebrow.

      "He didn't pray for their success," Annabeth said. "I wonder if he supports the war."
     
       "He never critiqued it," Percy said.

       "True, Seaweed Brain," Annabeth replied, "but I think the prayer was very telling. Chiron does not approve of the crusade."