“Joking,” Piper said. “And the storm winds aren’t our worst problem, are they?”

“Oh, no,” Zethes agreed. “Something else. Something worse.”

“Worse,” Call echoed.

“Can you tell me?” Piper gave them a smile.

This time, the charm didn’t work. The purple-winged Boreads shook their heads in unison. The hangar doors opened onto a freezing starry night, and Festus the dragon stomped his feet, anxious to fly.

“Ask Aeolus what is worse,” Zethes said darkly. “He knows. Good luck.”

The Lost Hero, Chapter XX