by Raye Wagner
“Still upset with your father?” Xan asked.
“No.” Hope dropped her shoulders and rolled her eyes. “Not you, too.”
He chuckled. “What do you mean?”
“Athan has this theory that this Book of the Fates belongs to my father. And the reason I can’t read it is because I hate him so much. It’s stupid. Why would I need my father’s book? He left us.” But as she spoke the words, she felt the difference in her speech. Every other time she’d spoken of her dad, the emotion in her chest was hot and bitter. But today?
Maybe seeing how Ares treated his son or how Hermes treated Athan made her change. Maybe her feelings had changed after watching Xan willingly sacrifice himself for her. Over and over. Or maybe it was knowing that even though she loved Athan, she couldn’t stay with him without putting him in jeopardy. Her gaze went to Xan. Love was best shown through sacrifice, and sometimes that sacrifice wasn’t readily apparent. And sometime love wasn’t readily apparent, either.
There was no searing bitterness in her chest for her father. Only . . . curiosity. Maybe there was more to her father’s story than she really knew, but even if there wasn’t, did he really deserve her hate? She didn’t even know him.
It didn’t matter why he left; it still hurt. But seeing her emotions for what they really were . . . She could acknowledge the hurt and let the bitterness go. So today, there was no anger.
And if she met him tomorrow . . .
“When I found you in the Underworld, right after you’d seen your mum and dad, you were glowing with joy.”
Like so many times over the last few months, Xan seemed to know exactly what she needed to hear.
“I understand you don’t know what happened all those years ago and whatever knowledge you got when you visited them got lost in the Lethe. But you were happy. And you were happy about him.”
Hope’s eyes filled with tears as the rage dissolved, and she recognized the emotion behind her vehement anger. She’d been abandoned by her father, and that hurt. But she had to believe that whatever he’d said to her in the Underworld, whatever it was that made her happy about meeting him, meant that he didn’t leave willingly. And he was dead. There had to be more. And she wanted to understand.
With a trembling hand, she reached out, grabbed the cover, and flipped the yellow book open. Hope gasped as familiar slanted black script greeted her. And there, on the first page, was the name of her father, Luc Symeon Nicholas.
“You were right,” she breathed. Athan was right. Surprising emotion ripped through her chest.
Xan smiled, a glowing triumphant grin that lit up his entire face.
The air in the room shifted, and his expression morphed in a single heartbeat.
“Little monster,” Ares said. His chilling tone matched his sneer.
She snatched the book to her chest, her gaze going to Xan like he could provide protection.
Ares circled her, as a vulture circles his prey. “What are you doing in here?”
The panic in Xan’s eyes cautioned her. This was it. The power play, and to win, to beat them at their game, she would need to pull this off. And do it convincingly.
She swallowed and felt the fear travel down her chest, settling heavily in her gut. Her heart fluttered like a caged butterfly, but she pulled her shoulders down in an attempt to seem relaxed. Meeting Ares’s predatory gaze, she raised her chin and said, “Nothing. Hera sent me here. Are you going to let me out now?”
Could the god of war hear Hope was on the edge of hysteria? That the thinly veiled horror she felt for him was second to none? Even her fear of Apollo was nothing compared to this. Hope watched the god of war, and her heart pounded so hard she could hear the blood rushing in her ears. Could he hear it too? Would his lust for pain and bloodshed be so great that he would seek it everywhere, even on Olympus?
She already knew the answer to that.
This fear, the alarm and dread caused by the god of war, did not turn to anger. She wished it would, that it would become righteous indignation in which she could find strength. There was no strength. This terror clawed and crawled and clamored for her to flee. But she would not. She could not fight him. She had no power to defeat him. None. But courage was a choice, and she would stay.
“I think not,” was his cold reply. “You’re here on Olympus, and somehow you’ve convinced my son to come with you. Apollo’s pet . . .” Ares pursed his lips as he considered his words. “Who, I think, doesn’t want to be a pet anymore.”
She should say something. Something that would let him know she wasn’t afraid, but the words wouldn’t come. There were no strong words. Her bluster and bravado had fled.
“So, then. I will ask you again, little monster. How did you get in? What do you want in here? It doesn’t even appear that you’ve tried to free Xan, but you’ve cleaned him up.” He pointed at the torn pieces of her dress saturated with his son’s blood. “What do you want with him?”
Hope shook her head. She would not make it worse for Xan. “Nothing.”
Ares’s eyes flashed fire. “You lie.” He crossed the space to his son in two strides and then jabbed a finger in the air toward Hope. “What does she want?”
Xan clenched his teeth but said nothing as he stared back at his father.
Ares punched Xan in the stomach, and Xan flinched but couldn’t double over because of his shackles. His head flopped forward, and he gasped for air.
Grabbing a fistful of Xan’s hair, Ares pulled his son’s head upright and delivered a bone-crunching blow to his cheek.
“Stop,” Hope screamed. “Stop it!” She couldn’t lie and watch Xan get beaten. She couldn’t do it. She wasn’t strong enough for that, and she didn’t even care. She pushed between Ares and Xan, shoving the god away. Standing between them, she offered Xan the only barrier she could provide. Ashamed with her own weakness, she couldn’t bring herself to look at him but brought her tear-filled gaze up to Ares and pled, “Don’t hit him again.”
Ares raised his eyebrows as he stared her down. “What do you want with him?”
Hope shook her head. “Nothing. He’s my friend. I want him safe. Please, don’t hit him again.”
Evil malice showed in Ares’s triumphant smile. “Friends?” He stepped toe-to-toe with Hope. With his lip curled in contempt, he said, “You are quite mistaken. Xan doesn’t have any friends.”
Ares grabbed her by the throat and picked her up. Xan shouted her name in desperate, futile anguish.
Hope kicked and tried to scream, but the sound was crushed without oxygen to fuel it. Her thrashing made no difference. Panic pulsed through her for several seconds before she collided with the marble wall. And then the world went black.
The scent of sunlight and honeysuckle, sweet and clean, broke through the darkness.
“She is not yours, and I demand you let me take her,” said a man. His tone was low and urgent, and his voice sounded strangely familiar and protective.
Even so, she knew she did not want to go with him. Her consciousness roused, and agony exploded down her side. She tried to brace for the next wave of pain, but the anguish relentlessly bombarded her. There was something wrong, so wrong, and the gasping choking sounds were all she could do to plea for help.
“Shh,” Apollo said as he slid his arms under her and pulled her onto his lap.
Her head flopped onto his chest, even as his warmth seeped into her. First through her skin, then her muscles, bones, and deep into her organ tissues. She could feel the cells, knitting together, repairing. Her lungs sucked in a greedy breath, and she opened her eyes.
They were still in Ares’s torture chamber. Xan was still chained to the wall. He wore his terror on every part of his body, and he was straining to free himself. To get to her. When their gazes met, he sagged in relief.
“She doesn’t want to be your pet,” Ares seethed from the other side of the room. The pale skin of his chest was blistered and red. “I don’t know why you waste your power on her. She doesn’
t even like you.”
“Are you all right to sit up now?” Apollo asked as he stroked her hair.
She nodded, and the god of the sun propped her up against the wall gently enough that if she were made of blown glass, she would not crack. Keeping his body between hers and Ares’s, Apollo gathered her backpack and stuffed the yellow book inside. When he stopped in front of Xan, the god brushed his fingers across Xan’s battered face.
“Don’t you dare,” Ares yelled, stepping toward the other god. But his fingers went to his chest, and he stopped. “Don’t touch him.”
Ignoring Ares, Apollo approached her. He held Hope’s bag out, and she pulled it to her, clutching it close. Kneeling down, he scooped her back into his arms and then faced Ares. “Someday you will learn that brutality cannot win every battle. You are ridiculously foolish, Ares, and you waste your energy and resources on senseless violence. It will never fill that ache inside, and you perpetually condemn yourself to your own misery.”
“Enough!” The god of war and bloodshed drew a broadsword from the air. “You have nothing I want. Nothing! Get out. Now!”
Apollo pulled Hope close, cradling her in his arms. His warmth disappeared, and his jaw hardened. “I pity you, Ares.” He walked through the wall and into the hallway.
The roar of pain from the god of war echoed into the empty space, even after the wall sealed behind them.
“You seem to find trouble at every turn, Hope.” Apollo’s laugh was like sunshine, and he chuckled as though the terror of moments ago never happened. “Looking after you is much more time-consuming and entertaining than any of my creations before you. And you’re quite lovely, too, if I do say so myself.”
His calloused words burned her soul. How could he even say that? Like they existed only for his amusement . . . like their interactions were a game? “You mean my mom? I entertain you more than my mom did?”
“You’re fiercely loyal, my dear.” He glanced down at her, his face alight with adoration, and tucked in his arms. “I may love that most about you.”
Love? Shaking her head, she put her hand to his chest. “Stop. Please. Put me down.”
He studied her with his gaze traveling over her body, stopping as he stared at her abdomen.
She felt a pulse of energy, deep in her core, and the last of her pain fled.
“There. All better,” he said as he set her gingerly on her feet. “You can stand, yes?”
“Yes,” she snapped. But she had to reach for the wall as her knees buckled.
Leaning into her space, he tapped her nose. “Don’t be proud, my Hope. I’m only here to help you.”
Disbelief so strong made Hope question her grasp on reality. With a blink, she shook her head. But nothing changed. Perhaps, if she pinched herself, she would wake up. Keeping her eyes closed, she pinched her forearm until the pain made her eyes water.
“What in the name of mother Gaia are you doing?” Apollo pushed her hand away. “That is not right. If I won’t let Ares hurt you, I certainly won’t stand by to watch you harm yourself. What is this foolishness?”
Hope opened her eyes.
Apollo was still there in the white marble halls of Olympus, hovering over her with concern.
“You’re real?” she asked.
Amusement replaced the concern on his face, and Apollo’s lips twitched with suppressed mirth. “Is that what that was? I’ve heard of this expression, ‘Pinch me’ or some such, like you were dreaming.”
This made no sense. This was not the same brutal god who’d burned his sons in her room. She couldn’t reconcile him with the picture of ruthlessness she’d assumed as he killed her mother or grandmother. This couldn’t be the same being who murdered Isaak and Phoibe and placed the curse.
The deity before her was filled with kindness, warmth, concern. He was light and sunshine, honeysuckle and healing. Almost like she couldn’t believe the reality in front of her, she asked, “Who are you?”
“I am Apollo.” He slid his arm around her waist. “Let’s get you to your room. You are healed, but you will still need time to recover.”
The thought of going to Hera’s rooms and having the goddess visit made Hope shudder.
“Are you still hurting?” he asked, slowing his pace. “Would you rather I carry you?”
Hope was still struggling to merge her two images of Apollo, and with her mind reeling, she couldn’t seem to do anything more than tell the truth. “No. I just don’t want Hera to visit again.”
“Ah, yes.” His grip around her waist tightened. “Is that how you got into Ares’s chambers? Did she put you there?”
“Yes, but I’m glad she did. I wanted to see Xan. I was worried . . .” She needed to shut up. She was disclosing how important Xan was to her, exactly what Xan told her not to do.
His eyebrows drew down in concern. “You care for that young demigod?”
His tone was neutral, and Hope glanced at him out of the corner of her eyes. He didn’t seem upset, only pensive. Even so, she didn’t want to give him anything to hold over her, and more than that, she wanted to keep Xan safe. “He’s helped keep me safe, more than once.”
“Ah, you feel a debt of gratitude for him,” Apollo said dismissively.
She wanted to correct him. To tell him how much she valued Xan, but she knew that would be reckless, so she willfully let Apollo misunderstand.
They arrived at her door with the vibrant peacock with his fan of tail feathers. Staring at the bird, Hope said, “The myths say Hera put the eyes in the peacock so it would spy for her.”
Apollo touched the door, and it opened. “There are truths in all the myths, even if they are not all true. I will return shortly with food. If you feel up to it, I suggest you bathe.” He leaned over and kissed Hope on the head. “I’ll be right back.”
He disappeared.
With a sigh of relief, Hope closed the door and crossed to the bathroom. Dropping her backpack on the pristine floor, she turned on the water. She was exhausted, but Apollo was right: She would feel better if she were clean. As she stripped off the tattered pieces of the green chiton, the heavy coin dropped to the floor. She put the coin on the counter, too afraid she’d forget about the odd denomination if it were out of her sight.
By the time she was dressed again, she heard someone knocking at her door.
“Hope?” Apollo called through the thick wood. “I have breakfast for you.”
Breakfast. It sounded so wonderful.
Apollo brought in a laden silver tray and set it on the desk. He pulled out the chair in invitation and smiled as she approached.
Something in her heart told her she should be careful, but the thought fled when he pulled a silver lid off a plate and the scent of bacon filled the room.
She sat and grabbed a fork at the same time. The salty goodness of bacon normally made life worth living, and she looked at the scrambled eggs with cheese, just the way she liked.
Apollo pulled up another seat, next to her, and silently watched, hovering, waiting for her to eat.
She could only get two bites down before her stomach turned. She thought of Ares and Xan. Xan, who was likely getting beaten again.
“I’m sorry,” she said, setting down the fork. “I just can’t.”
“You are worried about the son of Ares?” The perplexed look Apollo gave her made it clear he did not understand.
“I owe him my life,” she said.
“You take this debt very seriously.” He leaned back in his chair. “I appreciate loyalty and gratitude.” He pointed at the plate. “If you eat, I will go ensure he is healed. Is that a deal?”
Relief washed over her, and Hope picked up her fork. The food had no savor, in fact she couldn’t even taste it, but she told herself every bite was balm for Xan. She ate all of it. Bacon, eggs, strawberries, waffles drenched in maple syrup. Real maple syrup and butter. The glass of milk washed it down, and she sat back in the chair with an exhausted sigh.
“Good,” Apollo said with a c
huckle as he materialized beside her. “Healing takes a lot of energy, and that will help with your recuperation. Are you tired now?”
It was a gross understatement. “A little,” she admitted with a yawn. “But I won’t sleep a wink until I know Xan is okay.” She stared at the beautiful, golden god through half-closed eyelids. “Please?”
“Ares has left him alone for now. I’ve healed his wounds. Let’s get you to bed.”
Hope stood, swaying on her feet as she shuffled across the room.
“If you don’t mind, I’m going to stay”—he held up a hand when she whipped around to protest—“just to watch over you. I don’t want you to have any visitors while you sleep, and this is the only way I can be sure of that.”
Somehow that made sense. The only person she wanted to see on Olympus right now was Xan, and that felt like an impossibility. But she was certain Apollo wasn’t going to harm her. Hope turned back toward the bed and stumbled over her own feet.
Apollo slid his arm around her waist again, catching her before she hit the ground. He helped her stand and led her to the bed.
“Is Ares going to kill him?” she asked. She wanted to believe Hera but didn’t. And the voice in Hope’s head cried for her friend, so, so afraid.
Apollo frowned as he studied her face. “Your friend again?”
Hope nodded. Had she already asked him this question? She couldn’t remember.
“I doubt it. Ares is cruel, but that boy is brilliant. He’s outmaneuvered more than one god, which makes Ares ridiculously proud. It’s rare that we have children we can be proud of. Most are arrogant fools.”
Hope couldn’t help the shiver that ran down her spine as she thought of Endymion and his brothers.
“Come on,” Apollo coaxed. “You need your sleep.” He turned the sheets down and tucked Hope into bed. He pulled the curtains, and despite them being gauzy, the room darkened. He pulled one of the upholstered chairs next to the bed and sat down.
