by Raye Wagner
Silence filled the room, and Hope’s mind went back to the horror she’d witnessed. She saw Ares striking Xan, the blood on the walls, Xan’s bruised body. She whimpered as she relived the pain when she’d first woken up.
“Would you like me to tell you a story?” Apollo asked, sliding his hand under hers, entwining their fingers.
His touch grounded her in the present, banishing the memories, and reminding her that Apollo had healed Xan. He was okay. She was okay. Her eyelids grew heavy, and she wasn’t sure she’d be awake for long. Still, a story could be nice. “Does it have a happy ending?”
“Don’t we all want a happy ending?” Apollo brushed his free hand over her hair and kissed her cheek. With a voice like sunshine, he spoke. “In the golden age of the gods, King Hypseus of Lapiths and his wife were granted a daughter, Cyrene by name. She was a beautiful girl but wild, strong, and fiercely independent, much like you.”
Hope yawned and snuggled deeper into the covers. “What happened to her?”
“Shh,” he said as he tapped her arm. “Be quiet, and I will tell you.” When she said nothing, he continued. “Cyrene grew into a beautiful woman, with hair like ebony and eyes the color of honey. She had many suitors, but she preferred to guard her father’s sheep rather than play court.
“She became adept with a bow, then a spear, and finally a sword. Her father tried to stifle her, stating that weapons were man’s tools, and when Artemis heard this, she promptly took the young woman under her wing. Cyrene’s competence grew until she wasn’t only proficient but as much an expert as any man.
“Hypseus loved Cyrene, but he worried. He knew that as a man he would grow old and die, and if Cyrene were unmarried, she would become prey to the next king and his whims. He did not want that for her. And still Cyrene refused to accept a suitor.”
“I think it’s stupid that a woman had to have a man back then,” Hope said.
“I’m sure you do,” Apollo murmured. “Even so, it was the only way Hypseus could see to protect her.”
Hope wanted to argue the ridiculousness of that, but she was too tired. She closed her eyes and waited for Apollo to continue the story.
“One sunny morning, while Cyrene was tending the flock, a lion attacked. The beast struck at the edge of the group, and Cyrene raced to defend her sheep. She pierced the animal with her spear, but the lion kept coming. Before she could draw her sword, the lion was upon her. Using her hands, she wrestled the creature to the ground.
“Roaring, the lion promised death, not only to the sheep but also to their shepherd. But his life was forfeit, and they both knew it. It would’ve been easy to kill the animal, but Cyrene was kind. She offered the lion mercy if it would leave her and her sheep alone and never bother them again.”
Hope drifted in and out of consciousness, envisioning a fierce warrior woman offering peace to her captive predator.
“The lion agreed, and Cyrene released the king of the animals. But the lion’s heart was black, and when Cyrene released him, he grabbed her by the throat.”
Hope opened her eyes just enough that she could make out Apollo’s face. Scowling at the god, she said, “I thought you said this has a happy ending.”
“It does; I promise. But you must stop interrupting.” He chuckled, his face alight with her continued attention. “Cyrene knew she would die at the treacherous lion’s mouth, but she was powerless to stop him. But one of the gods had compassion for her. Not only was she beautiful to behold, but her heart was pure and good. Before the lion could pierce her flesh, he turned to ash. Gratitude softened Cyrene’s heart, and shortly after, she found love.
“Love and hate are opposite sides of passion.” Apollo traced her lower lip and then tapped it. “Don’t lose your passion, my pure, sweet Hope.”
Hope didn’t hear anything else as sleep claimed her.
Hope stretched as sleep receded like the waves on the sand. Memories of the previous events crept into her consciousness, and she sat up.
Apollo was at her bedside, and while he was still in the white upholstered chair, the top half of his body reclined onto the bed.
“I didn’t think the gods slept,” Hope said, trying to gather her thoughts as confusion spilled into her.
His lips turned up in a tired smile as he met her gaze and sat up. “We don’t need to, but I find it refreshing after a stressful time.”
Hope’s heart thudded in her chest, a sense of panic at being alone with him in her bedroom, and she blurted, “I need to use the restroom.”
He stood and, pulling her blankets back, extended his other hand to help her out of bed.
Hope scooted to the edge, making sure to keep the skirt of the chiton over her knees. She did not want Apollo getting any pervy ideas, and the thought of him checking her out like a creeper made her skin crawl. She couldn’t think of a way to refuse his hand, but she released it as fast as she could and fled to the bathroom.
After cleaning up, she stood in front of the mirror, staring at her reflection. Her entire face reflected her surprise and uncertainty. Apollo’s kindness was disconcerting. He didn’t seem vicious, quite the contrary in fact, which made no sense.
Had he ever shown kindness to her mother or grandmother? She didn’t think so. She certainly didn’t remember reading of any. But the story of Phoibe tugged at her memory . . . Hadn’t he courted her with attention?
“Are you hungry, Hope?” Apollo asked from the other side of the door. “Would you like me to get you something to eat?”
She needed a few more minutes to sort through this. “Yes, please.”
“It would be my pleasure.”
He sounded so sincere. Like he cared.
Hope chewed on her lip. She couldn’t make sense of it. Not at all. She smoothed the chiton and looked around the expansive bathroom for something to pull her hair up. She would need to figure this out, and again she wished she had her Book of the Fates.
And then she remembered. She didn’t have hers, but she did have her father’s. The sudden remembrance had her running to her backpack to retrieve the volume. She peeked out the door, and when she saw Apollo was gone, she climbed up on her bed and opened the leather cover.
Oh. My. Gods.
A new sense of horror washed over her as she read the beginning of her father’s life. Luc Symeon Nicholas was the son of Beatrice Nicholas and Apollo. Flipping pages, she read of Luc’s childhood, his perspective of his father, and the abuse he’d endured. She saw how Apollo had treated Beatrice through the eyes of Luc, and her dread grew.
She skimmed the chapters, recognizing the penmanship of the Fates, flipping through the pages until she got to the story she’d heard at least a hundred times. She slowed down and read.
Hope stared at the black script in horror. Bile burned at the back of her throat, and she swallowed, pushing the vomit down. Deep within, the truth of what she’d read resonated with a ghostly sense of déjà vu. Not for one second did she believe her father had disclosed the appalling details of his death to her in the Underworld. He couldn’t have. There was no way to forget something so gruesome. She closed the yellow leather volume of her father’s life and sat on the white comforter, stroking the cover in shock. Guilt battled with her admiration for the man she couldn’t even remember meeting. Her father, the son of Apollo. Which would mean . . .
“Here’s some supper, my dear,” Apollo said as he appeared in her room.
Hope felt sick with disgust. She clutched the book to her chest and stared at Apollo. Apollo, god of the sun, god of medicine and healing, god of music and enlightenment . . . her grandfather.
“What’s the matter, Hope? You look ill. Are you all right?” He set the tray on the desk and crossed the room to her.
Hope scooted back, avoiding his touch.
“I need a minute. I . . .” She couldn’t think of what to say.
Apollo studied her, his gaze seemed to be taking in her messy hair, her rumpled chiton, and then his gaze settled on the yellow book
in her lap. “What is that?”
Hope swallowed, but panic lodged in her throat, forcing her to cough to clear it. “A book.”
His brow furrowed, and crossing the room to her bed, he held his hand out. “May I?”
She had no idea how to refuse him, and with her hand shaking, she held out the tome.
Apollo opened the volume then flipped through the pages. “It’s blank.”
The panic blossoming in her chest dammed, and she felt like she’d received a last-minute stay from execution. She’d been unsure if he’d be able to read it because Luc was his son. But the rules of pure intent toward the individual, whose Book of the Fates it was, seemed to be true for deity as well. “It’s my journal. I . . . I wanted to write down some of what I’ve seen here. If, I mean, if it’s okay.”
Apollo sat on the bed and set the book on the other side of him at the far edge. “Of course, and I’ll leave you to it, shortly. But first, we need to talk.”
Hope scooted back until she was sitting against the headboard.
“Okay,” she whispered, and she waited for the bomb to drop because she knew it was coming.
“I know you think I am cruel and callous. And I wish I had time right now to convince you of the truth, but Hera and Ares are mobilizing their forces against you, and quite simply, we’re running out of time.”
Her mind raced with what that could mean. Would they kill her? Of course they would, unless she could convince them it was in their best interest not to.
“I have loved you your entire existence, Hope. You were made to be mine. I have watched you grow from a beautiful girl into an amazing young lady. You’re incredible. Please, say you’ll be mine.”
“Are you proposing to me?” she gasped. The words made no sense. He must be joking. Did gods even do that? There had to be some sort of misunderstanding because that was seriously sick.
Apollo chuckled. “If you want to be married, I shall ask Zeus to marry us.”
Hope shook her head. It was madness. He was speaking lunacy. “You don’t even know me.”
Apollo sat on the edge of her bed, his intense gaze absorbing her. “You think I don’t know you? I know all about you. I know how you like your eggs, that you eat peanut butter with a spoon, and that your favorite dinner is pot roast and potatoes.” He stood, crossed to the desk, and pulled off the silver cover, revealing a laden plate. He put the cover back on and came back toward her. He studied her only a moment before he sat in the seat next to the bed where he’d slept the night before. “I know you run to release your anger. I know you like crème brûlée but not chocolate cake. You are fiercely loyal to your friends and, before her death, your mother. You shun people so you don’t get hurt, but you want friends, and you cried for weeks after you found out Dahlia died.”
“She didn’t die,” Hope snapped, tears streaming down her face. “Hecate trapped her.”
Apollo nodded. “I know.”
Hope could not believe it. “You watched me?”
“Almost every day. I know about Mr. Stanley and his daughter.” He snapped his fingers. “What was her name?”
There was no way she would tell him. No matter what he said, she didn’t trust him. But more than her distrust, she was dumbfounded that he’d spent enough time watching her to know so much about her.
“I know you snuck into the conservatory and my sons were horribly unkind. I refused to help Thanatos after he expressed his intention of keeping you in the Underworld. I saw you in the park being chased by that son of Ares when you were only a child, and I watched over you every time you and your mother moved. I’ve seen you grow up, not just physically but emotionally and mentally as well. Not once, in all of my eternity, has anyone captivated me like you have, Hope.”
Her skin tingled, and in awe, she whispered, “I don’t even like you.”
He smiled as if she’d just declared the opposite. “Love isn’t something that happens in an instant. I’ve had your entire life to watch you, but you’re just getting to know me. I understand that. I won’t push you for anything you’re not ready for.”
“What about Athan?”
Apollo flattened his lips in the first sign of displeasure she’d seen. “The demigod stuck in the Underworld?” He took a deep breath. “All right. Eternity is a long time. If you want your mortal plaything, I can live with that.” He waved his hand toward the door. “I’ll even see what I can do to save that son of Ares you seem to feel so indebted to.”
Her heart tripped and stuttered over Apollo’s declarations. Athan was in the Underworld? Apollo would save Xan? She could hardly believe Apollo would let her and Athan be together, though. Surely he must be lying. Not that any of that mattered because, she could never get over one crucial fact that was absolutely repulsive. “You’re my grandfather.”
Apollo laughed and waved away her concern. “It is not like that with the gods. Zeus and Hera had seven children. He and Demeter had Persephone. You are thinking too literally.”
He had to be joking.
“I’m not asking for you to love me like that right now. I understand you think you can’t. But it will come. You’ll see. And until then, think of all we can do together. Think of your friends. I will help them. I want you to consider it. What you’d give up is far less than what you’d be getting. I can give you anything.”
It was a tempting offer. Xan and Athan safe. Even though it would be a sacrifice on her part, it was a sacrifice that would benefit the ones she loved. But he would still keep the one thing she wanted most. Her freedom to choose.
Apollo reached forward and took her hand. “I’m not asking for your answer, only that you’ll consider it.” He looked at the door. “You have another visitor.”
He disappeared.
Hope sat back in the bed, mind reeling. She couldn’t believe she was considering Apollo’s offer. It was sick and wrong. But he’d shown her nothing but kindness. Even when his own sons had threatened her, he’d kept her safe. He’d healed her. And before they’d left Ares’s torture room, Apollo had healed Xan.
A knock at her door announced her next visitor, and Hope took a deep breath. An ominous feeling seemed to emanate from outside her room, and she couldn’t help but feel that the games of the gods were just beginning.
“Hope? I’ve brought you something to eat,” Hera said from behind the door.
Yep, definitely more games. Hope pushed away the disgust for her ancestors and pasted a smile on her face. Now that she knew Athan was back in the Underworld, breaking the seal was even more important. “Come in.”
Hera stepped into the room, carrying a platter. Her auburn curls were pinned up, and tendrils framed her porcelain features. She was graceful and elegant, the epitome of what a goddess should look like.
But a mixture of pity and disgust warred in Hope’s heart. The gods should be good. They should be benevolent. More than anything, they should be wise. Maybe they were, but their actions told only of selfishness and greed. Which was what Hope saw when she looked at Hera.
“You must be . . .” Hera’s smile tightened as she saw the tray on the desk. “Have you eaten?”
Hope shook her head. “Apollo and I were discussing other matters, but I’m not that hungry.”
Hera pushed the tray Apollo had brought over and set her much larger one next to it. “What did Apollo want? Is he still saying he wants you?” She shook her head, and malevolence filled her green eyes. “You do realize you can’t trust him. He will promise you the world, but he doesn’t actually have the power to keep that promise.”
Hope’s heart felt brittle and bruised, but she refused to let Hera see it. “I hardly think you are here to talk about Apollo.”
Hera raised her eyebrows. “Perhaps you are smarter than you look.”
The backhanded compliment stung. “What do you want?”
“Did you get the Book of the Fates from your friend? I’ve considered your offer, and I’m willing to rethink my position on the binding of the Underworld.
”
“Do you have the power to unbind the gods there?”
Folding her arms across her chest, the goddess said, “Perhaps. Do you have the book?”
Hera’s noncommittal response was not what Hope wanted to hear. “I’m not about to give up my bargaining chip without more information.”
Hera huffed, a frustrated sound. “The Underworld is sealed, and the threads that bind it will have to be cut with immortal shears.”
Immortal shears. Hope’s thought went to Xan’s belt, and she tried to remember if he still had them when she’d been in Ares’s chambers. “Do you have the scissors to do that?”
The goddess’s response was a withering stare. When Hope returned the look, Hera snapped, “Do you think I’m lying?”
Hope wouldn’t put it past her. “I’ll get you the Book of the Fates if you unbind them.”
Hera’s beauty morphed as she laughed, her features becoming fierce and cruel. “I am not going to trifle with you. The promise of a monster is meaningless. You will need to deliver the book to me first, foolish girl.”
Hera’s words dripped with contempt, and Hope knew she was lying. “Do you think I was naïve enough to bring it here? I’ve given it to the son of Hermes, because if anything happens to me, anything, he will be able to get the word out of what’s in there. And everyone will know of your hypocrisy.”
“You wouldn’t dare!”
“Hermes is the god of communication, right? Don’t you think his son would be the best at making that big of an announcement?”
Hera ground her teeth while she glared at Hope. All pretense of kindness was gone, and the air sizzled with anger. “What do you want?”
“Will you break the binding in exchange for the Book of the Fates?” Hope wasn’t sure how she would manage it, not even sure if she could, but she had to believe breaking the binding on the Underworld was possible. “You swear it? On the River Styx, you swear if I give you the Book of the Fates for the Sphinx, you will unbind the Underworld?”
