“Vodka?” Apollo asked as he poured himself a glass. He stood on the other side of the island in his pristine kitchen. Persephone had only been to Apollo’s penthouse once, when she was helping Sybil move. It was a modern space with large windows and a monochrome color scheme. If she didn’t know how regimented Apollo was, she’d assume no one lived here, but the god was known for discipline and that extended to his surroundings. He kept everything perfectly organized and clean—even his stainless-steel appliances were unmarred, a feat that deserved an award.
“It’s ten in the morning, Apollo,” Persephone pointed out, sitting at the breakfast bar opposite him.
“Your point?”
She sighed. “No, Apollo. I don’t want vodka.”
He shrugged.
“Suit yourself,” he said, downing the glass.
“You’re an alcoholic.”
“Hades is an alcoholic,” Apollo said.
He wasn’t wrong.
“So you need my advice?” Persephone asked, changing the subject.
Apollo poured another drink and consumed it again. She watched him, waiting, noting how much he looked like Hermes in this moment. It was in the set of his jaw and the puckering of his brows—they could not deny their shared blood.
“I fucked up,” he admitted at last.
“I figured,” she said mildly, maintain his gaze even as he narrowed his violet eyes in annoyance.
“Rude,” he shot back.
Persephone sighed. “Apollo, just tell me what happened.”
She knew he was stalling, and she wanted him to spit it out before he polished off that bottle of vodka, not that it would faze him much. She just wanted him to hurry this along before she decided she needed a drink.
“I kissed Hector.”
Persephone blinked, a little shocked by his admission. “I thought you liked Ajax.”
“How did you know about Ajax?”
“At the Palestra, you kept looking at him,” she said. She didn’t mention that he had smelled different when he’d come to Aphrodite’s—some other scent had been mixed into his magic and she’d recognized it as Ajax’s when he’d helped her in the field.
Apollo frowned.
“Why did you kiss Hector?”
He scrubbed his face with his hands. “I don’t know,” he moaned. “I was angry with Ajax and Hector was there and I thought…why not…see what this is about…and then Ajax walked in.”
“Oh, Apollo.”
She could see his misery—it was so blatant within his gaze, it hurt her heart.
“I don’t even know why I care. I swore I would never do this again.”
“Do what again?”
“This! Love!”
Suddenly she understood. Apollo was referring to Hyacinth, the Spartan prince he’d fallen for ages ago. The mortal had died in a horrible accident. Later, he would go to Hades and beg the God of the Dead to throw him in Tartarus so that he would not have to live in a world without his love, but Hades refused, and Apollo sought revenge in the arms of Leuce.
“Apollo…”
“Don’t…pity me.”
“I’m not. I don’t,” she said. “But Hyacinth’s death wasn’t your fault.”
“Yes, it was,” he said. “I was not the only god who loved Hyacinth and when he chose me, Zephyrus, the God of the West Wind, grew jealous. It was his wind that changed the trajectory of my throw, his wind that resulted in the death of Hyacinth.”
“Then his death is Zephyrus’s fault,” Persephone said.
Apollo shook his head. “You do not understand. Even now I see it happening with Ajax. Hector grows jealous every day. The fight he picked with Ajax at the Palestra was not the first.”
“What if Ajax likes you?” Persephone asked. “What if he’s willing to fight for you? Will you decide not to pursue him out of fear?”
“It is not fear—” Apollo started and then looked away angrily.
“Then what is it?”
“I don’t want to fuck this up. I’m not…a good person now. What happens when I lose again? Do I become…evil then?”
“Apollo,” Persephone said as gently as she could. “If you are worried that you will become evil, then you have more humanity than you think.”
He gave her a look that begged to differ.
“You should talk to Ajax,” she said, and though she offered the advice, she knew how hard it was to communicate. It had been her greatest challenge when it came to her relationship with Hades. In part, she blamed her mother. Over the years, Persephone had become accustomed to staying quiet, even when she had an opinion or a desire, fearing the consequences, namely, her mother’s scorn. Hades was the first person who welcomed her insight, and she had to admit, it was still hard to believe that he actually wanted to know what she thought.
“He doesn’t want me.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do because he said so!”
Persephone just started at the god. A deep frown pulled at his mouth, and his eyes held a pain she could only compare to what she’d felt when she’d been in the Forest of Despair.
“What exactly did he say?” she asked.
He sighed, clearly frustrated. “We were kissing, and everything was great and then he pushed me away and said…I can’t do this and left.”
Persephone lifted a brow—he was definitely leaving something out.
“You’re sure that’s what he said?”
“Yes,” Apollo hissed. “He might be deaf, but he can definitely speak, Persephone.”
“That doesn’t mean he doesn’t want you,” Persephone said.
“What else is it supposed to mean?”
“You were supposed to….I don’t know…chase him!”
“The last time I chased someone they begged to be turned into a tree.”
“This is different!” Persephone said, frustrated. She paused a moment and then sighed. “Did Ajax kiss you back?”
A pink tint made its way to Apollo’s cheeks, and Persephone had to bite her cheek to keep from giggling. It was strange to see the egotistical God of Music embarrassed.
“Yes, he kissed me back which is why I don’t understand…how…how could he not want me?”
“He didn’t say he didn’t want you. He said he couldn’t do this which could have meant anything. It could have meant I can’t do this right now. You don’t know until you asked.”
“Well now I can’t ask because I kissed Hector.”
“That’s exactly why you need to talk to him!” Persephone argued. “Would you have Ajax think you do not care for him?”
“Why should I care what he thinks?”
She recognized his response as a defense mechanism—anytime something didn’t go his way, he immediately decided it wasn’t worth his time or energy.
“Apollo, you are an idiot.”
He glared. “You’re supposed to be my friend.”
“If you’re looking for someone to praise your every decision, turn to your worshippers. Friends tell you the truth.”
He didn’t look at her, choosing instead to glare at the wall, so she continued.
“Talk to Ajax, Apollo, and Hector.”
“Hector? Why?”
“Because you owe him an explanation, too,” she said. “You kissed him which means now he has reason to believe there’s more between you than before.”
The god frowned and after a moment, he mumbled, “I said I’d never do this again.”
“You cannot help how you feel.”
“I knew better,” he argued. “I am not good for anyone, Seph.”
She sat there, shaking her head, feeling defeated for him.
“Hyacinth didn’t think that,” she said, her voice quiet. “I’m betting Ajax doesn’t, either.”
The God of Music scoffed. “What do you know? You’re only here because of a bargain and you’re only in that bargain because you refused to communicate with Hades.”
Persephone’s lips flattened and her chest ached at Apollo’s words. She knew that well enough—she was reminded of it often—every time she wanted to call and talk to Lexa or go to lunch with her best friend, every time she entered Elysium. She managed to blink enough to keep her tears at bay and cleared her throat.
“A decision I will regret for the rest of my life.”
She gave no clarification before she vanished from Apollo’s sight.
