Carrie Vaughn - Discord's Apple

That meant a visit from the nereid in the pool, or a journey away from the Palace—to the coast, perhaps, or to a forest where they could hunt. Or a full day on his own, with no duties to perform and no harassments from any gods.

Sinon closed his eyes and nodded, unable to speak. If he opened his mouth, he’d yell, and if he yelled at Apollo in front of the others, the Sun God would never leave him in peace.

The festive mood returned soon enough.

“Wherever did you find him?” Aphrodite said, watching Sinon.

“He’s a souvenir I took from Troy. A genuine Achaean warrior. In fact, he’s the fellow who talked the Trojans into bringing that wretched horse into the city. You wouldn’t think him capable of possessing the wit to pull off a trick like that, just looking at him, would you?”

“Indeed. Looks and wit. I might find a way to buy him from you.” Aphrodite sipped thoughtfully from a goblet. As Sinon felt her studying him, a chill ran along his skin. He kept his eyes downcast to hide his frustration, his resignation. He waited by a column, naked and decorative, until the next guest needed a goblet filled.

“He’s not for sale.”

She licked wine-dampened lips. “Oh, everything’s for sale.”

“Why do we do it?” This came from Hermes, who made an unlikely perch on a giant urn, balancing birdlike on the rim.

“Do what?” said Apollo.

“Keep souvenirs of that war? Nobody was happy with how it turned out. It’s been over for—for I don’t know how many years—”

How many years? Sinon desperately hoped he’d give a number, to mark the time. But he didn’t.

“—and we still find little else to talk about. I’ve never seen this family so passionate about anything. The reminders of it are everywhere.” He glanced at Sinon, who tried not to notice. “Why is that, do you think?”

Apollo huffed. “Who knows? It’s not like we couldn’t orchestrate the destruction of a civilization anytime we wanted.”

Conversations stilled as the gathering paused to listen. Another said, “That’s not it. This one got away from us—the mortals kept doing things we didn’t plan for.”

A woman in the back said, “That’s true. They fascinate us so, don’t they?”

“Tell me, did that fellow Odysseus ever make it home?”

“Yes,” said Hermes, and Sinon let out a sigh. “He had quite a bit of housekeeping to do. Apparently his wife was getting ready to remarry—”

“No, she was trying not to remarry, but they all thought Odysseus was dead and every bachelor in Ithaca wanted to get ahold of the lands.”

“Why didn’t the son do something about it?”

“Well, I don’t know—”

“Athena says the son is as clever as the father.”

“She’s biased. The son is probably hers—”

Sinon wanted to leave, to get a breath of air or smash the pitcher against a convenient wall. But if he moved, Apollo would draw attention to him, find a new sport to throw him into, for the amusement of his guests. Sinon would hear more news only if he kept quiet.

Hermes said, “I suppose I could hop over there quickly and see—”

“Not necessary.”

Apollo sat up and pointed at Aphrodite. “Speaking of souvenirs, what did you do with that apple you were all so desperate for? I can’t believe you all fell for that trick.”

“I still have it.” Apollo raised an inquisitive brow, Hermes leaned forward on his perch, and Aphrodite pouted. “I’m not going to tell you where. Her Most Imperiousness is still after it.”

That was Hera. The others gods and goddesses rarely called her by name. No one seemed to like her much.

“Really?” Apollo said, drawling. “That’s rather pathetic, isn’t it?”

“Oh yes. Just last week she disguised one of her little minions as a monkey and sent him into my palace, trying to find it. I sent him back to her as a slug.”

“She can’t even do her own dirty work. She isn’t really that powerful, is she?”

Hermes jumped from his perch and retrieved his goblet from the floor. He raised it at Sinon, who approached, head bowed. Odysseus would be appalled to see him like this, subservient and uncomplaining.

“Don’t make that mistake,” Hermes said as Sinon poured. “Her true strength isn’t in her own power. Her strength is her ability to influence others and use their power.”

Now everyone needed more wine, and once again Sinon circulated, filling the goblets raised to him. The pitcher never ran out of wine.

“She doesn’t influence any of us. ”

“You’d think she’d let it go. It’s just an apple. Aphrodite bribed her out of it fair and square.”

A soft-spoken goddess who sat by the reflecting pool at the edge of the courtyard, touching her fingers to the water, looked up and raised her voice. “She used to be stronger. She used to be Queen in her own right. That was when mothers and priestesses were more important than warriors. Most of you are too young to remember a time when she was not always jealous.”

She had long golden hair, the color of barley at harvest, and far-seeing eyes the blue of a summer sky. She frowned, creasing her face, making her seem old, which meant that the winter season was upon the earth. She was Demeter.

None of the others could say anything trite after this. They could not mock her sadness or her memories. While they might have blamed her for bringing a somber mood to their festivities, no one did. For her beauty and thoughtfulness, she was welcome everywhere.

Apollo brought out his lyre and played a light tune, and the deities seemed content to sit back and drink their wine.

Sinon went to Demeter and got down on one knee to pour her wine. Out of them all, she understood sadness.

Dad?” Evie tapped on his bedroom door. She’d wanted to check on him last night, but had hesitated at the late hour. If he was resting, she didn’t want to disturb him. And if he wasn’t okay . . . surely he’d have said something. He had a telephone. He could call 911.

“Dad?” She knocked louder. “I made coffee, you want some? Dad?” Her heart thudded. How long should she wait before she burst in? What if he was hurt? Unconscious? She closed her eyes and rested her forehead on the wall. “Dad?”

“Huh? Evie? What’s wrong?” His voice came muffled, slurred, as if struggling to wakefulness.

She exhaled a relieved breath. “Nothing, I just wanted to see” —if you’re all right— “if I could get you some coffee or something.”

“Come in so I can hear you.”

Carefully, she pushed open the door.

Her father was propped on a mound of pillows. His half-lidded gaze shifted slowly to track her progress. She found a chair in the corner and brought it near his bed.

“Can I bring you breakfast?” she said, whispering, as if her voice would rattle him. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen him eat anything.

“Not hungry. Appetite’s shot to hell.” He shook his head and shifted against the pillows. He wore a T-shirt and held the bed’s comforter flat across his waist. He looked as sick as Evie could have imagined him looking: pale to a shade of grayness, his voice muffled, his manner vacant. For a moment, she wished she’d stayed in L.A. Then he took a deep breath, gathering the energy to focus on her and speak clearly. “Is that Alex character gone?”

“Yeah.”

He frowned, an expression she remembered from her high school days.

“Don’t look at me like that, he didn’t stay the night or anything. He’s totally not my type.”

He chuckled, tipping his head back and closing his eyes. “Whatever you say.”

“I’ve been trying to find out who he is. He never has a straight answer. When I asked last night, he gave me a copy of the Aeneid and walked out.”