Carrie Vaughn - Discord's Apple

It was a useless thought, which he nonetheless considered often.

He rose, dressed, and went to Apollo’s bedchamber.

One might have expected the place to be sumptuous, decadent. In fact, it was the opposite, simple and comfortable. This wasn’t where he entertained or impressed. This was where he lived. A table held cups and a pitcher, a pair of chests sat against a wall for storage, a wide pallet occupied a corner. The drapes over the windows were closed. A lamp by the bed cast a little light.

Apollo stood from the bed. “Pour me some wine.”

Sinon did so, bringing Apollo the cup.

Apollo took it and drained it in one go, then tossed the cup away. The bronze goblet clattered on the stone. “Tell me, Sinon. Do you like me?”

Sinon couldn’t lie. If he tried, his jaw froze. The no that he wanted to spit died on his tongue.

“I don’t know, my lord.”

“How can you not know?”

“You—you’re very difficult, my lord.”

Apollo grinned slyly. “But I’m not entirely unlikable?”

“No, my lord.”

Apollo tipped his head back, flexing his shoulders, stretching his neck. The god commanded him, “Make love to me, my Achaean warrior.”

This was an old routine by now. Apollo had once told Sinon he enslaved him because of his pride. Apollo occasionally wanted to feel weak—a difficult problem for a god. Sinon supposed Apollo thought he had solved it, in possessing a proud slave.

He was taller than Apollo, when Apollo was wearing what Sinon thought of as his human form. When the god had been mortal, this was how he had looked: slender and young. What he had learned, watching this god—this man—over the years: Apollo was lonely. For all his power, he had to command someone to make love to him. Sinon could almost feel pity for him. In that, he found some affection for his master.

Sinon touched Apollo’s chin, tilted his face up, and kissed his lips, long and lingering. Apollo melted into his arms.

He had some small power over a god, which when he thought about it was terribly ironic.

Later, Apollo slept curled against Sinon like a child, his head resting against the other’s shoulder. Sinon’s breath stirred his golden hair. Lightly, he ran a finger along the beardless cheek. The god fit so compactly in his embrace. It was almost enough to make him feel protective. He kissed the top of Apollo’s head.

He had begun to drift to sleep when Apollo stirred and murmured, “There’s someone in the house. Come in through the closet.”

He meant the doorway to Olympus.

A moment later, she appeared at the entrance to Apollo’s bedchamber. Looking over Apollo’s naked body, Sinon saw her. She regarded them, meeting his gaze. She was armored, a sword girded at her side, her helmet under her arm. He didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t exactly bow to her from his current position. He didn’t like being caught like this, having this woman see him tangled in bed with his male lover. That pride again. His impulse was to bury himself under the covers like a child having a nightmare. If only there were covers.

Smiling, Apollo snuggled closer to him. Without opening his eyes he said, “Athena. Care to join us?”

No reaction marred her hard expression. “Tempting, but no. We haven’t got time.”

“Maybe later, then?” Apollo said hopefully.

“Zeus is planning something.”

“He’s always planning something.”

“He’s really planning something this time. It’s what we’ve feared.”

At this, Apollo sat up. Gratefully, Sinon shifted out of his way.

“He’s doing it at last, is he?”

Athena nodded. Apollo ran his hands through his hair. “That crazy old man.”

“What’s wrong?” Sinon said quietly. If they had been in Olympus, or in the courtyard, or anywhere but in their postcoital bed, he would not have had the impudence to ask. If they’d been anywhere else but in bed together, Apollo would not have deigned to answer.

He shook his head. “Zeus is going to ruin everything. Well, then. It’s time. Once again the children must rise up against the Father.”

He stood and recovered his tunic, discarded near the bed. Striding across the room, he went to a chest in the corner, opened it, and pulled out of a set of armor: breastplate, greaves, helmet, shield, sword. All were blindingly golden.

“I assume you have a plan?”

“He’s currently away from Olympus, on one of his liaisons. We can occupy his palace and wait for his return.”

“Sinon, help me with this.” He gestured to the straps on the breastplate. Sinon, infected by Apollo’s urgency, didn’t bother dressing, but went to the god and helped him fasten on the armor. The divine conversation continued. “That’s it? No intrigue, no subterfuge, none of that wiliness that makes us love you so?”

“I thought the direct approach would be best.”

“Who is with us?”

“Almost everyone.”

“Almost? Athena, this is not a task to be undertaken with half measures.”

“I don’t trust Hermes. He’d expose us just because to him it’d be funny. Hades will not help us, but he will not hinder us. He’ll stay in his palace. Dionysus can’t be bothered, says it can’t really be that serious.”

“None of those is unexpected, I suppose.”

“I cannot find Hera.”

“No matter. She certainly won’t stand by Zeus.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Apollo stepped away from Sinon and looked himself over, tugging here and adjusting there, squaring his shoulders, settling into the fit of the armor.

He tucked his helmet under his arm and said to Sinon, “There. How do I look?”

Sinon and Odysseus had often helped each other with their armor. His throat tightened, and he looked away.

“Magnificent, my lord.”

Apollo smiled. The god outshone his own armor. “Thank you. Oh, here—” He took a second sword out of the chest, along with its belt and scabbard, and gave it to Sinon. “Take this.”

Sinon held the weapon at arm’s length, as if uncertain what to do with it. The last time he’d held one of these, he’d impaled himself on it.

“Why do you give me this?”

“Because you might need it.” He crossed the room to Athena, and together they left.

Sinon went after them, following a few paces behind. “Are you going to kill Zeus?” he said, disbelieving.

Athena glanced over her shoulder at him before speaking to Apollo, “Is he always so outspoken?”

“Usually. It amuses me to no end.”

“Apollo!” Sinon called. The god turned on him, and Sinon flinched, taking a step back. All at once, Apollo seemed to tower over him. Sinon found his courage and said, “How—how could you do such a thing? He’s . . . he’s a god. He’s Zeus. ”

The god returned a glare that was intense, inhuman, without any of the sun’s warmth.

“And I am Phoebus Apollo.” Sunlight poured in through an archway leading to a courtyard, limning him in gold, when this conspiracy should have been happening in darkest night.

They were at the closet that held the doorway to Mount Olympus. Apollo pointed. “Watch this door. Stop anyone who tries to come out of it, unless it’s me or Athena. Do you understand?”

And what if it was Zeus who came through?

“Yes, my lord.”

Apollo opened the screen in front of the closet. He gestured Athena into the passage first; then he followed. The pair disappeared.

Sinon slumped against the wall and slid to the floor, letting the sword lie across his thighs. By the gods. By the gods indeed, what was happening? What could Zeus be planning that would make the rest of Olympus take up arms? The two or three times Sinon had seen him, he’d been overwhelmingly imperious, holding himself apart from the others, a lordly figure. Perhaps simple jealousy prompted a rebellion.