Of Ambrosia and Stone: Pandora's Curse

18

Damn it. Now what? My morals fight with each other. Leaving under the cover of a coup would be an ideal way to escape. On the other hand, quicksilver is a violent poison. Even for the gods. Does my kidnapper deserve that?

This isn’t going as expected. I should be out of the city by now. Departing on my adventure to regain autonomy of my life. On one hand, I have no obligation to Apollo as my abductor especially with his hot head nature… but with everything that I have learned about his family, it”s no wonder why he can be a bit abrasive.

Deep down I can see the good in him that aches to come out.

Part of me wonders if I can change him.

Help him grow.

Help him learn from the mistakes of his parents.

Maybe then I could almost love him.

Turning back to the castle, I swear loudly. “That malaka better not make me regret this.”

Searching the streets, along the way back to the palace, I looked for signs of the one who gave me this vision. The satyr is nowhere to be seen. The street has substantially cleared out from before my vision.

“Apollo, you better not waste my shot,” I groan. Turning back toward the castle, my skin crawls. Passing apartments, townhomes, and shops, everything felt like it was in slow motion. Reminding me of running through a bog.

I”m making a mistake.

Jove help me.

Sprinting toward the castle, civilians of Caelum pull away from me in fear. None daring to get in my way.

I”m a mortal on a mission.

The closer I get to the castle, the more concerned I”m about guards. People don’t go running about the capital city. Immortals don’t need to rush like mortals. Immortals have all the time in the world.

Ducking into the dark alleyway, I don’t see guards at the entrance to the caverns. Throwing open the gated door, I spring into action.

Sprinting down those stairs, I look for the subtle signs of the door. Pressing my hand approximately where I remember it to be, I hear an audible click as it swings open. Pulling it closed behind me, I start opening any door that I can find.

Library, no.

Formal dining room, no.

Apollo’s office, interesting but not what I”m looking for.

Where in this god forsaken castle is the Throne Room?

Why can’t they label the rooms?

Or provide a complimentary map.

Throwing open doors on the main level, I strike out repeatedly. Storage rooms, locked doors, the kitchen, and more.

Everything but what I need.

Bursting through another door, I’m greeted with a packed room.

Finally, the Throne Room.

All eyes but the Satyr’s on me. Relief spreads through my chest at the sight of Apollo. Sitting tall and not bent over from the liquid silver.

Thank goodness for that.

The palace guards bind the satyr’s hands tightly behind his back. His eyes glare murderously at the drunken god. “I pray to Pan that for the sake of the nation that the House of Hera returns and claims their rightful place as the rulers of the court.”

I approach the dais which holds two thrones. Apollo sits rigid and tall in the golden wrought one. It suited him. His position and the grandeur of the sun. Formal and foreboding.

Artemis’s dark eyes widened. Shaking her head, I knew she was not pleased.

A black sheer veil covering the vacant one. Like the roots of a tree embedded into the ground with tall branches vacant of any leaves. Vines which once held bright blossoms lay empty. This one when full of life would have been its juxtaposition. Warm and feel of life. But now it looks like death.

The Dying Throne.

“What’re you doing here?” The sneering face of Apollo glowers down from his dais.

“Stop drinking the wine! The wine was poisoned!” The sea of people part between Apollo and me. Whispers echo through the faceless mob. My eyes never leave Apollo and Artemis. “Someone spiked it with quicksilver!”

Apollo’s eyes lowered to my traveling cloak and plain clothes. “Good to see you decided to stay. Where were you going?” Crossing his legs, he glares down at me.

Raising the goblet to his lips, I shout, “Malaka! Stop!”

The room gasps and Apollo’s face reddens. Noisily, he slurps his wine. Probably out of spite. By how he swirled it, there seemed to be some still inside.

My heels moved before I mentally recognized what I was doing. Storming up to the dais, the village leaders push away from me. Giving me a wide wake. Stepping on to the platform, gasps echo in the Throne Room.

The dying throne whispers in my ears, “Sit a top me with the crown.” My eyes widen as I look over the throne. To its side, a diadem rests on a small column pedestal. Black lace covering the thorny crown with its curling black metal prongs. “All of this could be over with one sitting.”

Ari bursts out, “Stay away, Pandy. You”re not ready.”

“With the crown atop your head, you’d know a magic far more powerful than anything you could imagine,” coos the throne. “A power that could rival Persephone herself.”

Ari screeched. Her voice is so shrill I feel the grasp of the throne loosen. Fading away into nothingness.

At least, for now.

Turning back to Apollo, I recognize the look he is giving me. The suspicion in his gaze grew as he studied me. Standing between him and his citizens. Trying to have him focus on me. “How could you possibly know of someone slipping poison into my goblet?”

Oof. So many things to explain. So much that I would have much rather not say… especially in front of a room of hundreds.

‘Apollo, I”m seeing visions.’ Gosh. He’d never believe me.

By Jove.

“Trust me,” I plead.

“Mortals aren”t permitted here,” warns Apollo.

I roll my eyes. “Where are mortals allowed in this world? Oh yes, nowhere. Yet you brought me here against my will.”

Drunk gods are large mortal toddlers. You must chase them around, coax them away from whatever they’re fixated on. Except with the ability to smite you off the face of the planet without so much of a thought.

“Paint me as your villain for all that I care. I”ll survive. Unlike you if you keep drinking that vile drink.” I couldn’t explain it, but I knew what I saw. Apollo being bound in those blacked chains. Sluggish, his head rolled to the side at an awkward angle.

“You act like you”re a goddess,” Apollo’s voice fills with irritation as he retorts. To a god, a mortal posing as an Olympian is the epitome of an insult. “But without the powers and authority to back up your attitude.”

Raising an eyebrow, I snap back, “Are you flirting with me or picking a fight?”

Blowing him a kiss, I watch a fire burn in his eyes.

If a whole room could take a collective inhale and zap the oxygen from a room, that would be us now. Challenging others is my second nature. Although the Throne Room is filled to the brim with subjects of the court. Maybe this will teach Apollo from pissing me off and not listening.

…Or perhaps it will do the opposite.

Apollo replies, “You”re an insolent human maiden, not a goddess. Know your place.” His eyes are full of a fiery passion that sends a chill down my spine.

Opposite. Decidedly the outcome that I didn’t want.

“You act like there’s a difference,” I state as I narrow my eyes. Arms crossing over my chest.

I hear silence crawl across the Throne Room. The only audible noise is a gasp from an individual paying their community’s pizzo.

The clink of coins being sorted by Apollo’s staff members. A nose previously not audible over the buzzing of the room.

Apollo’s face grew red as he grips his goblet fiercely. Tossing his first goblet of ambrosia back.

Looking beyond irate, he motions for Ganymede to fill his goblet.

Approaching as quietly as a mouse, Ganymede filled up the glass nearly full.

Before processing what I was doing, I swiped my hand out. Not for Ganymede.

Not even for Apollo, although he deserves it.

But for the jug in Ganymede’s grasp.

The vessel of ambrosia crashed into the floor. Brown clay and amber liquid sprawl across the floor. Dribbles like quicksilver dot the flow. Balling up into those perfect little orbs.

No other liquid does that.

Looking somehow even more furious, Apollo chucks back his second glass of ambrosia.

Wordlessly, the lord hands the glass to Ganymede who looks on in horror. Apollo stands slowly as his eyes grew almost red with fury. Movements toward me like I was his prey. “Send for Athena. Tell her to collect the mortal.”

Chuckling facetiously, I figure out what’s going on with him. “You’re drunk and being stupid. Just listen to me for once.”

Apollo then turned his attention back to me. Shooting me a horrified look. “You think these silly little mortal games deter me? I”m a god. I”m the sun that crawls across the sky driven by a chariot. I”m light. I”m power. You”re nothing.” Snapping his fingers, the vessel of ambrosia mends itself. The previously split ambrosia was replaced back in the vessel and in Ganymede’s hand.

Had I not known better, I would have assumed that everyone left the room. No one dared make a noise. I add, “You forgot idiot, spoiled brat, and incapable of seeing when someone is trying to save your life.”

Ducking around him, I drink the goblet that Ganymede was lightly holding back. The ambrosia burning my throat. For a moment, I wondered if I was wrong about the quicksilver.

“If you wanted a sip of ambrosia to calm your nerves, you should’ve told me you were an insolent girl.” Though his words sounded playful, they dripped with sarcasm.

Was my vision wrong?

Is this because dad built my tolerance for quicksilver?

Shooting pains ruptured from my lungs as I groaned in agony. Collapsing to my knees, Apollo grabbed ahold of me, gently setting me on my side before I even hit the ground.

Eyes full of concern as he watches me. “There are mercenaries here to kill you,” I whisper as my stomach convulses in pain. “There are five of them in the blue hoods. They snuck in weapons.”

Apollo holds me, eyes filled with concern. Whatever drunken stupor he was in, he sobered up in what felt like a split second.

“I saw them in town,” I pant. Gripping my center.

Curling in the fetal position I heard Apollo call for someone to immediately fetch Chiron. Apollo’s eyes widen as he becomes more frantic. “Athena, Artemis. Come here now.” Artemis crouches, leaning over her brother, he whispers something in her ears. Nodding, I see her grip her bow and arrows.

The Goddess of the Moon leans over to Athena. Whispering between each other, Athena readies her spears and Artemis notches an arrow. “Close the gates!” Athena barks at the guards. “Search everyone for weapons!”

Hunching over, the pain spread to my stomach.

Apollo grips my shoulder, “CHIRON! He should be here by now!” The energy in the room flares. His hands glowing like he is being burned from the inside and out. Rolling me onto my back as I spasm, I watch Apollo whose eyes are full of fear. “How do we find them? Do you know what they look like.”

The room feels distant.

Everything echoes.

Croaking, my voice cracks, “Navy cloaks with a storm cloud patch.”

Closing my eyes, I fight to steady my breathing between fits of coughing. Blood bubbles from my lips. “Damn blood,” I spluttered. Swiping my lips, I jolted backward. Instead of the scarlet, a metallic silver, my blood is mixing peculiarly with the ambrosia. “I told you the ambrosia was tainted,” I spouted out through gritted teeth.

I stare at the ceiling above me.

Apollo pulls me close to him. Arms wrapped around me. His eyes never leave my form. He whispers, “I shouldn’t have doubted you, Pandy.”

The domed ceiling wobbles in and out of my vision. Painted in a gradient from a sunny to night sky. Between the convulsions and the coughing, my vision gets blurry.

Fingers tug my chin to face the Sun God whose face is less stern and more filled with concern. “Trust me.” Placing his hands over my face, he drags his fingers down my face. “Sleep.