Ink of Copper

64. In Which a House of Gold Gets a Scroll of Knowledge

Chapter 64

In Which a House of Gold Gets a Scroll of Knowledge

Hyperion Mountains in the Cosmis Province

H er sandals struck the cold marble floor, echoing the cold that gripped her heart. It had been years since she walked the halls of his palace, yet it felt like no time had passed. She glanced at the floor as they walked; marble polished to a brilliant shine gleamed up at her. It was white and glossed from one edge of the room to the other. Veins of gold glimmered, swirling and moving along the stone. She had long admired these floors. Her mind wandered to nights long after the occupants had gone to bed, dancing across these floors to soft music. Gliding along as though they walked on water; the gold glimmering like sunlight from below their feet. Then her mind strayed to that fateful night, the night she left, the night she hadn’t allowed herself to think about for decades. She twisted one hand into the palm of the other as she walked; Artemis threaded her hand through the crook of her arm.

“It’s going to be okay,” Artemis whispered low.

They walked silently behind one of the centurions that guarded the palace. His red cape flowed like wine to the floor, waving at them to keep up as he strutted along the familiar path. His hoplite helmet with its tall crest was the only thing she could see past his massive white wings. Wings weren’t a rarity in her world, but he was the only god with an entire army of all-white-winged soldiers. Willing herself to calm, she tried to take deeper breaths, the lump in her throat made that impossible. Fighting the urgent need to run, she gripped Artemis’ arm.

They passed through an enormous archway that stood between two marble columns. A half-circle golden sun, its rays extending yards into the air, one hundred and eighty degrees. Walking under it, the small group entered one of his many rooms; this one was for receiving what he considered important guests. Which, Hypatia knew, consisted of his sister and maybe one or two others. It was his private throne room, in one of his private chambers, both of which she knew intimately. Walking along the white runner that ran the length of the room, Hypatia marveled at how not much had changed, and yet, the room seemed foreign. Marble columns several stories tall lined the edges. Golden candelabras with white candles ablaze illuminated the space. Braziers wrapped each column in gold. The room glowed as if perpetually stuck in the day’s golden hour, bathed in warm radiance.

“Sister.” His voice boomed in the nearly empty cavernous space. The only occupants were the two of them, several centurions, and him. His back was to them, studying something on the table as they entered.

“Apollo,” Artemis answered.

He turned, a playful smile across his face, but his eyes widened, and he seemed to stop breathing.

“Hypatia.”

That velvety-smooth voice rumbled through her, leaving a tingling behind. She had forgotten the effect he had on her. The air in the room evaporated, her lungs held hostage by the very sight of Apollo. Hypatia’s hands trembled so violently that Artemis gripped her arm so she wouldn’t faint.

“Breathe,” she whispered, and Hypatia willed her lungs to fill with air.

“Apollo, have you any idea what Athena is doing?” Artemis asked.

Keeping his eyes on Hypatia, he answered, “Do I care?”

“Apollo,” Artemis snipped. Her brother flicked his gaze to her before settling back on the other woman. “You should.”

Artemis moved closer to his throne, which sat upon a smaller platform than that in his grand throne room. Hypatia felt as though she were underwater, her heartbeat pulsed in her ears, and her head was fuzzy. Apollo stood before them, his bare chest tawny, glimmering as if brushed by gold dust. A cape tied to one shoulder ran the length of him to his ankle. His massive white wings towered over his head. The two horns arched, almost meeting in the middle, tipped in gold. Around his waist, Apollo had girted the same white fabric that flowed from his shoulder. But as her gaze traveled up, it wasn’t his handsome face or piercing eyes that flooded her with memories. The sunlight that backlit Apollo fell on those golden curls. Memories washed over her at the sight of his ringlets. She knew exactly what they looked like mussed and wild in the early morning dawn. What they felt like when his head was in her lap, she reading to him from one of her books, absentmindedly twisting his curls between her fingers. If musicians wrote poems about Apollo’s looks, Hypatia could write sonnets about his curls.

“This is a surprise.” His voice dropped an octave, deep and honeyed.

He could only be talking to her. She nodded. Artemis let go of her arm, and for a few brief moments, Hypatia felt like she was floating through the air, untethered. She planted her heels into the marble, convincing herself she wouldn’t float off the world’s edge. Artemis stood before her brother, her hands on her hips. Compared to him, she looked tiny, wispy, and nymph like. Her soft silver wings were gossamer over heavy feathers. Artemis was smaller in stature but darker complected. Where he was light and tan and warmth, she was shadows and dark and silver: the sun and the moon. Reaching up, Artemis grabbed his chin and turned his head, forcing him to look at her. Apollo blinked. Making a face, he wiggled his chin from her grip.

“Artemis,” he scolded. “Stop that.”

“Look at me, Apollo,” she demanded, and he dragged his eyes from Hypatia to meet hers.

“What?”

“Athena.”

“What about her?”

Artemis sighed loudly and twisted her lips. “Have you heard what she has done?”

Apollo made a face and waved his hand. “No. I don’t care to know what she has or hasn’t done.”

Letting out an exasperated breath of air, Artemis crossed her arms over her chest.

“She has employed the Chthonian Legion.” Suddenly finding her voice, Hypatia answered for her friend. Though it came out splintered and raspy, she cleared her throat. “She declared war on the Celestial Legion.”

He snapped his head in her direction. “Declared war? On my legion?”

“A company within the Celestial Legion has something valuable to her.” Artemis was serious now. “We need to stop her before she causes another war.”

“We’ve come to see if you would take sides again,” Hypatia said quietly.

Shooting Hypatia a bemused look, he arched one lightly colored eyebrow and frowned.

“You never would have asked me that,” Apollo murmured, tipping his chin to her. “You were against the war on either side, if I recall.”

“I have my reasons—now.”

Artemis glanced over her shoulder at her friend, giving her a hopeful smile. Hypatia nodded; she could feel her confidence gaining the longer she was in his presence. His breathtakingly beautiful presence.

Artemis nodded and turned to face her brother. “I believe you both have something to discuss. I’ll leave you to it.” She squeezed his forearm as his eyes held Hypatia rooted to the marble. Making her way back down the runner, Artemis snapped her fingers at the centurions. “Come along, you.”

Apollo gave the guard a sideways glance and nodded. They disappeared through the archway. Hypatia stood at the bottom of the platform, clasping her hands in front of her.

“Would you like to sit?” Motioning to the round table that sat off to one side, he glided over and pulled out a chair for her.

Hypatia sat slowly, lowering herself down to keep from collapsing. A flood of memories rushed over her, drowning her. She ran a hand along the tabletop; the smooth stone felt as it did the night he laid her on it, splayed open for his every enjoyment. Hypatia wet her lips, remembering the feel of him on her skin, his large hands on her knees. Snapping her hand back, she tucked them into her lap to avoid caressing the table. Apollo watched her every movement, his face in a familiar expression, as if he, too, remembered what occurred on this table. Hypatia straightened herself in the chair, blinked, and looked down in her lap. She pulled something from the pocket of her chiton and smoothed it on her lap.

Hypatia took a steadying breath. “Apollo.” Her voice sounded strained to her ears. Swallowing, she tried again. “Apollo, I know we haven’t seen each other in—”

“Is that a letter?”

Hypatia snapped her eyes up in surprise and nodded. His lips flinched into a smile, but he quickly relaxed them into a thin line. Leaning back in his chair, he motioned for her to continue. His eyes hooded as he watched her.

“Apollo—”

“Why don’t you just tell me, Hypatia.” Reaching out, he brushed her arm, but she recoiled as if she’d been struck. He straightened his fingers and then curled them into a fist, laying it on the table.

Hypatia nodded curtly. “Do you remember the prophecy? The one I—the book I have been commissioned to find?”

“The prophecy that has been drilled into everyone on Olympus since the battle of Troy?” He arched one finely sculpted brow at her.

Hypatia let her eyes wander up his handsome, chiseled face; it was no wonder lyricists wrote prose about him. Slowly sifting her gaze down, intent on the table again, she paused at his mouth. His lips were full and soft, and she knew exactly what they felt like along her skin. Hypatia shifted her gaze to his chin.

“Right, that one.” She licked her now dry bottom lip. “The prophecy that states a woman will bring Olympus to its knees.”

“I’ve done that a time or two.”

Hypatia shot him a look.

“Brought a woman to her knees. Even had my fair share on theirs before me. Only once did one ever bring me to mine.”

Hypatia blinked several times in response, her lips parting as she tried to remember how to breathe. “The woman is the Serathena.” She decided it was safer to ignore his confession. It didn’t matter now, anyway; they had more important matters to discuss than their past.

“I know, Hypatia.” He folded his arms across his chest. “It’s a fairytale made up by Pandora to give gods like Athena something to do for millennia.”

“The Serathena is here, Apollo. She exists, and she is here. On Olympus.”

He narrowed his eyes at her and sat forward. “She’s a ghost story told by Zeus to keep us in line.”

Hypatia shook her head. “She is very real.”

“Instead of talk of silly prophecies, I have a question for you.”

“Apollo,” Hypatia began.

“Why did you leave?”

The room spun off its axis, flying into the ether, and her face paled.

“You left. I awoke, and you were gone. Gone. I searched for you, Hypatia. I thought someone had taken you. I wanted to rip Olympus apart myself to find you. But you fled, and to Athena, no less. To the one place you knew I couldn’t go. You went into hiding. Why?”

Hypatia trembled, clutching her hands in her lap. Apollo shook his head at her.

“You left. No warning. No note.” He pushed the parchment across the table with a flick of his fingers. “And now you come back to tell me about a prophecy.”

Hypatia swallowed, trying to muster courage. She knew this side of him, the impatient side. He could be relentless until he got what he wanted.

“We have a child,” she blurted out. She wasn’t sure she said anything, but the look of utter shock flashing across his chiseled features told her she had. “I left because I was with child,” she whispered.

Apollo stood so quickly that it didn’t register he moved, until she was drawn up next to him. Hypatia slammed into his chest, instinctively putting her free hand out to stop herself. His face mere inches from her own, those soft sky-blue eyes wide, searching hers.

“Tell me the truth, Hypatia,” he ground out behind gritted teeth.

Her palm burned, searing into his flesh. She gulped a breath of air.

“We have a child,” she repeated.

Apollo released her and stumbled into the chair, grabbing it for support.

“A child,” he spat out. “You left me because of a child? Where is this child, Hypatia?” Raising his voice, it reverberated off the stone.

“She’s safe.” Artemis’ voice reached Hypatia’s ears before she did. Coming to stand next to her, offering a weak smile, Artemis had stormed in when she heard Apollo raise his voice. Hypatia knew he would never hurt her, but he would scare her.

“You knew.” He turned his anger towards her.

“Who do you think helped her leave?”

With quick reflexes on both sides, Apollo slammed Artemis against a column. The sound thundered across the marble floors.

“How could you take her from me?”

“Take her?” Artemis shot back, clawing at his arm across her shoulders. “I didn’t take her, Apollo; she left. She left because of you. Because you told her you didn’t love her. That she was a mistake. All this gusto as if she left you worshipping at her feet. You were selfish. She left because of your words.”

Apollo looked wounded. Hypatia didn’t know he could be wounded, but the look on his face was pure pain. “I never . . .”

“Drunk,” Artemis hissed. “Like you had been for years with Dionysus. Carrying on when you had responsibilities. When Hypatia came to tell you about the child, you told her to leave. That you wanted no part in it. If you missed her so badly, why didn’t you come for her? Decades passed, and not even a whisper of her name was heard until now. You didn’t love Hypatia, Apollo; you loved the idea of her.”

Hypatia watched as the mighty Apollo, warrior, god of sun and light, poetry and music, prophecy and oracles, stumbled back as though he had been pricked by an arrow to the heart. He looked over his shoulder at Hypatia.

“Is this true?”

“Yes, it’s true,” Artemis answered. Hypatia nodded as his gaze held hers.

“You left because of me?”

She nodded. “Your daughter is here, Apollo.”

Swinging his head back to Artemis. “Here?”

She sighed and shoved her brother hard as he released her. Artemis walked over to Hypatia and grabbed her hand, squeezing it in reassurance.

“She’s been trying to tell you, but you keep interrupting.” She nodded encouragement at Hypatia. “Go on.”

“She’s here, Apollo. On Olympus. Our daughter, our child. I named her Delphina after you. She will be what saves us, Apollo. She is the Serathena.”

Apollo was quiet for several breaths. Hypatia could hear her heartbeat in her ears.

“Get out,” he snarled. “Get out. You dare say our child is the Serathena? She is not a savior; she is a destroyer. Get out!”

He sat in the quiet throne room, the sun fading to the west, colors deepening into night. Holding the paper she left behind, he placed the parchment under his nose. It smelled like her, scrolls and ink. He was lost in thought and didn’t hear her approach until she was almost before him. Sighing in defeat, he tossed his head in her direction.

“Now is not a good time, Thedia.”

“It’s never a good time with you, Apollo.” She held something in her hands. When she got to him, she placed it on the table. He stared at the object and then looked up at her.

“She’ll need this when she comes to you.”

“Mind telling who is coming, Thedia?” He stared at the round object on the table, colors swirling in a glass dome. He looked up into her dark eyes. Thedia’s raven-black hair hung long behind her. Those wings were so dark as if devoid of light.

“Our child, Apollo. Our daughter. She will come to you just as we predicted.”

Apollo shook his head and picked up the orb. “And she needs a Kalypso Orb? There is only reason she would need this.” He narrowed his eyes at Thedia. “Who is she tethered to?”

Her full lips thinned into a tight line, and she raised her chin. “That isn’t important. She will need this orb for the prophecy to be fulfilled.” She looked pointedly at him and repeated part of the prophecy. “A queen on wings of darkened ash. Born of hatred and shown no mercy.”

“I’m familiar,” he quipped.

“Then you will know she will be the destroyer when she comes. The Serathena.”

He nodded; any fight he had gone out of him.

“Releasing her from her bondage moves us forward, Apollo. We agreed together. It had to be this way.”

“I know, Thedia.” He scowled and held the orb in his palm. “But at what cost? At the cost to the sirens? To Olympus?”

“You knew the risks, Apollo. The balance will be restored. It was necessary. All of this was necessary. Callassa needs to free her people. We need them on our side, Apollo. Don’t forget what is at stake.”

He looked up at her. Closing his eyes, he nodded. “I know what is at stake, Thedia.”

“For Troy?”

“For Troy.”

He picked up the orb and watched it swirl, colors rotating, waiting to be released.