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“Yeah,” I stifled a gasp. “I'm just… Feeling emotional about leaving.”
Please buy it.
Narrowed eyes watch me as my vision blurs. Flatly, Uncle states, “Safe travels.”
Nodding softly, I push past Ganymede who stands guard at the door. My eyes flutter as I stumble outside. The streets feel fuller than before as I slide into a quiet side street. Pressing my back on the warm brick, I focus on my breathing.
A vision still pulls at the edges of my mind as I scramble out toward the street.
Ganymede’s bag feels especially heavy on my shoulders. Uncle’s coin pouch clinks softly from in my pocket.
The main street is heavily populated. Almost to the point of feeling suffocating.
The muggy air and my cloak aren't friends. The combo makes me wonder if I'll pass out from heat stroke before I could even leave the capital.
As I walk, the wind picks up. The crowd flowing past me. Weaving around the corner, I take the first available side street.
Even the pounding of my footsteps on the tiled road goes straight to my skull.
My brain threatens a rebellion.
My vision narrows as the sound of the boisterous street around me softens into a deafening silence. I can’t even feel my own heartbeat. the echoing pressure pulsing against my skull.
Shaky hands pull at the edges of my cloak, throwing the hood down and my skin is exposed. The fresh air rushes against my face.
A respite from the sickening warmth.
Thumping into another person, a man catches my forearm. “Oh, um excuse me.”
His ethereal tawny skin of the satyr appeared warm and friendly in the sunlight of high noon. “No worries. Have a good day.” Appearing slightly startled he releases me before moving on toward the palace.
Turning away from the castle, I’m no longer in the streets of Caelum.
Blinking, I'm in the palace. Apollo’s formal Throne Room to be precise. A room that I was hardly allowed to be in. Watching through the eyes of someone unknown.
The room is silent while being utterly packed. Everyone’s attention is fixed on Apollo who’s sitting with his legs crossed at the knee on his throne, the god glares down boredly at the entire room.
Scanning the area, all delegates stood in fear. A near endless stream of tears. Some seasoned warriors’ quake at the feet of Apollo atop his dais.
Not a soul comforted those who wept.
Apollo massages his temple, as though he didn’t want to be here. Rubbing away the stress that comes with his position.
“Speak now, satyr.” The lord stares intently into his glass of wine. “Make your pizzo.”
A pizzo? Interesting. Much like taxes they’re meant to ensure lands are protected from a certain evil. Though I'm not sure how they can help prevent the spread of the plague.
… Unless there are evils greater than the plague in this world.
The satyr bows low to the ground. I recognized him instantly. The tawny satyr from the street. Clad in a threadbare traveler's cloak and the smallest of sun died knapsacks. “Greetings to you, Lord Apollo,” his voice strained. Peeking up over his stooped position on the floor, he continues, “Sire, my name is Silenus of the Marshlands. Former tutor of Dionysus–”
“Yes, yes. I remember your relationship with my half-brother. No need to go into detail about that. Get on with your pledge.” Apollo’s cheeks are flushed from the sweet ambrosia. The Sun God's gold crown juts out like the rays of the sun.
Apollo looked like a divine menace.
Pursing his lips, Silenus continues. A mixture between masking his frustration and fear. “Your excellency, I present to you pizzo of the Marshlands. Though it’s not our required allotment, I hope your excellency will understand the plight of the Marshlands.” Sighing loudly, the Satyr continues, “The plague has spread to our lands. Our whole village is gone. Only statues and I remain.”
The plague seems to be affecting everyone in this kingdom.
