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He still feared himself unworthy of the love he so dearly sought, just as Hephaestus had feared himself unworthy of the goddess of love.
“I am grateful to know more about what truly happened between you and Hyacinth,” I said, knowing the utterance of the name would darken his otherwise hopeful expression. “More than legend now, but truth. It is in understanding that we fully know someone, and in knowing them, that we can love.
“But also, I believe it would be good for you to speak those stories more, to speak honestly of your trials and heartbreaks, so you might learn to forgive the one person you still haven’t. Well, I suppose you didn’t forgive Zephyrus, but I do hope you can forgive yourself.”
The sadness in Apollo’s stare was thankfully quick to brighten again. “Wise Dax, it is a difficult thing you ask after all the wrongs I have done and the wounds I have suffered.”
“Then tell me of those wrongs and wounds too deep to avoid scars, so you might continue to heal.”
Moisture pooled in the corners of Apollo’s eyes. He had spilled many tears in my presence, but that they were so close to the surface spoke of how much he still needed to shed. “When I was with Aikos, I told him my stories, but it was the barebones history of it all, not how each tragedy had made me feel. Not how they changed me and broke me.” Apollo reached across the bench to take my hand. “I think you are right and that perhaps, finally, I should.”
And then he did.
Chapter Seven
APOLLO
It was far more difficult for me to speak my stories with the raw honesty that had been missing when I recounted them for Aikos.
My unrequited love for the mortal king Admetus.
My forced love of Daphne, pricked by Eros’s arrow, only for her to be “saved” from me by becoming a tree, and for real mourning to follow even as my false love faded.
Cassandra’s betrayal, only pretending to love me to receive the boon of prophecy.
The love and loss of Hyacinth.
And the would-be but wasn’t love for the ill-fated Icarus.
Dax listened without interruption to each tale, each memory, each story of woe and regret. And through it all, he held my hand.
I’d cried with Aikos. I’d shed tears already with Dax. Yet again, tears fell, turning to steam on my cheeks, as the intensity of sharing my pain made me run as hot as passion did. As any strong emotion did. If I became too hot to touch, Dax showed no signs of it, but held my hand tighter still.
We did not remain in the mortal courtyard for all of it. We walked, paused to eat, or share a drink. Eventually, I even told Dax how I had reenacted the loss of Icarus with Aikos.
“You pushed Aikos out of your chariot?”
“I caught him!” I defended, bracing myself for terror to fill Dax’s eyes, but was further amazed when all he did was laugh.
“Oh, I would have loved to see his face!”
I laughed then too, and it felt surreal after sharing so much pain to feel mirth in its wake. It felt good and made me feel… lighter, like how healing Zephyrus had made me lighter.
Somehow, with my tales done, we had quite unconsciously ended up at my chamber doors. The whole day had passed by but not a moment felt wasted. I wanted to hang on to the joy between us, though some somberness remained, as it always did when one thinks back on loss.
“The worst of my stories, I suppose,” I said, “is that I never saw any of it coming.”
“As the god of prophecy, that must have been terrifying.”
“It was. I cannot see my own future. Even when I see something through another’s eyes, there is no guarantee the tides won’t change.”
“Then isn’t there also no guarantee that the tides will?”
“I hope so.” I clung to Dax’s hand. I wanted to bring him into my rooms, to bring him into my bed so badly, but I… faltered, unsure what to say or if I was ready.
“Tomorrow, my dear Apollo?” Dax said.
Whenever it was that he had ceased calling me “my lord” or “my god,” I could not say, but I adored hearing “my dear” in their place, while also yearning for what it might be like to have that endearment become “my love.”
