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To be courted by the divine, as he called it, was a path filled with more perilous trials than courtesan ascension.
“Hence why I prefer happier tales,” Dax said. “There are happy ends for some, and to discover such an end for oneself is a worthy pursuit. Love worthiest of all.”
And so, I had his answer. “You might make a fine poet yourself, you know. I would be interested in hearing that eloquence recite something composed of your own words.”
“I have dabbled,” Dax admitted, “but never found the right inspiration to create something that moved me as much as my favorites. Perhaps inspiration is close at hand now.” He shifted upon his pillows, arching back to lounge again in a way that was… familiar. A remnant from his training to always be beautiful beneath an admirer’s gaze. To always be engaging. Always be… seducing.
He and Aikos had grown up as rivals, after all.
I wondered if it was purposeful or subconscious the way Dax’s neck lengthened to create the most attractive line down his body. It invited my eyes to trail from the fetching unevenness of his jawline, just enough to add character and uniqueness to him, down his long neck, and further to the one-shoulder fall of his tunic that revealed a nipple, which grew pert the moment my eyes fell upon it.
If purposeful and planned, what a miraculous control he must have over his body. That too invited me—invited me to lose all control over mine and my insistence to court him instead of claim.
“Poetry is one of your domains,” Dax said, drawing my eyes back to his with a twinkle in them that I might have taken for calculating. But he was not Aikos, nor was he in a desperate fight for his life. He did wish to seduce me, but as a man might woo another man.
I had to believe that.
“You have many domains,” Dax continued, “all equally vital. Do you have a favorite?”
I had to believe he wanted me and not just what boons I might grant, because he also wanted to know me, as I wanted to know him. “Normally, I would say no, I love them all, from archery to music to seeing through the span of possible futures. But there is one domain that brings me a rare joy. And well-timed, it seems.” I tilted my head, for at that moment I caught the words of a mortal in prayer. “I believe I can show you.”
Chapter Two
DAX
Apollo led me out of the courtyard that, for a time, had almost made me forget where I was. That courtyard could have been one in my old temple, and those who gathered to meet me and share stories, beautiful as they all were as other chosen mortals of the gods, could have been my former fellows.
But to see the god of the dawn approaching like a sudden sunrise, I had once again been reminded that I was in the presence of the divine. And oh, how divine it was to hear Apollo finish the “Death of Adonis” for me. To hear poetry from the god who reigned over it! I was struck as dumb as when my tongue had failed me again and again last night.
Now, today, Apollo brought me to a shallow bowl on a pedestal at the very edge of the salon where I had first walked among the gods. Within its waters, I was surprised to see a man, a healer, tending to someone who had been injured and who was clearly growing more ill.
The water rippled, and the man was in a glade, searching for something. It rippled again, and though he was still in the glade, he was now kneeling, lips rapidly moving, with his eyes closed.
“May I?” Apollo held up a hand, and despite now knowing what he intended, I nodded.
He touched two fingers to just behind my ear, and suddenly, I could hear the prayer falling from the healer’s lips. He hoped the right mix of herbs might help his dying friend, but he was getting desperate and prayed for guidance from Apollo, god of healing himself.
Apollo removed his fingers, and I heard the man no more.
“Are you going to answer his prayer and heal his friend?” I asked.
“No,” Apollo said plainly. “If gods answered every prayer with a miracle, you would never learn to better yourselves. I know that might sound cold, but there are times when we might allow a… nudge. The healer asked for guidance, didn’t he? Shall we go?” He nodded at the water.
“Um… yes? But how?”
Apollo touched my shoulder, and Olympus spun around me like I was toppling from its heights. I was, I came to realize, for a moment later, I felt a jolt as we landed. No longer were we in the home of the gods but on the earth, in a lush glade.
The very glade where the healer knelt in prayer before continuing his search for herbs in his next attempt to create something that might save his friend.
My tunic had become plainer, less pristine, longer too, unlike the more revealing garment I had chosen from the multitude within the chest in my new quarters. I was as confused as I was amazed and turned to Apollo—only to see a stranger beside me.
He was and was not the same man. His face was similar, but his hair was not quite so golden, his eyes a humble brown, his features weathered, and he too wore a garment that was plain, like that of a shepherd.
“Hail, friend!” Apollo called ahead to the healer, who had yet to notice us.
The man straightened, surprised, but raised a hand aloft in greeting from where he knelt among the greenery. He was not much older than I was, at most a decade, but like the guise Apollo had draped himself in, he seemed weathered and weary. I did not think anyone else was out here.
“Be you travelers, friends?” the healer asked.
