Page 127 of A Veil of Gods and Kings

“I told you,” he whispered, “everything that matters to me is in there.”

I flipped through another page, the light growing so dim I couldn’t make out the poems, but it felt reverent, holy, like I held some piece of his soul, and he had tucked me into a corner of it to bloom there.

“And you call me a romantic idiot, golden boy,” I said, and he smirked.

And then I pulled out the charred wood scrap. “This is from that night, isn’t it?”

Apollo’s throat bobbed. “It is.”

“I think you should get rid of it.”

“I… I can’t. It’s...” He brushed his hands out as if that might explain it.

“It reminds you of a sin that isn’t yours. Leave the past behind you Apollo.” I slipped my fingers into his. “A different future awaits.”

He sighed, accepting the wood, his hand falling with it like it was carved of marble rather than the flimsy piece it was. He trembled but leaned forward and dropped the battered shingle into the fire. A flame leaped up, swallowing it. Apollo shuddered, and I tucked an arm around him. His eyes remained glued to the pit until the flames died down again, only ash remaining.

He nodded. “Let’s get some sleep. We have a long walk tomorrow.”

We eased into his sleeping roll together, our bodies pressing into the nest of each other, the space tight. Apollo rested his chin on my shoulder. “I have an idea for how we can go about this without angering Zeus sooner than need be. Maybe buy us some time.”

“Good. We’ll discuss that at the palace tomorrow.”

He pulled in tighter to me and whispered against my ear, as if it was a secret too sacred for the world to hear. “I love you, Cyn. I love you so much.”

My heart melted like snow beneath the rays of the sun, and I lifted his knuckles and kissed them. “I am yours, Apollo. We’ll face the future together.”

46

Epiphany

I stabbed a fork into my cake and sighed. Temi had been right about that, too. It didn’t solve every problem. Damn her for that. The leaves in the tree above me fluttered, sunshine sparkling through the branches. A horse in a distant pasture whinnied and tossed its tail about as wispy gray clouds swam over the sky.

“How’s the cake?”

I startled, bracing my fingers into the cool clump of clover beside me. “Temi?”

She smiled though something uneasy lingered on her expression and she dropped in the grass by my side.

“You came back?” I said.

“Well”—she nodded across the pasture where Valerian stood watching the foal with the ivory nose as it looped around its mother’s legs—“Val helped.”

“He’s good like that.”

“He is.”

I fiddled with the panel of my riding skirt. “Temi, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have spoken to you the way I did.”

Temi bobbed her head, her eyes shimmering. She cleared her throat hard and nodded towards the cake. “Can I try your theory?”

“That cake fixes all problems? I’ve decided it's false, but sure.”

She accepted the fork and took a bite, closing her eyes, her lips spreading into a smile. “It is good.” She peeked open one eye. “But I don’t think it fixes anything.”

I smiled. “Well, it’s one of many beliefs of mine you’ve debunked in the time I’ve known you.” I sat up straighter. “You should know, I cancelled my presentation.”

Her expression brightened. “Did you?”