Page 2 of The Gods Forbid

There was a flash of something close to fear, but I couldn’t figure out if it was simply because Sebastian didn’t want to die or if it was something deeper. But then it was masked with nonchalance. That seemed like a pattern for him. “I don’t believe your brother has ever killed a person before. I’m not sure he’d have it in him.”

“You almost killed his wife, accidentally or otherwise. I wouldn’t doubt his anger in that regard.” My own was more of a mellow lick of flame, a soft rage at the fear of almost losing a dear friend. Of almost watching my brother fall to this man. “And if he hadn’t, you have two other gods waiting in line to extract the same payment.”

Dominic and Lukas had…shared their own desire for Sebastian to be reduced to a pile of ashes, complimented by both Rose and Daphne asking for a shot at him.

I would hold off on saying so for now, but I knew that a good bit of their collective anger and resentment stemmed from the fact that Sebastian had been a friend to all of them.

“But you disagree with that punishment?” Sebastian asked slowly, leaning forward to rest his arm on his bent knee.

“I do.” I’d been told I had a habit of speaking too bluntly, but I found I didn’t quite care with him.

My short response visibly kicked his interest higher, his frame coming an inch off the wall, leaning closer to me. “Why?”

I answered honestly, something Sebastian would soon learn I expected from him. “I don’t believe that you are without redemption.”

If I thought there was a cold mask on his face before, it was nothing compared to the frigid expression he wore now, as emotionless as a midnight, storm-riddled sky was black. “Extending me any sort of pity would be a mistake.”

“It’s not pity. In fact, that belief didn’t come from emotion at all.” I stepped up to the gate, sliding four intricate keys into the lock. One of which pierced my skin, requiring a drop of blood to slide the lock fully open. Once it clicked and released, I walked into the cell with him, closing and locking it behind me.

Sebastian reacted like a caged animal, immediately going stiff and flattening back against the cold stone wall like the chill was a better option than any sort of proximity to me.

Interesting.

I took a seat on the small stool on the opposite side of the cell, crossing my legs and fluffing the fabric of my tiered white skirt. Sebastian was watching my movements with the care that an artist would use to oversee his apprentice’s first solo attempt at a craft.

“I came to that conclusion through logic,” I said, continuing my answer. “You said that your plan had been three decades in the making. Which means that it clearly started with your parents, then passed down to you.”

Sebastian’s muscles locked up, the veins on his arms and hands popping. Alright, so that was a sore spot. “So, what, you think a little therapy will fix my childhood and make me into a better man?”

I chuckled softly. “You will be attending therapy, yes. But no, that is not the goal, necessarily.”

“What is?”

“For you to return as Apollo. You are well-liked. Respected, even. And I’d venture to say you enjoy your role.”

I was an observant person. More than a detective, my mother used to say. I was a rather shy child and had grown into an adult who often preferred silence and my own company. Which allowed me to watch people move about the world, cataloging things others missed.

And every time I’d seen Sebastian smile in a way that seemed real—not that charming, practiced half-grin that used to make me feel a little funny when I was younger and he’d come around with Adrian—it had been while he was surrounded by something of his patronage.

“You really expect me to believe Adrian wants me to return as a god?” Sebastian enunciated the words carefully, like he was inspecting each one as they left his mouth.

I nodded softly. “With conditions, of course. But yes.”

“And what are those conditions?”

You would think he was asking me to spell out the detailed plan for him to be tortured for years through constant pecks of a crow’s beak piercing his skin.

He may well feel the same about the plan I’d formulated with Adrian. “You spend six months with me, here in Prometheus. Working to heal whatever led you to this place. Helping tie up any loose ends still dangling from this plan, including developing an antidote for the poison you gave Reyna.” Oh, he did not like that. His nostrils flared and his pupils dilated the second the words left my mouth. But he stayed silent, letting me continue. “Then you get six months back out in the world. If you try to reorganize this conspiracy, you come back for another six months.”

Sebastian’s eyes narrowed, eclipsing just an inch of the watercolor in them. “Inspired by your namesake, love?”

I wasn’t going to acknowledge that nickname. For now. It was clearly intentional, either an attempt to rile me up or communicate confidence, despite his position.

“Yes,” I said plainly. I was named after Persephone, the wife of the very first Hades. While her story had been twisted and altered through the generations, one thing had been true. Persephone spent six months out of the year in the Underworld with her husband and six in the Upperworld, basking in the sunlight. “You are a storyteller yourself.” The storyteller. The Apollo line was known for producing our world’s most famous stories. “You ought to respect the inspiration, no?”

Sebastian’s chest heaved with a breath. “What makes you think that I will change in six months?”

“I’m quite confident in my methods.” I stood, smoothing out my skirt. “But we won’t be starting for a month.”