Page 9 of A Veil of Gods and Kings

Poseidon blew out a breath and dropped a thick hand onto my shoulder. “Your devotion to your sister is admirable. But, perhaps consider your own path as well. Who is looking out for you, Apollo?”

“No one here.”

He gave my arm a squeeze, the weight of it steadying. “Then you must look out for yourself.”

I sighed but bobbed my head, and he drew away from me as we climbed the endless stairs to the heavens.

The throne room sparkled from the sunshine leaching in through the windows, from the silvery glow on all the gods crowding the space, from the gold that crafted the furnishings.

Father lounged against the throne, his arms draped over the armrests. His golden skin blended in with the room, his flaxen hair cascading against his shoulders. He leaned in towards the god at his side, his expression tightening as he listened to him. Clouds trailed his feet, drifting in through windows and hovering above the floor. His gaze flicked to us, and he jumped out of his seat, thrusting his arms up and snagging one around me. “Would you look at this? My last child has returned home for a visit.”

The gods, with their flawless complexions and shiny eyes, studied me. A few offered smiles but just as many frowned, shifting away from me—away from the disfavor that hung on me like shackles.

Father thunked his hand against me twice more, and I gritted my teeth. He turned us towards Poseidon. “Don’t you think this child favors me more than the others?”

My uncle studied the two of us and then crossed his arms. “I always thought Heracles favored you the most, Zeus.”

Father bounced his head back and forth, patting me once more before dropping his arm. “A handsome god, for certain. But, don’t you think Apollo will shine the brightest of all”—the words stung at me—“once he ascends to his rightful place?”

Poseidon met my gaze. He hesitated for a heartbeat. “I do.”

Father nodded, running his finger and thumb down his beard. “Come along, Apollo. Let’s discuss things in private.” He gestured towards a door behind the throne, and my heart froze. He snapped his golden eyes to me. “It’s been far too long since we’ve chatted alone.”

My throat tightened, and I longed to be anywhere else—in the meadow near the village, in a bar drowning out thoughts and feelings with poor drink, in the kitchen at our little house with Temi grousing at me. But I stood on Mt. Olympus with Zeus.

I pasted a smile on to direct at the gods whose eyes trailed us like they desired to pin me up and study me, tear me apart piece by piece, and label all the broken bits. Father opened the door, and we stepped in.

It closed with a thunk. The din of conversation swallowed behind it.

“Father, I know why—”

He turned, backhanding me. My jaw cracked, blood blooming in my mouth, which flooded with the tangy bite of copper.

“You may speak”—he gritted through his teeth—“when I give you permission and not before. Do you understand me?”

My ears rang, and white spots swam across my vision. I raised my hand to touch my jaw but dropped it down to my side and nodded.

He crossed his thick arms and frowned. The room sat in stale shadows. The spark of Olympus, with its glittering magic, hovered dozens of feet up and allowed a haze of dusty light to reach us. “Explain to me, Apollo, why you have not yet ascended.”

I opened my mouth and a trickle of blood trailed down my lip. I brushed my arm over my lip, and pink-tinted saliva smeared my skin. “Father, I'm young yet. I just turned twenty and—”

“I’ve not had one child—not one, Apollo—that took as long as twenty to take their rightful place.” His nose wrinkled into a sneer. “Athena ascended at six.”

Well, Athena is fucking perfect.

Not that I said that.

But I wished to.

I waited. He raised his eyebrows, and I took a deep breath. “My age is considered young even for a mortal and—”

He snarled, snatching my tunic in his fist and dragging me towards him. He bared his teeth as he spoke, spit speckling my skin. “Do you think I’m an idiot?”

My heart leapt around in my chest like a rabbit dashing across a field. I shook my head again. He growled but released me. I stumbled, gaining my footing, and I fought my impulse to straighten my tunic.

Father ran his fingers through his golden hair, his features tightening. “Let me make this situation perfectly clear as you seem to forget yourself. You are prophesied to become the god of the sun.” I longed to interject, to deny that, but I clenched my teeth, and it hurt so much from where he’d hit me tears sprang in my eyes. “You are the last component of my dominion. Do you understand what I’m saying to you?”

Do I understand that I’m a game piece to you?