Chapter 18

The Pantheon is like a palace of unreachable expectations. As Apollo leads me through the echoing room, no one looks at us. With purpose.

Yesterday, the whole building was empty. It felt like Hermes was pulling me through a ghost town. Now, it’s packed full of fully clothed humanoids. I can hear the whispers, feel the glances, but I can’t understand anything.

I think that’s the worst part.

I can feel that they’re talking about us. They cup their mouths like this is some scandal, look away before I can catch them gawking.

This is scandalous, I suppose. I showed up to the festival with Hermes, and now I’m tucked under Apollo’s arm like this is where I was always meant to be. It makes me a little sick.

I shouldn’t be doing this. It feels objectively wrong. But Apollo feels right. It feels like this is how things should be. He doesn’t know the baggage I brought with me, and I think that makes it easier.

Hermes treats me like I have an actual chance at protecting myself here. Apollo walks like the others should cower before him.

His lyre thumps against my thigh with every step. I guess that means I’m standing too close. He doesn’t move away. I don’t either.

The silence with him is too comfortable. Like I could get lost in it the same way I did to his music. Maybe that’s his thing.

If Hermes’s thing is sarcasm and gilded cruelty, Apollo’s is the quiet between sentences. The moment when two people’s eyes lock and the universe just aligns for a moment. No words needed. Just shared air in a breathless room.

When we reach the exit, his fingers tighten around my shoulder.

My neck strains as I look back. This would be the perfect time for Hermes to walk in. To stop me from whatever the hell I’m about to do.

I don’t know if I want him to, I just want him to recognize that I’m not going to sit around and wait for him to…

To do what? Apologize? I don’t even want an apology. I just want to feel like I’m not one out of the pool of options. I want to be the only. I don’t know if that’s even possible.

“Why do you always look as if you’re about to cry?” The pity on Apollo’s face makes me want to scream.

That’s the same look Hermes gave my mom when she was trying to convince him to leave me for her. I hate that look.

I don’t want to do this. I want to run back to Hermes and pretend none of this ever happened.

It’s not even the pity. It’s that look that screams let me help you. I don’t want help.

I just want to feel wanted.

My feet move on their own accord as Apollo pushes the doors open. The rush of fresh air makes me want to vomit.

I can’t do this. I can’t do this.

We’re not even halfway out the door when my ears begin to throb.

“Fuck!” I grunt out, doubling over and slamming my hands over my ears.

Now?

I can feel her presence before I even see her hovering above us.

Iris’s feet touch down inches in front of me, and I don’t even get the chance to reel back before her hand clamps down on my wrist.

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“What the hell?” I shriek, trying to rip my hand from her grasp.

Her eyes are wild as she rips me away from Apollo. I stumble over my own feet as I reach for him, my nails leaving red lines in his forearm as I’m pulled out of his reach.

“Iris,” he says in a low, controlled voice, his posture snapping into place. “What do you think you’re doing?”

She doesn’t answer, her fingers digging painfully into my bones as she flips my hand over.

Her gaze snaps sideways to Apollo. “Did you know?” she growls, her nostrils flaring in rage.

“Know what?” I demand, glancing at him as well.

He licks his lips but doesn’t respond right away. His eyes stay locked with hers, his expression deadly. “You’re out of line,” he says slowly, finally.

“I am on orders from Hera!” she hisses, her wings twitching as she tugs me closer to her. I pull away from her, but her grasp only tightens. I can feel my bones groaning under the force. “The Pantheon is collapsing, and you’re waltzing around with an immortal under your arm.”

An. Immortal.

Immortal.

Not mortal.

They can’t be talking about me.

The ringing in my ears is too loud. My chest is too tight.

They’re still arguing. I can’t hear them.

I can’t feel my legs.

Apollo’s eyes lock with mine and he shouts something, taking a step toward me.

Iris tugs me further away, until I’m slotted behind her. I don’t know who’s fighting for me.

I can’t even see properly. Everything is foggy. Clouded with whatever the fuck is going on.

A frown that sends an ache into my jaw pulls my face downward as my lips stutter open.

“Where’s Hermes?” I manage to ask through all the thoughts. I need him to tell me they’re not talking about me. I need him to tell me everything’s going to be okay. I need Iris to fucking let me go.

She does not let me go, much to my dismay. Instead, she whirls around to face me, her light hair sticking to her cheeks through a sheen of sweat.

Her eyes dart between mine, her mouth curving into a snarl sharp enough to cut through the little bit of resolve I’ve managed to keep. “Hermes was summoned by Zeus,” she barks at me, and I can feel myself shrinking under her gaze. “He’s going to be punished.”

No.

No no no no no no.

He warned me this would happen.

His Kinesis.

“What can I do?” The question spills out of my lips faster than I can form coherent thoughts.

Her expression softens just enough for me to notice the fear in her eyes. She’s just as scared as I am.

“You can come with me to Hera,” she says, softer this time. This is her begging for someone to do something. I can feel the desperation in my bones. “Plead your case to her. She’ll be far more understanding than the Tyrant.”

“Do not go to Hera!” Apollo interjects, the panic in his voice startling me. “She hates mortal women. She’s more likely to kill you than listen to anything you say.”

“She’s not mortal!” Iris shouts, pulling my arm upward at a painful angle.

No. That’s not true. I would know. I would feel it. Right? You don’t just… not know something like that.

“That doesn’t mean anything!” Apollo grumbles through gritted teeth.

Oh fuck.

The ichor.

They’re talking about the ichor mark.

“I am mortal.” The words taste like copper. Like a lie too big to come from me. “The mark is just from Hermes cutting his finger because he doesn’t know how to cut broccoli. It’s not anything important.”

It’s not not true. It feels like it is.

Iris looks at me like I’m the stupidest thing she’s seen in centuries. “Do you want to help Hermes or not?”

“Yes,” I answer too quickly, the word coming out more as a sob than any sort of coherent answer. “I do.”

A sinister looking smile pulls at her lips. “Good.”

“Do not—” Apollo takes a step forward, but he’s too late. His hand grazes my arm just as I’m thrust into the air.

I can feel the pressure in my ear rupture outward as the ground falls away. Wind rushes past me impossibly fast, whipping my hair painfully across my cheeks.

Iris has me tucked under her arm like a football, my legs dangling uselessly under me.

The pain in my throat tells me I’m screaming, but the world is too loud for me to hear it. The pain in my chest is too severe for me to feel the rumble of my own voice.

I slam my eyes closed, the sight of the Pantheon shrinking below us too much for my stomach to handle.

What if they’re right? What if I’m not mortal? What does that make me? What does it make all of this?

Does Hermes know? Apollo knew. He’s as bad of a liar as I am.

Who else knows?

Suspects. Suspects. I’m normal. I’m mortal. I can’t handle anything else. I’m twenty-three. Immortals are thousands of years old.

I can’t be immortal.

I’m just Alira, daughter of a drug addict and absent father. Not immortal.

I can’t think about it right now. There’s something much more important to worry about.

Zeus has Hermes. He knows something I don’t. Hermes is going to be punished. Because of me.

He’s going to be hurt, and I was off debating whether or not I should abandon him for his brother.

Please, Hermes, just be okay.