Page 156 of Where Darkness Bloomed
“Their war is consuming everything,” she said, her voice turning cold, razor-edged. “The banks of the Styx are thick with the dead. Not just warriors—women, children, the old. Trojans and Greeks alike. The war devours them all.”
For a breath, regret flickered across Apollo’s face. A crack in the golden armor. But it vanished just as quickly.
“Mortals are born to die,” he said woodenly. “But the Greeks began this slaughter, and I will repay it with my own. To the last soul.”
Prideful ass.
“What of Troy’s people?” Persephone demanded, stepping forward. “Do you care if they survive, or do you only love the city out of flattery to yourself?”
Silence.
Then Apollo’s eyes flashed, heat coiling around him—wild and crackling, ready to ignite.
“Careful, goddess of spring,” came the warning, low and tight.
But she didn’t retreat. “There is still time to spare the living,” she said firmly. “A way remains.”
He hesitated, then gave a slow shrug. “The Fates have condemned Troy. It cannot be saved.”
“The city, yes. But not its people,” she countered. “Foretellings can be unclear—”
A derisive snort cut across her words.
“—but some may yet be spared,” she continued, voice rising. “The Greeks rally to Achilles. Without him to lead, Agamemnon’s army will collapse in disorder and ruin. It happened oncewhen—”
“I care nothing for allegiances,” Apollo snapped. “I care for vengeance. The Greeks will witness my wrath and despair!”
Light erupted from him, a searing burst that scorched the air. Fury, blinding and unreasoning. Born of his own stubbornness and pride.
Persephone’s patience shattered, her temper rising to meet his.
“If Achilles falls, the Greeks will be scattered,” she lashed out. “Troy’s people may yet survive.”
But Apollo was already turning away. Over his shoulder, he tossed the words carelessly—
“Back to your mother, girl.”
Dismissal. Contempt. As if she were an errant child.
He kept walking. “War holds nothing for the goddess of—”
The darkness came without her calling.
Unbidden, it rose in a whisper that roared like a storm, spilling from the deepest well of her being. Like breath held too long. The flame-born horses fell still in their stalls, hooves quieting against stone.
Apollo halted mid-step. Then, slowly, he turned.
Shadows curled at her feet. They shimmered, uncoiling like silk against her skin. Along the walls, the torches guttered, flames shrinking back as darkness rippled around her.
Not violent. Nor menacing. It was deep, intimate and familiar. A presence that knew her utterly, that moved like memory—brushing against her ankles, stroking her fingertips, pressing featherlight kisses to her cheeks.
A purr hummed in the air, tender and coaxing, almost sweet. But beneath it—power.
Against the inky dark, Apollo’s radiance sputtered like a candle. He blinked once, the look of one who had reached for a flower but found an asp coiled in its place.
When he finally spoke, his voice was rough, thin-edged. “Your husband’s power suits you.”
But it wasn’t.
