Page 158 of Where Darkness Bloomed
For a single breath, grudging respect flickered in Apollo’s gaze. “You risked much for that knowledge.” Then his eyes sharpened like flint. “Why tell me? Hades takes no part in mortal wars. He certainly doesn’t favor my cause.”
Around her, the shadows began to recede. Like a tide drawing back from shore, the darkness withdrew slowly, almost tender. It slipped away, but did not vanish. She felt it settle within, warm and soft as breath.
Torches flared back to life, bathing the stables in amber firelight once more.
“I am not Hades,” she said truthfully. “And I will end the bloodshed if I can. I lived among mortals for eons. I’ve seen their suffering, their hope, and their goodness.”
A breath.
“I will not stand by while they are torn apart.”
Apollo’s lips flattened into a grim line. “Zeus will punish you for this.”
“He will punish you for killing Achilles.”
A flicker of amusement returned to Apollo’s face, the arrogant curl of his lips. “Without me, the sun does not rise. Mortals would perish in darkness and frost. My father knows better than to interfere with my purpose.”
She bit back the retort that rose on her tongue, resisting the urge to roll her eyes at his staggering self-importance.
“You are vital to the living,” Persephone allowed. She paused, then added softly, “As I am elsewhere.”
Silence fell once more.
Apollo studied her. Then, with the barest tilt of his head, he acknowledged her words.
“So you are.”
Too quickly, his gaze hardened again. “You must go swiftly. Even Zeus cannot enter the Underworld without Hades’s leave, and I will not delay my strike against Achilles.”
Persephone’s stomach clenched. “The journey is long. I will not make it there by dawn.”
Apollo’s gaze flicked to the stable door. “There’s one who may help you. A child of Poseidon, swifter than wind.” His chin jerked toward the door. “Look to the open plain.”
Cool night air brushed her skin as she stepped to the threshold. Her gaze swept the moonlit slope, and she saw him there.
A living star.
In the distance, a stallion stood beneath the moonlight. His coat gleamed like frost-dusted silk, an unearthly white that caught the light like a blade’s edge. Massive wings lay folded against his flanks, feathered and luminous, edges shimmering as if woven from starlight. Crystalline blue eyes watched her, ancient and knowing.
Behind her, Apollo called, “You will need the bridle.”
She turned, her fingers closing around a golden bridle hanging on a nearby peg. The metal was warm to the touch, a pulse thrumming faintly through it.
Unlike the fierce beasts of the Underworld and sun, the stallion didn’t shy or rear. As she approached with slow steps, his ears pricked forward, intelligent and curious.
“Pegasus,” Persephone whispered.
She stroked the velvet of his muzzle. Then carefully, she lifted the golden bridle and slipped it over his head.
The moment it settled, he stamped once. His wings lifted, great, silken arches of rippling feathers, impatient for flight.
Swiftly, Persephone swung onto his back. His body was broad beneath her, quiet thunder coiled in the shifting muscles. She leaned just behind the rise of his wings, her fingers threading into his mane, reins untouched.
“Fly.”
And he did.
With a bound and a broad sweep of wings, Pegasus leapt skyward. Wind tore past, stealing her breath, streaming her hair in a wild banner of midnight. They climbed higher, faster, piercing the veil of night. Mountains shrank to shadows. Rivers turned to ribbons. Forests melted into ink.
