The Tyrant's Tomb (The Trials of Apollo, #4)(35)

But that wasn’t enough for me. I was smitten. I convinced myself it was love—the one true romance that would wash away all my past missteps. I wanted the Sibyl to be my partner throughout eternity. As the afternoon went on, I coaxed and pleaded.

“You could be so much more than my priestess,” I urged her. “Marry me!”

She laughed. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am! Ask for anything in return, and it’s yours.”

She twisted a strand of her auburn locks. “All I’ve ever wanted is to be the Sibyl, to guide the people of this land to a better future. You’ve already given me that. So, ha-ha. The joke’s on you.”

“But—but you’ve only got one lifetime!” I said. “If you were immortal, you could guide humans to a better future forever, at my side!”

She looked at me askance. “Apollo, please. You’d be tired of me by the end of the week.”

“Never!”

“So, you’re saying”—she scooped up two heaping handfuls of sand—“if I wished for as many years of life as there are grains of this sand, you would grant me that.”

“It is done!” I pronounced. Instantly, I felt a portion of my own power flowing into her life force. “And now, my love—”

“Whoa, whoa!” She scattered the sand, clambering to her feet and backing away as if I were suddenly radioactive. “That was a hypothetical, lover boy! I didn’t agree—”

“What’s done is done!” I rose. “A wish cannot be taken back. Now you must honor your side of the bargain.”

Her eyes danced with panic. “I—I can’t. I won’t!”

I laughed, thinking she was merely nervous. I spread my arms. “Don’t be afraid.”

“Of course I’m afraid!” She backed away farther. “Nothing good ever happens to your lovers! I just wanted to be your Sibyl, and now you’ve made things weird!”

My smile crumbled. I felt my ardor cooling, turning stormy. “Don’t anger me, Sibyl. I am offering you the universe. I’ve given you near-immortal life. You cannot refuse payment.”

“Payment?” She balled her hands into fists. “You dare think of me as a transaction?”

I frowned. This afternoon really wasn’t going the way I’d planned. “I didn’t mean—Obviously, I wasn’t—”

“Well, Lord Apollo,” she growled, “if this is a transaction, then I defer payment until your side of the bargain is complete. You said it yourself: near-immortal life. I’ll live until the grains of sand run out, yes? Come back to me at the end of that time. Then, if you still want me, I’m yours.”

I dropped my arms. Suddenly, all the things I’d loved about the Sibyl became things I hated: her headstrong attitude, her lack of awe, her infuriating, unattainable beauty. Especially her beauty.

“Very well.” My voice turned colder than any sun god’s should be. “You want to argue over the fine print of our contract? I promised you life, not youth. You can have your centuries of existence. You will remain my Sibyl. I cannot take those things away, once given. But you will grow old. You will wither. You will not be able to die.”

“I would prefer that!” Her words were defiant, but her voice trembled with fear.

“Fine!” I snapped.

“Fine!” she yelled back.

I vanished in a column of flame, having succeeded in making things very weird indeed.

Over the centuries, the Sibyl had withered, just as I’d threatened. Her physical form lasted longer than any ordinary mortal’s, but the pain I had caused her, the lingering agony…Even if I’d had regrets about my hasty curse, I couldn’t have taken it back any more than she could take back her wish. Finally, around the end of the Roman Empire, I’d heard rumors that the Sibyl’s body had crumbled away entirely, yet still she could not die. Her attendants kept her life force, the faintest whisper of her voice, in a glass jar.

I assumed that the jar had been lost sometime after that. That the Sibyl’s grains of sand had finally run out. But what if I was wrong? If she were still alive, I doubted she was using her faint whisper of a voice to be a pro-Apollo social media influencer.

I deserved her hatred. I saw that now.

Oh, Jason Grace…I promised you I would remember what it was to be human. But why did human shame have to hurt so much? Why wasn’t there an off button?

And thinking of the Sibyl, I couldn’t help considering that other young woman with a curse: Reyna Avila Ramírez-Arellano.

I’d been completely blindsided the day I strolled into the Olympian throne room, fashionably late for our meeting as usual, and found Venus studying the luminous image of a young lady floating above her palm. The goddess’s expression had been weary and troubled…something I didn’t often see.

“Who’s that?” I asked, foolishly. “She’s beautiful.”

That’s all the trigger Venus needed to unleash her fury. She told me Reyna’s fate: no demigod would ever be able to heal her heart. But that did NOT mean I was the answer to Reyna’s problem. Quite the contrary. In front of the entire assembly of gods, Venus announced that I was unworthy. I was a disaster. I had ruined every relationship I was in, and I should keep my godly face away from Reyna, or Venus would curse me with even worse romantic luck than I already had.