"YOU’RE MOPING TOO much," my brother complains.
"Of course I’m moping." I say, plucking another petal off the cheery face of a pansy. "Ares has taken up with a mortal. Do you know how disgusting that is?"
Too frustrated to sit, I bolt up from my seat, scattering the petals across the garden’s flagstone patio.
Apollo shrugs. He's not picky and doesn't mind dipping into the mortal pool now and then, but I advise him against it whenever possible. "Is it so wrong? Most of them will do anything for you. And you, well, they adore you more than any of us," he says and tosses me the golden apple from Jason's wedding celebration. I catch the gleaming fruit and turn it over in my hand to read the inscription: To the fairest. I’d won it after Paris judged me the most beautiful goddess. Of course I was only up against Hera and Athena, so I was unlikely to lose, but to guarantee my win I promised he would one day have his heart’s desire: Helen.
My brother hops gracefully onto the couch that’s situated to overlook the plains at the edge of Mount Olympus. He stretches out his tanned body like a cat enjoying a sunny window. After setting the apple on a side table, I shift him aside. Once I sit down he leans back with his head on my lap. I finger his bronze curls. If only I could just enjoy the adoration of the mortals and the love of my brother. I know Apollo’s true passion, true adoration is for me, but I’m not Hera. I won’t take my brother as my lover. I’ve never given in when he's curled up next to me in the night, but neither do I push him away. Somehow my lack of outright refusal makes him slavishly devoted to me, keeps him as my protector, and ensures I will always be first in his heart.
How horrible it would be for me if he loved someone else.
"What's funny?" he asks, looking up at me through his thick lashes.
"The thought of you loving someone else more than you love me." I shift him off my lap.
"I could never." He swings his legs to sit upright and scoots closer to me. "Besides, you wouldn’t let me."
I smile at his comment. His tone carries no bitterness, but he's right. After all, if my brother is going to attach himself to someone, she should be worthy of his attention. That dolt Cassandra he fawned over a few centuries ago would have eventually gotten on his nerves, so I saved him a lot of trouble by making her into a laughingstock. Imagine a prophetess that delivers her predictions like a comedian telling jokes. No one took her seriously, no one believed her, so she lived out her life in a permanent state of frustration.
And what about his pursuit of Thalia? So skinny. So timid. She looked and acted like a wet noodle certainly not like someone deserving of a god's love. She was such a drip I thought it only fitting to turn her into a spring. It did little to improve her. Even to this day that spring only gives bland, tepid water.
"Not unless you set your sights on someone suited for you—gorgeous, witty, lively, charming, not mortal."
"Someone like you," he says, shrugging in his habitual way before leaning his head onto my shoulder. "Why did the gods marry you to Hephaestus and not me?"
I’ve wondered this myself and my best guess is that Hera saw my desire for power long ago and wanted to quash it. If she and Zeus were brother and sister, as well as husband and wife, and they were head god and goddess, how easy it would be for the fickle gods and mortals to look to another brother-sister-husband-wife pair for leadership. And the possibility of them looking elsewhere for leadership is not outlandish considering how little attention Zeus pays to anything in Osteria he can’t bed; and, since until only recently, Hera has wasted more of her energy being angry with him, his lovers, and his bastards, than tending to her duties. By marrying me to Hephaestus, the least ambitious of the gods, Hera ended any chance of comparison to or competition with her and Zeus. But if Ares and I could partner—
I break off the thought as soon as I imagine him and that gaunt Pasiphae writhing together in bed.
"Hera thought to humble me a bit," I reply, even though her plan didn’t work very well. I haven't been faithful to Hephaestus since our wedding day. And, while I take advantage of my brother’s hope, there's now no longer any advantage to our becoming lovers.
"But back to Ares and this mortal," Apollo says, leaning forward and dancing his fingers back and forth over the petals until the pansy is whole again. "Can’t you just make her disappear?"
"It's not like the old days where we could just turn humans into waterways," I say, thinking of Thalia. "I mean we can, we have the power, but we're not supposed to."
A rule I would change if I were in power. Why should we be limited? Why shouldn’t mortals be punished when they behave badly and played with when I’m bored?
Apollo presents the repaired pansy to me, but I ignore it. Instead, he fuses the flower to the apple’s stem making it look as if the fruit has sprouted purple and yellow leaves. "So what can you do?"
I shrug then realize I’ve adopted the mannerism from my brother. I get up and walk to the garden’s edge. There’s no low wall to lean on as in some of Olympus’s other gardens, just a sheer drop straight down the side of the mountain. Can Ares really prefer this mortal over me? The idea is idiotic.
"She must have something I don’t. Whatever that something is I need to keep her from making proper use of it. I’ll make her look like a fool in front of Ares. And I don’t mean like your Cassandra. Not a fool people laugh at, but a fool that is despised and pitied for her failure. Ares can't really want her. He must think she can get him what he wants, but if she can’t—" I trail off.
"What does he want?"
"Ares wants to fight," I say, putting it mildly. After all, a war is essentially nothing more than a big fight. He always wants action. It's why I can't resist him. I know the words he spat at me that last time he was allowed on Olympus weren't his true feelings, just frustration. It's the same fiery passion that makes him such a fantastic lover, such a vibrant partner.
I look at the apple in my hand and think of Paris. Because of my promise to him, he believes he’s owed the hand of Helen, but he hasn’t gotten onto Tyndareus’s list of approved suitors. If I can get Paris to act at the right moment, his desire for Helen could be the spark to light a wildfire in Osteria. "I may know how to give him what he wants."
"But first, you need to see Pasiphae fail," Apollo says warily.
"That, my brother," I say, kissing him on the tip of his nose, "is going to be a delightful way to pass the time."