Sinon and Odysseus had often helped each other with their armor. His throat tightened, and he looked away.
“Magnificent, my lord.”
Apollo smiled. The god outshone his own armor. “Thank you. Oh, here—” He took a second sword out of the chest, along with its belt and scabbard, and gave it to Sinon. “Take this.”
Sinon held the weapon at arm’s length, as if uncertain what to do with it. The last time he’d held one of these, he’d impaled himself on it.
“Why do you give me this?”
“Because you might need it.” He crossed the room to Athena, and together they left.
Sinon went after them, following a few paces behind. “Are you going to kill Zeus?” he said, disbelieving.
Athena glanced over her shoulder at him before speaking to Apollo, “Is he always so outspoken?”
“Usually. It amuses me to no end.”
“Apollo!” Sinon called. The god turned on him, and Sinon flinched, taking a step back. All at once, Apollo seemed to tower over him. Sinon found his courage and said, “How—how could you do such a thing? He’s . . . he’s a god. He’s Zeus.”
The god returned a glare that was intense, inhuman, without any of the sun’s warmth.
“And I am Phoebus Apollo.” Sunlight poured in through an archway leading to a courtyard, limning him in gold, when this conspiracy should have been happening in darkest night.
They were at the closet that held the doorway to Mount Olympus. Apollo pointed. “Watch this door. Stop anyone who tries to come out of it, unless it’s me or Athena. Do you understand?”
And what if it was Zeus who came through?
“Yes, my lord.”
Apollo opened the screen in front of the closet. He gestured Athena into the passage first; then he followed. The pair disappeared.
Sinon slumped against the wall and slid to the floor, letting the sword lie across his thighs. By the gods. By the gods indeed, what was happening? What could Zeus be planning that would make the rest of Olympus take up arms? The two or three times Sinon had seen him, he’d been overwhelmingly imperious, holding himself apart from the others, a lordly figure. Perhaps simple jealousy prompted a rebellion.
Athena and Apollo had aligned against each other during Troy. Now they aided each other. The alliances of the gods were transient things. Sinon supposed he ought to have been grateful Apollo had not tired of him after all these years and disposed of him in some horrible manner suitable for the tales of bards.
If only Apollo had tired of him years ago and set him free.
Incongruously, he thought of praying. He ought to pray to someone, as he had when he was a boy, as he’d been taught by his parents. Thank Zeus, they said. Or, Bless us, Apollo. But there were no gods—he knew that. Only people with more power than they knew what to do with. If he lived for a few centuries, he might learn the tricks of their power, find a little power of his own, become his own god. The god of lies, the god of slaves, the god of lost hopes. He could build shrines and have people worship him.
No. If having all that meant he’d become like them—no. All he’d ever wanted were good friends fighting at his back and a little honor to take home with him when the war was done. A lovely woman to mother children for him, to carry his honor in later years.
He hooked his finger under the chain around his neck and pulled. It dug into his skin, pinching. But it didn’t break. It didn’t come off.
He heard footsteps approaching, the gentle slap of leather sandals on the tile in the hallway. He hurried to his feet, his blood racing. He held the sword ready.
The footsteps stopped.
No guests were staying at the palace. Another servant would not be so stealthy. Sinon had been quiet; the intruder shouldn’t have heard him. He was just around the corner. Sinon could almost hear breathing. He kept his own mouth closed, drawing quiet breaths through his nose.
He inched to the edge of the wall to steal a glance at who was there. Quickly now, look around and duck back—
What he saw made him hesitate.
An old man stood there. He held a dark cloak wrapped around him. His thick gray hair swept behind his ears. The mouth within the beard frowned.
It was Zeus.
Sinon lurched back, holding the sword before him like a shield, almost falling as he stumbled on his own feet. Putting his arm out, he caught his balance. The pose he struck wasn’t graceful—his legs were splayed, his back hunched. He stared as if a hydra had just reared before him.