Discord's Apple

Slowly, minding the tender places, Sinon sat up. He found a chain hung around his neck like a collar. Touching it, he examined its round links of bronze, and couldn’t find a clasp.

“It will never come off,” Apollo said. “I sealed it around your neck myself. It shows that you belong to me. It ensures that you’ll be with me for a very long time.”

Sinon winced, confused. Then he thought of nothing at all. He didn’t want to give Apollo any more of himself if he could help it. If Apollo could take his very thoughts, he would keep his mind as still as possible. He would be empty as air.

You don’t die.

He looked away, suddenly feeling very much like that boy who’d set sail for Troy, untried, filling himself with excitement that would bury the fear. Now, after all these years, the fear won out. He squeezed shut his eyes.

He was Achaean. He was part of the army that broke Troy. He was friend to Odysseus. What would Odysseus do, were he here? Think of some way to trick the god. Be so awful a slave that Apollo would be grateful to let him go.

“I know what you’re thinking, boy, and it won’t work. I plan to make you like it here. You’ll find clothing in the chest by the bed and food on the table in the corner. Refresh yourself. If you need anything, simply think of me and I’ll come.” His smile was coy and arrogant. He was master here and enjoyed the games he played.

He slipped around the corner and was gone.

Sinon opened the wooden chest and found a silk tunic, short and functional, and leather sandals. He did not touch the food. If this was anything like the stories, eating the food would trap him here, like Persephone in the Underworld.

He explored. This wasn’t a temple, at least not like any kind that he knew. He went from room to room—richly furnished living quarters, sitting rooms of marble, and even libraries—looked out of a dozen porches, doors, and windows. Gardens lay in every direction—hedges, fruit trees, fountains, pools surrounded by lilies, vines, every color of flower, every scent of herb and nectar. He set out on a path that led away from the palace. When he passed the hedge that bounded the property, his steps slowed. Looking ahead, he saw more gardens and another gleaming marble palace. He looked behind, to the porch he had just left. Then he ran ahead to this new structure. He ran through the new gardens, up the steps to the porch and through the archway to a small room.

It was the room where he’d woken up. It was the same chest by the pallet. He opened it to be sure, and found clothing arranged exactly as he’d left it. The food—fruit, cheese, wine—still sat on the table in the corner.

He went back outside, tried a different path, which again circled back to Apollo’s palace without ever curving. He ran, finding new paths, marking the ones he’d already tried by scattering rose petals at intersections. He must have run for miles, like Theseus in the labyrinth, searching for the one path that would take him away. But all paths returned to the palace.

Finally, he sat at the edge of a pool, letting his feet touch the murky, opaque water. He wasn’t as clever as Odysseus, not by half. That story he’d told to the Trojans—that was Odysseus’s story, and Odysseus would rightly get credit for it. Sinon was no hero.

Perhaps if he didn’t follow a path . . . He set off across a lawn, following no path at all. When he reached the hedge, he went through it, shoving into the mass of branches, not minding how the thorns clawed at him or the fine tunic he wore. He ripped his way to the other side, thinking he might actually find himself in a nonmagical garden this time.

At last, the branches gave way and he fell out of the hedge and onto a lawn. He brushed himself off, wincing at the stinging cuts on his arms.

Ahead stood a palace. The same palace he’d just left, the same garden, the same fountains. He looked behind, over the hedge to—the same palace. He was running in circles.

“It’s no use. You can’t leave until I say so.” Phoebus Apollo stood on the nearest path, twirling a rose between his fingers. “You’ll wear yourself out if you keep this up.”

Sinon squared his shoulders and met the sun god’s gaze. Stupid pride—he should be on his knees. That was what gods wanted, for men to fall on their knees and praise them. Maybe that was what Apollo was waiting for, and as soon as he did, Sinon could leave.

Apollo looked like a man, not even a great man. He was rather short, his build slim, however sculpted his muscles appeared. If he were a man, Sinon could cut him to pieces. He had done nothing to inspire Sinon to fall on his knees in worship.

Except move the sun across the sky each day and create divine music.

Apollo said, “Speak to me, Sinon. I want to hear your voice. The Trojans say you have a lovely voice.”

If only Sinon had remained anonymous, one of the faceless Greek soldiers. He’d be sailing home with Odysseus now. Assuming someone else had been able to play his part in the scheme.

“I am not awed by you.”

“I know. That’s why I decided to keep you. When you realized who I was, you didn’t cower, beg, or pray. No, you fought bitterly. Or tried to, which I admire. You kept your pride. You still do.”

“What do you want of me?” he asked like a common prisoner of a common captor.

“Your service. I’m in need of a valet. Perhaps even a bodyguard—at least, I have the need to pretend I need a bodyguard.” He chuckled.

“I will not serve you.”

“Give it time.”

“I’ll drown myself in one of your ponds.”

“Try it.” Apollo made a gesture, and the rose in his hand became a sword. He tossed it at Sinon.