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He nodded quickly. News of Odysseus! And to see Olympus.

“I must hear the words. Say it.”

“I promise.”

Apollo straightened, his arrogant smile returning. “Good.”

Phoebus Apollo dressed in gold, shimmering like the sun, and wore a circlet that gleamed with its own intense light. He garbed Sinon in a white silk chiton pinned with gold brooches, leaving much of his muscular chest and arms exposed. His beard was closely trimmed, his hair tied back with a gold ribbon. Apollo brought him to a doorway. Sinon had always thought it led to a closet, but Apollo slid back the screen, and beyond the door lay nothing, a shadow, featureless space.

“You will stand behind my chair and keep my goblet filled. Deliver messages if I need you to. Keep your head bowed, and keep your thoughts to yourself. Think of wool or fog if you must think of something. They won’t be able to read you so easily. Do not speak unless I give you permission, not even if Zeus himself asks you a question.”

“Zeus will be there?” Sinon blinked, feeling suddenly ill.

Apollo smirked. “Of course. Now remember, behave yourself.”

They stepped through the doorway. For a lurching moment, Sinon thought he had stepped off a cliff: his stomach turned, his mind felt dizzy, his feet tumbled over his head—But he took a second step and felt stone under his feet. He opened his eyes.

The stories told of a lofty palace, vast spaces capable of holding the heavens and filled with the blinding light of the gods, overwhelming to the eyes of mortals, inducing awe and madness.

In fact, Sinon walked on the stone base of a great bowl that had been cut out of the side of a hill. Tiers made of cracked and weathered stone, shining in the sun, had been built up one side, forming a hundred rows of benches that curved around and looked down upon the central floor. Every seat had a vantage, and the depression trapped sound. Footsteps echoed. A grove of trees closed in the other half of the circle. Sinon couldn’t see beyond to look for landmarks on the chance he might recognize the place. The sky above was blue, flecked with clouds, and he smelled the ocean on a slight breeze.

“What is this place?” Sinon asked breathlessly.

“An amphitheater. Athena’s design. In another five hundred years, I imagine they’ll be littered all over Greece.”

Without a second glance, Apollo strode forward into the plaza. Sinon followed, trying to show indifference.

On the central floor—the stage—a dozen chairs, gleaming white, made of ivory perhaps, sat in a circle. Beside each chair was a small table with a silver goblet and pitcher, and a tray of delicacies. Several people, dressed much like Sinon was, their gazes downcast, went from table to table, filling pitchers and trays with wine and food. Others stood by the chairs, meek and unmoving. Servants. Slaves. All mortal, Sinon thought.

He watched the people who weren’t servants. They stood apart, in twos or threes, studying each other across the room, talking quietly. They were regal, garbed in the richest fabric and jewels, their hair oiled and perfectly arranged, tied with strings of pearls and lapis. The men were broad of shoulder, proud of mien; the women slim, curved, gleaming with marble beauty. Imperious. The gods and goddesses of Olympus.

Their gazes turned to Apollo when he and Sinon came into view. Sinon hung back, not wishing to draw attention to himself—willing, for once, to defer to Apollo. Apollo nodded to the others, who nodded in return. Sinon felt some of their gazes pass over him, a pricking as his hair stood on end.

Think of nothing. Wool. Fog.

“Greetings, Brother. It’s been ages since I’ve seen you.” A woman in a short tunic belted with silver, wearing silver-laced sandals bounded up to Apollo like a young girl, or a deer. Where Apollo was light, she was dark, black hair tied with silver chains, her skin olive, her eyes intense.

“Greetings, Sister. It has been far too long.” Apollo touched her face and leaned in to kiss her cheek lightly. His smile seemed genuine. “Tell me, what’s the mood?”

“Everyone’s still cranky about Troy.” She rolled her eyes. “That’s why we should put men and women on different continents and have visiting days only once a year. Men and women together cause such problems.”

“That would not please some of our brethren as much as it would please you,” Apollo said.

Artemis pointedly looked Sinon up and down, studying him. Sinon kept his gaze on his toes. “He’s new, isn’t he? Very nice.”

“Yes. Thank you.”

Sinon was afraid he was blushing. He lifted his gaze enough to see Artemis wink at him before she went away. He let out a sigh.

Apollo glanced at him and chuckled. “My twin sister. Lovely, isn’t she? Don’t get any ideas. She’d eat you alive.”

Sinon snorted. “I’m only thinking about wool and fog, my lord, as you commanded.”

Apollo laughed.

One of the chairs was larger than the others. It had thick armrests and shimmering upholstery, and stood on a dais. An old man with gray hair and beard, a stern gaze, and heavy shoulders emerged from the grove of trees and moved to the chair. He drew attention to him—he was like the North Star pulling lodestones, the way everyone fell silent and looked at him. He stepped up on the dais and rested on his throne.

This was Zeus.