I'm extremely pleased to present you another chapter so soon after the last one!
I can't promise you that I will always be able to produce a new chapter so quickly, so please do not get used to it, I beg of you! :o Anyways, I wanted to thank all of you for all your lovely comments, kudos, bookmarks, etc. You have no idea how much that means to me. You guys feed my muse 3
By the way, I can't remember how (or if at all) Delos was portrayed in the books, but I imagine it as this beautiful, wild, tropical place.
I hope you'll like this chapter, there are some things definitely happening here.
Cheers!
3. ESCAPE
Apollo doesn't show up anymore.
Morning turns to noon, noon to evening, and before Percy knows it, another night has passed and another morning has arrived, but still Apollo doesn't come to see her again. She loses track of time after the first night. She doesn't sleep. She forces herself to keep her eyes open instead, sitting in the middle of the bed with her knees tucked against her chest. On the first morning, she goes to inspect the bathroom in hopes of finding something that might be helpful, but finds only a marble bathtub in the room's center with more golden faucets than she can count on one hand, a stone washbasin, and a secluded toilet.
When she comes back to the bedroom, a silver tray awaits her on the bed, atop of it the breakfast that Apollo promised to arrange. A goblet filled with sweet wine, honeyed milk, fluffy bread, goat's cheese, grapes, and succulent red berries. Percy doesn't touch any of it. She knows how Persephone got trapped in the Underworld. She ate one of the pomegranates. Nothing would make her eat the food that Apollo offered her, no matter how delicious, no matter how hungry she got.
The next morning, the silver tray vanishes into thin air only to be replaced by another breakfast, the same food, just fresh and new. Percy resists the urge to throw it against the wall and ignores it, even though her stomach aches with hunger. She only drinks the water from the washbasin faucet, not daring to sip from the wine or the milk.
She can't find a way out. She turns on the water in the bathtub but can't seem to control it.
The door remains locked, no matter how much she hits and kicks it.
The only company Percy has is the birdsong and the sound of waves lapping at the shore in the distance. Soon enough, desperation settles in, followed by a deep sense of panic and loneliness. She thinks about the dream she had of the pregnant woman, but can't see how that should be helpful. She tries to reach Grover through the empathy link but gets nothing of it. She even tries to call Mrs. O'Leary but gives up on it after what feels like a hundred futile attempts.
It's on that second day that her gaze locks on a trunk in a far corner of the room, shrouded in shadows. It looks simple enough, encased in soft black leather. She approaches it cautiously. Kneeling down in front of it, Percy unfastens the latch and flips the top open with a creak of the hinges.
A moment's look is enough to tell her that this is far from the clothing she usually wears. The trunk is filled with brightly colored silks and carefully wrapped pieces of jewelry. She has never seen these clothes, but many of them have clasps and embellishments ornately carved into seashells and fish, and "PJ" is embroidered in the plush satin lining of the trunk's lid.
Her first instinct is to close the trunk and leave it be. Maybe even throw those clothes at Apollo's head when he shows his face again, tell him that he can go screw himself if he thinks she would wear something like that around him, as he has probably had in mind when designing the trunk for her.
But then an idea strikes her, hard and fast.
Getting to her feet, Percy runs through the curtains and onto the balcony. She falters, breath hitching in her throat for a brief moment as she takes in the view before her. The sun is blazing in the pure blue sky, and a jungle stretches out as far and wide as her eyes can see. She can hear the hum of dragonflies in the bushes coming alive. Fruits ripening and falling to the ground bursting, spreading rich juicy fragrances in the air. Beyond that, a bottomless blue sea. She has only seen the island shredded in darkness, and even then it left a lasting impression on her, but now, in bright daylight, the view is so beautiful she wants to cry. Cry because in every other situation she would have allowed herself to appreciate it all, but now she is so far removed from the rest of the world that the beautiful landscape feels like a punch to her face.
Percy tears her eyes away from the view, and looks down. Beneath the balcony, a vast garden blooms in a thousand flowers. It's not as high up as it seemed at night, but still a queasy feeling takes hold of her. Enough of that, she tells herself firmly. The curse of Achilles will protect me from any serious harm. It's the only plan she has for now, the only chance of escape.
She hurries back to her room and begins her work.
Rummaging through the trunk, she removes long, flowy gowns of ocean blue, striking and intricately designed tunics of purest white, and even Greek chitons embroidered with finest lace. The clothes are stunning, the handiwork immaculate. Percy can't help wondering if someone else had already worn the pieces, or if they were indeed newly fabricated.
No matter, she thinks with a deep self-satisfaction as she pictures Apollo's face once he sees her work, they won't be of any use to me anyways.
She's done after about an hour or so she thinks. There is no clock here, and she has already lost all sense of time. But still, with her heart pounding almost to her throat, Percy closely inspects the thick, long rope she has made of the clothes, each gown and tunic tied together in firm knots. Satisfied with her work, she gives herself a mental pat on the shoulder and drags her rope onto the balcony, securing one end around a stone pillar and throwing down the other end over the rail. It lands on the ground with a dull thud.
"Here we go," Percy whispers to herself, swinging her left leg over the rail, her hands tightly grasping the rope of clothes. Slowly, she begins to descend along the stone wall of the fort, her palms getting sweatier with every inch she comes closer to the ground.
Luckily, it's not a slow climb down.
Faster than she expected, she finds firm earth under her feet and untangles herself from the rope. Looking up, squinting against the bright sunlight, she eyes the balcony that is now above her, her prison bedroom only a memory deeply ingrained into her brain. Ivy curls along the stone walls of the palace, and she sees now that there are other rooms, rooms with windows that have pink roses growing around their frames.
Remembering the fairy tales her mother had read to her once, when she had been little, Percy thinks that the palace looks like it came straight from one of those stories, shiny und beautiful, enchanted to tempt young maidens or unassuming children into its terrifying depths.
Tearing her eyes away from it, Percy faces the garden stretching out in front of her.
It starts from a little stone path, the blossoms. Bleeding hearts and fiery poppies and strange flowers she has never seen before … and are those blue lilies? The tree trunks are flame-red, bowed down by their white boughs. Juniper trees and silver firs, primroses in fat bunches, easing their way out of fissures in sun-warmed rocks. The garden shimmers and shifts in light and shadows, blazing in the tint of a thousand flowers. Here and there a marble bench, a small stone fountain, a birdbath of quartz.
It's more beautiful than anything Percy has ever seen. It could easily compete with what she has glimpsed of Olympus's royal gardens.
Right there in the clearance, for just the space of a few heartbeats, she wants nothing more than to stay here. Just be on her own on this little island, without Apollo and far, far away from any wars and gods and monsters. She can easily picture herself, living out the rest of her life here in this place, eating plums and berries in this garden, surrounded by nothing but birdsong, the hum of insects, and the scent of salty sea air.
An ache spreads inside Percy's chest, a longing for something she knows she can't have, and then, with a deep breath, she runs through the garden and plunges into the wilderness.
She doesn't know how much times has passed since her climb down the palace walls, but as she runs through what she quickly recognizes as a rain forest, a deep exhaustion starts to settle over her, her breaths becoming shallower and louder. The aftermaths of no sleep and no food are beginning to wear her down. Even though the curse of Achilles will certainly protect her from any injuries, it won't prevent her from getting tired. What had Chiron once said to her? Achilles himself slept twenty hours a day when he wasn't fighting.
Percy grits her teeth, running a little faster.
Once she passes a huge tree with a gleaming black snake coiled around one of its lower branches. Then she comes to an abrupt stop when she stumbles upon a grown leopard resting in a patch of sunlit grass. The animal blinks at her lazily, yawning and revealing razor-sharp fangs, but it goes back to sleep once it has deemed her to be harmless enough and Percy bolts past it as fast as she possibly can. She sees no other animals after that, but she is aware of hundreds of eyes watching her from the bushes, hiding up in the trees, chirps and hums coming from everywhere at once, twigs snapping and leaves rustling.
Her feet fail to carry her any longer when day slowly starts turning into night, the sky melting into colors of deep purple and orange.
She stops, settling down on a wobbly rock, and buries her head in her hands. Gods, how much longer did she have to run? How much longer until she would find a way back home? How much until … She clenches her jaw, closing her eyes firmly shut when they start to well with tears.
If she could just …
"Just where do you think you're going?"
Percy's heart sinks to her stomach. Dread fills her from head to toe. Her head snaps up, and she jumps off the rock, going in defensive mode as she comes to face Apollo, who leans against a tree, his arms crossed in front of his chest. He is dressed like a regular human, sleeveless shirt, jeans, and loafers; just like that first time when they met, years ago on a snowy cliff after Annabeth had plunged over the edge on the back of a Manticore. Now, he simply stares at her, a scowl plastered to his face.
"Away," Percy hisses in response. "Away from you and this damned place!"
The scowl on his face smooths out, and he bites back a sigh. "Haven't I told you there is no escape, Percy?"
The way her name falls from his tongue makes her flinch violently and retreat a few steps back. "I don't care what you told me. I will get away from here."
Apollo raises a golden eyebrow. "Well, good luck with that, Percy."
She releases a yell, an angry, frustrated thing of a sound that sounds more animal than human, and picks up a small rock, throwing it at him. He sidesteps smoothly. "Are you still angry with me, my love? Come on, we've had a little spat. I'm over it already." To underline his words, he sends her a grin, all white teeth and dimples. There are more than several nymphs, goddesses, and mortals alike that have fallen victim to that smile, she's sure of it.
"Don't ever, ever call me 'my love'," Percy growls, narrowing her eyes into green slits.
His grin widens. "Or what, my love?"
She curls her hands into fists. Her stomach tightens as if in a knot, a deep source of power churning inside her, and she wishes so to call upon the ocean, to drown him, make him gasp for breath, make him regret for ever taking her away from her friends. But she cannot. It's like something's in the way, a door or something that blocks her powers.
"Where are we?" she asks, a question she's already voiced to him.
This time, Apollo answers her.
"Delos," he says simply. "My birthplace."
Her mouth forms a silent Oh. She stares at him wordlessly for a while, then lowers herself down on the same rock he'd found her sitting on. She buries her head in her hands again. Panic, sudden and strong, sweeps through her like a wave, settling in her chest. How was she supposed to get off this island when this island was the very same that had such strong ties to him? That had provided his mother shelter when she gave birth to him and Artemis?
"Delos protected you and your mother and sister from the wrath of Hera," Percy concludes hoarsely. "It makes you safe from anyone on the outside. Is that why I can't use my powers against you? Why my sword disappeared? Because the island knows I could harm you, and its magic protects you from that?"
She lifts her head, looking to him for confirmation.
Apollo remains silent, simply staring back.
Everything about seems sharper and focused for some reason. The gold in his eyes seems to stand out even in the dim twilight of the forest, and it strikes her, momentarily, that he really is beautiful.
His hair is very fair, a soft golden color, falling to one side in textured sweeps. He is tall. Muscular, if the ripped physique evident under his clothes is any indication. His cheeks slope sharply towards his upturned mouth. Every part of his face is symmetrical. His skin is a dark, gold-tinged bronze in the rapidly dwindling light, and his eyes are golden and clearer and sharper than they've ever been, much like warm honey in a jar set alight by a shaft of sunlight.
Percy almost wants to laugh.
He doesn't even possess the hard quality of beauty that often comes with cheekbones and a build as his, but is like a summer, blooming and warm. Even the timbre of his voice radiates vitality―warm, and deep, and passionate like a violin. It's hard to be afraid of someone as refined and beautiful as he is, and yet he's shown himself to be crueler than some of the other gods she's had the displeasure of meeting.
She can see why he has such a long list of lovers and children.
No one can fear what they can't help admiring.
"Very good," he says, finally, and looks at her almost with pride for figuring it out.
Percy tears her eyes away from him, disgust and loathing burning in her veins among other various emotions. She just wants to leave. She wants to go to sleep in her cabin at Camp Half-Blood and discover that this was only a nightmare. She certainly doesn't want Apollo to watch her like she is the greatest thing he's ever laid eyes upon.
"Why won't you just let me go?" she whispers, staring at her own hands. "I just want to go home."
She feels rather than sees him sitting down next to her. The air around him smells like summer. She wants to choke.
"You will know soon, my love," Apollo murmurs, his body radiating warmth like a heater in the midst of winter. When he moves to tuck her hair behind her ear, Percy finds her fire again and bolts away from his touch. She can't take it any longer. She feels like screaming with every 'my love' that leaves his mouth. She feels like she can't breathe with him in her space.
Her lips pressed into a thin line, she spits out, "Don't you ever dare touch me!"
His hand flops down, disappointment and anger battling over dominance on his face. "Fine," he says thinly, and then, holds his palms up as if surrendering. "I won't touch you. But I can promise you, Percy, that you will soon change your mind." He moves to his feet in one fluid, smooth movement and stalks closer to her. His eyes rest on her face, his expression suddenly open and beguiling. "Soon, the touch of my hands will be the only thing you'll want to feel."
That frightens her.
Various stories from Ancient Greece rush to her mind―lovesick gods raping young girls, tricking innocent maidens into their beds, unable to accept rejection.
Apollo seems to see right through her, because his expression changes in an instant and he comes to a stop before her.
"Relax, Percy," he says, amused, and winks at her. "I won't bite." He tilts his head, blinks at her. "Unless, of course, you want me to."
She lashes out like an animal, but just as she is about to strike him, he snaps his fingers and teleports her back into her prison bedroom, the one she hoped to escape from. The last thing she sees is his mouth lifting in a dazzling grin and a gentle wind rustling through his hair.
Something is going to happen.
That is Aphrodite's first thought as she materializes in the throne room, settling down on her seat of power. She watches intently as the other gods appear, trying to read from their faces if they know why an emergency council meeting has been convened. They look just as confused as she herself feels, though. It's another few minutes that it takes for Zeus to appear, in a dramatic flash of lightning, his master bolt sparking in his hands.
Then, another minute, for everyone to quiet down.
"Dionysus," Zeus begins in a rumbling tone, nodding to his youngest son, "you called for this meeting, so I'm curious to know as to why. Let us hear what you have to say."
"Thank you, father," Dionysus responds sarcastically. For once, his face is not buried in a wine magazine. There's also a hesitance to his voice, and when he sends Poseidon a quick cautious look, Aphrodite leans forward, her interest suddenly increasing. "It has come to the camp's attention that … well, we have a camper missing."
The other gods frown in confusion, not quite understanding.
"So?" Ares grunts, twirling a knife between his fingers. "Probably got eaten by some monster in the city. What does that concern us?"
"You don't understand," Dionysus sighs, getting impatient. "The camper has disappeared from within the camp's borders. And it's not just any camper, dearest brother. It's the Jackson brat."
The silence and shocked looks come almost instantly.
Poseidon stands from his throne, his face nearly blank and set in a tight guarded look.
"My daughter is missing?" he demands, and Dionysus shrinks back a little as the god directs his powerful gaze at him.
"Athena's brat found out. Chiron and the cabin counselors led a search party throughout the entire camp and its surroundings, but there's no sign of her. As they have deduced, she was taken in the proximity of the lake," Dionysus explains quickly, and then adds, with a moment's hesitation, "Only a god could have gotten into camp to take her."
The council bursts into whispers and then into shouts, as each of them defend themselves. Hestia watches from her hearth with a sad, disappointed look on her face and in her eyes.
"WHO OF YOU DARED TO TAKE MY DAUGHTER!" Poseidon booms, summoning his trident into his hand, gripping it so tightly that his knuckles turn white. Fury blazes in his deep green eyes, and the air around him turns tense and dangerous, like the air does right before a storm.
"Aphrodite and I were on a date together," Ares protests quickly.
"I'm busy delivering your messages, I don't even have time to kidnap someone," Hermes defends himself.
"I was cruising around in my sun chariot," Apollo throws in.
Demeter sniffs disdainfully. "Perhaps you should ask Hades, dear brother, he is most familiar with abducting young maidens."
Aphrodite remains silent, not daring to voice her suspicions. She watches Apollo from the corner of her eyes, how he leans back in his golden throne, pretending to be uninterested and unbothered, but his eyes are quick and alert. She is aware of his feelings for the young demigoddess, of course she is, love is her domain after all, but she didn't think he would actually dare act on them. Everyone knows how protective Poseidon is of his first and only mortal daughter. Only a fool would steal Percy away.
The shouts continue to get increasingly louder, until Zeus sends a flash of lightning across the ceiling. "SILENCE!" he bellows, and the room grows quiet.
Poseidon turns to look at his brother. "Zeus," he growls, "I know you don't like us interfering with our children's lives, but I am telling you here and now―I will not rest until my daughter is found. I will send out a search party myself, Triton will assist me. We will roam the oceans for a sign of her and then continue on land." When Zeus open his mouth to protest, Poseidon adds, "She saved Olympus. We owe her that much. Even you can admit that."
Zeus grumbles something about stupid overprotective brothers and, finally, says, "All right. Keep me briefed on your progress."
Poseidon inclines his head and then turns to face the other gods, his voice lowering until it was dangerously quiet, "If I find out that any of you had something to do with my daughter's disappearance, then so help you the Fates. I will let you taste the power of this trident, and I will drag you to the depths of the ocean myself. You will know what eternal pain means. And after I am done with you, which might take about two millennia, I will personally throw you into Tartarus. Have I made myself clear?"
No one says anything, but Poseidon's message is received loud and clear.
With one last murderous look at the council, Poseidon slams his trident into the ground and disappears in whirl of wind and storm.
"Well," Apollo says awkwardly, staring at the spot where the sea god has stood, "isn't he a ray of rainbows and puppies?" The gods turn to glare at him. He scratches the back of his head sheepishly. "Just trying to lighten the mood, don't get your knickers in a twist."
One by one, the gods leave the throne room, still whispering about the sudden turn of events.
Aphrodite falls back until she has clear sight of Apollo. Just as he is about to disappear, she catches him by his arm, holding him back.
Now, as the goddess of beauty and love, she looks different depending on the person looking at her, but she is still surprised when her previously chestnut-colored hair darkens until it is deepest black against sun-kissed skin, twisting and curling over her back. She doesn't need a mirror to know that her eyes are now a brilliant sea-green and her facial features softer, her jawline sharper, and her nose more upturned. She smiles at Apollo knowingly, biting back a chortle when he blinks at her, stunned.
"Well, well," she purrs. "It seems that Percy Jackson has become your ideal standard of beauty. Ironic, isn't it, considering we've just discussed the matter of her sudden disappearance?"
Apollo glowers at her. "What do you want, Aphrodite?"
She looks left and right, ensuring everyone else has already left before dragging him into a chamber that is usually reserved for after council meetings.
"Aphrodite, what is the meaning of this?"
She purses her lips disapprovingly. "Did you take her?"
Apollo's eyes flare up. "Are you insane?"
"Am I?" Aphrodite shoots back. "Don't try to paint me as a fool here, Apollo. I know about your feelings for Percy Jackson. I've known since the day you met her. I am the goddess of love. Matters of the heart never go unnoticed by me."
He raises his eyebrows and meets her eyes confidently. "I really don't know what you're talking about."
"Look," Aphrodite sighs, putting her hands on her hips, "I can't say that I approve. We both know what happened when Hades decided to take Persephone into the Underworld. The world almost didn't recover from Demeter's wrath. But it's Poseidon's child now. Can you imagine what will happen when he unleashes his anger on the world? What will happen if he finds out that you took his daughter? It'll end in a civil war, Apollo. The gods will have to pick sides. And I'm not Ares, I don't particularly enjoy warring."
She looks for a sign that her words got through to him, but Apollo merely shrugs. "Your point?"
"My point?" Aphrodite repeats. "What …?" She narrows her eyes as she studies him, sensing the difference in his demeanor. Something quite like disappointment rises inside her. She has almost forgotten that he didn't always use to be this good-natured, easy-going god. "I see," she says quietly. "You've decided to revert back to your old nature."
"Don't tell me you don't wish sometimes to go back to your old nature." A glint appears in Apollo's eyes. "If I recall correctly, it was you who made Smyrna fall in love with and seduce her own father. You manipulated Theseus into killing Hippolytus. And don't get me started on your little love fest with Adonis and Persephone."
Aphrodite sneered disdainfully. "This isn't about me, Apollo. I'm trying to tell you that Poseidon will tear you apart once he finds out. And he will find out, you won't be able to hide his daughter forever."
"Let him find out," Apollo responds heatedly. "Let's see how they'll like a world plunged into darkness. I'd sooner burn the world down to ashes than see her leave my side."
"You'll scare her away if you're like that," Aphrodite says, narrowing her eyes.
"You underestimate her."
"Possibly." She pauses, considers him with cunning eyes. "Though, I do admit that I wonder―why didn't you use Eros's arrows? It would make it far more easier for you. Would spare you a lot of time."
Apollo hesitates, clearly not having anticipated that question. He stays silent for a brief moment while Aphrodite continues staring him down. "Because," he says eventually, his voice dropping to a softer, more thoughtful tone, "I need it to be her choice."
Aphrodite nods, happy with his answer. "Then I guess not all hope is lost." She releases a deep sigh, placing a her palm on his arm. "Just beware of Poseidon. You won't be able to take him on by yourself. You will need help. And … be kind to Percy. She is an extraordinary half-blood. You won't get far with violence. Force won't get it done. You have to work from the inside. Make her see you, charm her, seduce her, show her that it's not just a game to you. That she won't end up alone and heartbroken and with child."
Apollo considers her warily. "Why do you care so much? Don't you thrive on heartbreak?"
She laughs, the sound bitter and tired. "I do not thrive on heartbreak. I've had too much of it already. I may pick my favorites, but I will always hope for a happy ending. And as for why I care so much; well, I, too, have a soft spot for this girl."
Percy Jackson is burning, blinding light―the candle that many moths plunge into. The amount of love she draws from the people around her has never failed to amaze Aphrodite. The love she is able and always so willing to give is an inspiration. A fire so bright it's almost all-consuming.
"I will not tell," she promises. "And if it comes to a fight, I will be on your side."
Apollo nods slowly, accepting her answer. Still he doesn't seem happy with her interference.
Aphrodite is almost on her way out, when he asks another question, "Does she … does she feel something for me?"
She purses her lips, turning back to face him. "No," she says softly, pity on her face. When his expression darkens, she adds, "Not yet. It is not too late, Apollo. She can come to love you. But you will have to convince her that she won't regret her decision."
With those last words, she makes her way out of the chamber and leaves him alone to his thoughts.
That night, storms and hurricanes rage over the east coast, leaving devastation in their wake, and Aphrodite knows it's only the beginning. Still, she can't help the feeling of giddiness that overcomes her.
It's, after all, only love that can leave such an impact on the world.