Apollo nods grimly. He’s pale, as if he’s poured every last bit of himself into healing this stranger. “I’ve done what I can. He’ll need some time to heal.”
“He can stay here.” Even as I say it, I can hear the worry in my own voice, but no mortal would dare to harm a goddess. And if he did try, then I’d throw him into the ocean. Something about him, though—the way his face relaxes now that he’s free of pain, maybe—tells me he won’t.
“Ares won’t mind?” says Apollo, and I shrug.
“Ares isn’t here.” I can have another secret.
Apollo touches my face. Even his eyes are drained of color. “I miss you,” he says. “We’re all rooting for you and Ares, you know.”
I smile faintly. I don’t believe him. Artemis, Athena—even our aunts look down on this sort of reckless love. But it isn’t reckless if it’s real, and I’ll take their scorn if it means I get to be happy. They can remain in Olympus with Daddy, alone and miserable and full of cobwebs for the rest of forever. “Stay here tonight,” I say.
He doesn’t fight me, and soon enough he’s snoring in another corner. The fire dims to embers, but I don’t move for the rest of the night. I’m too afraid. Any moment, Daddy might find me; any moment, Ares might return. Any moment, the stranger might open his eyes.
Any moment, my world might change forever. Unless it already has.
I force myself to relax. I’m safe for now, and I have Eros. Daddy can’t take him away from me. He would never even try, knowing how badly it would hurt me.
Everything will be okay. I have to believe it—for Eros, for this stranger and for myself.
* * *
When Apollo leaves at sunset the next day, the stranger is still asleep. While the nymphs watch over him, I gather enough water, herbs and berries to keep him fed for a while—or at least I hope it’ll be enough. I don’t know how much mortals eat.
For the first time since Ares left me, I don’t go down to the beach that day. The perfect shell Eros found joins the hundreds of others we’ve collected in baskets that line the entrance of the grotto, but I barely think about it as I remain by the stranger’s side. One day won’t hurt. And this mortal needs me more than Ares needs my misery.
Apollo’s handiwork is impressive. The young man’s body is straight now, and the worst of his wounds are healed. His skin is still bruised, but at least his heart beats steadily. That’s something.
Shortly after the sun sets, the stranger’s breathing changes. It grows faster, more labored, and his good hand gropes around for something that isn’t there.
“Hold still,” I say, touching his knuckles. “You’ll hurt yourself.”
At last he opens his puffy eyes. Every other part of him is dark, but his irises are a pale gray, the color of stone. “Who…?” He stops and licks his lips. Clearly it’s painful to talk, and I know what he’s asking anyway. But I can’t tell him. He’d never believe me.
“I’m a friend,” I say. “Who are you?”
He tries to sit up, and a rattle echoes from deep within his chest. I don’t know much about mortal health, but that sound can’t be good.
“Lay back down,” I say, pushing his shoulders gently. He’s in no condition to fight me, and thankfully he doesn’t try. “I have food and water if you want it.”
He licks his lips again, and I take that as a yes. I pour a trickle of water into his mouth, and though he coughs, he manages to swallow most of it.
“Where…?” His voice isn’t as rough now, but it’s still hard to make out what he’s saying.
“You’re on my island. You’re safe here, I promise.”
“With you.” It isn’t a question. Even though I’m a stranger to him, he looks at me not as a threat, but like I’m some sort of savior. Maybe to him I am. There’s a certain sort of tenderness in the way he watches me, as if he knows I’m the reason he’s still alive even though he’s barely conscious, and it warms me from the inside out. I squeeze his hand affectionately. He is lucky. If Ares had been the one to find him, he would have had him by the tip of a sword the moment he’d stumbled across his broken body.
“Do you have a name?” I say.
Silence. The young man watches me with those pale eyes of his, and I bite my lip. I’m used to everyone staring at me. I enjoy it. But something about the way he looks at me—it’s like he can see past the beauty, and it makes me squirm.
“Rest,” I say. It’s the most I can offer him. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”
His eyes flutter shut once more, and I’m almost relieved. I don’t know who he is or where he comes from, but those gray irises speak of things I can’t even imagine. There’s a reason he survived—a reason the Fates didn’t cut the thread of his life. Whatever it is, I vow to make sure he finds out.
* * *
For sixteen days, the stranger is silent.
I watch over him while Eros remains in the care of my most trusted nymph, and in my head I call him Cyrus. It doesn’t exactly do me much good to name him; chances are it isn’t his real name, after all, and I never call him that aloud. But in my mind, Cyrus is more of a person, and it makes me feel better about the risks I took to save him.
Daddy doesn’t show up. Not on the first day, not on the second, not half a lunar cycle later. I’m on guard at first, ready to make my case and stomp my foot again if I have to. But either Daddy wasn’t watching Apollo closely, or for some reason he’s decided not to chase after me. I hope it’s the first. The idea that Daddy doesn’t care enough to try hurts too much.
Cyrus heals slower than I thought he would, but soon enough he’s sitting up. He eats and drinks everything I offer him, but he never asks for more, and I constantly worry that he’s not getting enough. Food’s important to the healing process for mortals, I know that, but how much is appropriate gnaws at me. I give him an extra bowl of berries, and he eats that, too. But he still heals too slowly.
His silence unnerves me, and I catch him watching me far too often, but it’s the love that radiates from him that baffles me. I’ve always been able to sense love, but this—it isn’t the kind of love I’m used to. It isn’t made of heat and desire, like Ares’s. It’s tender. It’s gentle, as if he wants to take care of me, even though I’m the one taking care of him. And even though I’m with Ares, even though he could come home any day, I slowly start to give in. I can’t help it—it’s one of my gifts, the inability to receive love without returning it, but I think even if it wasn’t, I would grow to care for him deeply. He’s kind, kinder than Ares has ever been, and his presence calms me even when I’m certain Daddy’s going to walk through the entrance to my grotto at any moment.