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Artemis had never seen her brother look so small.
Apollo always had to be the biggest and brightest thing in sight. He always had to take up as much space as he possibly could, always had to be impossible to ignore.
Lying on his bed, draped in light covers, he looked so awfully human that she was almost afraid to look away from him, like he would fall to pieces if she did. If she closed her eyes, all she could see was his head caving in and his chest collapsing in on itself and his stomach peeling apart and staining the white sheets red with blood.
She kept her eyes open.
Artemis had never been so terrified as when Apollo fell with Python. They had lost sight of him, and she hadn’t known where her brother was or what was happening to him or if he was even alive. She’d spent those days pacing the throne room, practically tearing herself in two as her forms split from worry.
She’d nearly lost it right then and there when he finally, finally came back to her, restored to his rightful place on his throne, and then promptly passed out and wouldn’t wake up no matter what she did.
She had taken Apollo to his bedroom, so he would be more comfortable when he finally woke up. Which he would.
She’d been there with him since. She refused to leave him for even a second. Other gods had come in and out, checking on her as much as him, she was sure.
Artemis had been falling apart for however many days she’d been there, the stress of the past months hitting her all at once. She’d gone from sobbing her heart out one moment to sitting completely still and silent to screaming at whoever was unfortunate enough to come in the room in a heartbeat. She’d switched forms so many times she’d nearly made herself sick.
She felt like she was losing her mind.
She knelt by Apollo’s side, her head pillowed on her folded arms resting on the edge of the bed. She wasn’t sure when she had last switched positions. If she were mortal, her knees would surely be aching.
If she were mortal.
She shook the thought from her head. She wasn’t mortal. She wasn’t mortal, and neither was Apollo anymore. They were both immortal, on Olympus, with ichor in their veins and skin free from scars, as they should be. They were safe. He was safe.
So why wasn’t he waking up?
“If you wake up now,” she said, lightly tracing patterns on the bare skin of his arms, “you and I can go on a hunt together. The two of us. Like we used to.”
It wasn’t the first promise she’d made him.
She would give him anything, anything at all that he asked for, if only he would wake up to ask her for it.
“I’ll listen to your poetry recitals. And let you try your new songs out on me. I won’t even complain.” She winced at the thought. “Well, maybe I’ll complain a little bit.”
At least if he was reciting his awful poetry, it would mean he was awake. If she had learned anything over the past year, it was that she would rather be annoyed by her brother than not have him at all.
“Please wake up,” she whispered. “Please, Ageletes. Please come back to me.”
She went still as Apollo suddenly shifted. Golden lashes fluttered for a moment, and then those brilliant blue eyes met hers.
Artemis smiled down at her brother, bright as the morning sun. “Took you long enough.”