“Only…” Isis’s dark eyes narrowed, and her fingers pressed into her bottom lip.
“What sister?”
Isis released a tightly held breath. “He doesn’t know who you are, not really. He doesn’t know our story. No one can love a lie.”
Medea’s heart sank, and a stone formed in the pit of her stomach at the word. Had she, despite her efforts not to, deceived Tavyss?
“Nonsense. What does he think she is?” Circe tossed up her hands. “Nymphs don’t do magic. After this long, he must suspect that Medea is a witch, and if he doesn’t, it’s his fault for not using his head.”
“No, Circe, Isis is right. I’ve misled him in the most awful way.” A wave of guilt crashed into Medea as the truth of the matter became crystal clear. Her voice hitched. “He’s the Guardian at the Gate, and we are here without Hera’s permission. He doesn’t know everything about our parents or what we are. I… I have to tell him the entire truth. If I don’t, someday he’ll find out, and then everything we’ve built will be torn to shreds. When I see him this afternoon, I must explain it all to him.”
“You’re seeing him again? Today?” Isis grinned.
“Yes, and this time please give us privacy. If I have to use a spell, I will.” The glare Medea gave her sisters showed she was serious.
“Fine,” Circe said. Isis reluctantly bowed her head in agreement. “But I want to hear everything when it’s over.”
* * *
Medea waited in the grove,surrounded by golden apple trees, as the sun began to set and the fuchsia light glinted off the metallic fruit. Tavyss arrived in the blink of an eye, his wings still outstretched from flight, his gaze reaching for her.
“You came,” she said.
His golden gaze locked onto her, and her insides seemed to melt under the warm honey. “I couldn’t wait to see you.”
He strode toward her. At first she thought he meant to take her into his arms and kiss her again. But then he stopped short, his expression hard to read, and took a seat beside her on the mossy knoll.
Should she tell him now about who she really was? Their eyes locked and her stomach gave a delicious flutter that sent a bloom of sparks through her insides. She glanced away, unable to work up the courage to go through with it.
“Have you ever wondered what they taste like?” she asked, glancing up toward the golden apples. “The nymphs who gather the fallen ones say that if you eat the fruit, it can kill you. They say it holds too much power and destroys you from within.”
Tavyss snorted. “Centuries tending this garden and they’ve never taken a bite.”
“It’s forbidden! If they want to remain here, they have to follow Hera’s rules.”
“Hera is a narcissist who would rather her fruit rot on the ground than someone else enjoy it.”
Medea gasped and looked over both shoulders. “Shhh. You shouldn’t say such things. What if she’s listening?”
He leaned back on his elbows and stared up at the sky. “She never comes here.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I know her.” He picked the side of his nail. “She gave me the job of guarding the gate after all.”
“Then if you know her, why doesn’t she ever come here?”
“This garden was a gift from Gaea on her wedding day to Zeus. He treats her like dirt. The god has never been faithful and largely ignores her now. This garden is a reminder of everything she was promised on the day she was wed that never came to fruition,” he said.
“How sad. Can’t she live her own life since he’s obviously living his?”
“Oh, she tries. The problem is no man, certainly no god, would risk angering Zeus by being with her. She’s a lonely, angry, and bitter goddess. Those nymphs are right to fear her, but the truth is that the apples are harmless.”
She mirrored his position, shoulder to shoulder with him. The sky was streaked with purple now, and she enjoyed the stretch of heat down her side that his presence created as she stared up at it in wonder. “You suspect the apples are harmless, but how can you know for sure? Just because they were a gift from a titan doesn’t mean they are safe for those who are not gods to consume. They could be like ambrosia, deadly to others than the gods.”
He chuckled, then stood in one smooth motion. Spreading his wings, he lifted off the ground and flew to the top of the tree, plucking a perfect gold apple from the branches. He landed and offered it to her. “Would you like to know for yourself?”
Shocked, Medea stared at the forbidden fruit cradled in the nest of his fingers. The apple was the same color as his eyes. She pushed it away with both hands. “Are you mad?” she whispered. “Be rid of it!”
