In fact, I’d been doing that from the beginning.
And one could say that, so far, with a few minor blips that were mostly my fault, I hadn’t done too badly.
So I set my glass aside, linked my hands in my lap and sought an easy subject of conversation.
I decided on, “What’s your horse’s name?”
He sat back in his chair and leveled his eyes on me.
Again, a simple movement, a simple posture.
And totally hot.
“Torment,” he answered.
I blinked because, although that was a kickass name, it was also a strange one.
“Really?”
“Yes.”
I didn’t know what to say.
“His sister guides your sleigh,” Apollo continued.
“What’s her name?” I inquired.
“Anguish.”
I blinked again.
Then I threw out a hand. “Those are, well…interesting names.”
“They were born of the same mare at the same time. Rare and dangerous,” he told me. “Usually, if a mare produces twins, one or both of the foals or the mare will perish during birth. If a foal was to survive, it would be small and sickly and not last long. Unusually, Torment and Anguish both were strong healthy foals, if still small.” He reached to his glass and took a sip, finishing his story as he put the glass back to the table. “However, they killed their mother at birth.”
“Oh my God,” I whispered.
“She was Ilsa’s. They were born within a week of her dying.”
Shit.
Well, there you go. The reason for their names.
I decided not to reply.
“Surprisingly,” he carried on. “They grew healthy and strong. A miracle. One built on tragedy but one nonetheless.”
“Yes, a miracle,” I murmured, reaching for my own wineglass and looking away when I took a sip.
“We must speak of them.”
At his words, I looked back to him, not understanding. “Sorry?”
“They existed. We can’t pretend they did not. Burying memories, treasured or detested, is unhealthy,” he explained.
He was talking of Ilsa and Pol and he was doing it matter-of-factly.
He was also right, of course.