A Touch of Ruin (Hades & Persephone #2) - Scarlett St. Clair Page 0,91
the crowd boo, the earlier hypnosis they’d experienced while listening to his music, gone. “Or me, the God of Music.”
The crowd cheered, and Apollo shoved the mic in her face. She could feel her heart beating hard in her chest and sweat beaded on her forehead. She hated these lights; they were too bright and too hot.
She looked at Apollo and then at Marsyas, who seemed just as frightened by what she might say.
She spoke, her lips brushing the hard metal of the mic.
“Marsyas.”
That was when all hell broke loose.
The crowd cried in protest and some rushed the stage. At the same time, the burly men who had dragged the satyr to the stage, returned and grabbed him again, forcing him to his knees.
“No, no, please!” It was the first time the young man had spoken. He pleaded with her, his dark eyes desperate, “Take it back! Lord Apollo, I was wrong to speak against your talent. You are superior!”
But his pleas fell on deaf ears because Apollo only had eyes for Persephone.
“You dare defy me?” he said through his teeth. His jaw was clenched so hard, the veins in his neck popped.
“There is no fine print, Apollo. Marsyas was better than you.”
It didn’t help that she had never actually liked Apollo’s music.
The god’s fury soon turned to amusement, and a wicked smile cut across his beautiful face. The sudden change in his demeanor turned her blood to ice.
“Jury, judge, and executioner, Persephone.”
He turned toward the crowd.
“You have heard Persephone’s verdict,” he cried into the mic. “Marsyas, the winner.”
The crowd was still angry. They shouted obscenities and threw things at the stage. Persephone ducked behind Apollo.
“Careful,” he warned. “She is protected by Hades.”
She found it odd that he would say that, thinking he might prefer that she face the abuse, but at his reminder, the crowd calmed.
“Though Marsyas is the winner, he is still guilty of Hubris. How shall we punish him?”
“Hang him!” someone yelled.
“Gut him!” another said.
“Flay him!” several cried. The cheers were the loudest then.
“So be it!” Apollo returned the mic to its cradle and twisted toward Marsyas who was struggling in the arms of the men who held him.
“Apollo, you cannot be serious!” Persephone reached for him, and the god shoved her aside.
“Hubris is the downfall of humanity and should be punished,” he said. “I will be the punisher.”
“He is a child!” she argued. “If he is guilty of Hubris, you are, too. Is your pride too wounded to let him live?”
Apollo clenched his fists. “His death is on your hands, Persephone.”
The goddess jumped in front of him, blocking Marsyas from view.
“You will not touch him. You will not hurt him!” She was desperate, and she feared she might lose control. She could feel her magic pulsing, making her flesh tingle and her hair rise.
Apollo laughed. “And how will you stop me?”
Apollo’s magic surrounding her, suffocating her with the smell of laurel. She glared at him.
“Now,” he turned back to Marsyas. “Let the skinning begin.”
Persephone felt nauseous.
This can’t be happening.
Apollo summoned a blade from thin air, its edges gleamed beneath the burning lights.
Persephone struggled to free herself, but the more she resisted, the heavier Apollo’s magic felt.
She watched, wide-eyed and terrified as Apollo knelt before the satyr, and pressed the blade to his cheek.
When she saw blood drip down his face, she lost control.
“Stop!” she screamed at the top of her lungs. Her magic fled from her body. It was an unusual feeling, like it was coming out of all her pores and her mouth and her eyes. It burned as if it were tearing skin and blinded as if it were pure light.
When the feeling faded, she was shocked to find everyone frozen: Apollo, his men, the crowd, everyone except Marsyas.
The satyr stared at Persephone, face pale and stained with crimson from the wound Apollo had made.
“Y-you’re a goddess.”
Persephone rushed to him and tried to pry the man’s fingers from the satyr’s arm, but they were wrapped too tightly. Frantic, she looked for another option. She didn’t know how long her magic would hold. She wasn’t even sure how she’d managed to freeze the whole room.
Then her eyes fell to the knife Apollo held inches from Marsyas’ face. She reached for it, and the slick handle slipping from his grasp. She took a few deep breaths before cutting into the man’s fingers so that Marsyas could free himself.