It didn’t matter what else happened to Cora. No matter what journeys or torments lay ahead, even if she were thrown from the mountain heights to her ruin among the rocks. No matter if she was a slave in this palace for the rest of her days. It was worth it, just thinking of the feast to come.

The tree nymphs were not themselves part of the tangled trees. They pulled themselves free as gently as a spirit passes dying lips. They bore the shape of humans, but unmistakably their skin was textured like bark; the veins of leaves ran bright beneath. The servants of the Gods were half plant themselves. Their heads were all twigs and branches, with sprouting flowers and leaves in place of hair. They bowed their heads before Hera’s storm, not looking up again until the pressure of the Goddess faded. Whispering, giggling behind Hera’s back, they followed. Beckoned to Cora, laughing, sharing her secret. She was one of them now.

They traveled through the tangled garden a good distance behind Hera. More Nymphs peeled themselves free of the trees and joined their procession toward the palace. Some of them were beginning to sing, and it seemed music played through the wind and the branches. Cora half imagined the notes of a lyre. There was no sign of Apollo since his departure, but she felt his eyes on her still, just as when she flew blind through the night.

Cora was tired and said little. She listened to the Nymphs talk to her about their duties at the palace. Things were kept clean by magic, and the ambrosia of the Gods was prepared in secret without the nymphs. Mostly they would attend to the Gods directly, caught up in their willful passions of the moment.

“It’s dangerous work, of course.” Meliae, the younger nymph, smiled too wide for a human. Her skin split and reformed as healing bark. She was more proud of being in danger than she was of the duties. “We’re often tasked by one God to do something which runs contrary to the plans of another. We know one of them will be angered by whatever we do! They often punish the messenger, unless we are artful in our delivery and method.”

“So it is with our passions,” Oreads said sagely. “One desire always conflicts with another. If we are too hasty to satisfy one, then surely we will suffer the consequences.”

“Thank you for helping me, all the same,” Cora said. “I do hope Hera won’t do anything bad to you.”

“She’s too distracted by the tournament of the Gods.”

“I do not understand. What are they competing for? What could the Gods possibly want that they don’t already have?”

“Their father’s love,” Oreads said. There was always a sad note to her song.

“Apollo told me that Poseidon cheated. Is this true?”

The nymphs laughed, a chorus of yes and no at once. And that made them laugh all the harder.

The trees gave way to low shrubs here. The gardens were becoming more tame as they progressed up the mountain. Then Cora saw the palace itself, shining marble in the dawn. The rocky crag which cradled Olympus was an island in itself. It was built an impossibility, rising from the center of a steaming sea of magical currents. Innumerable marble stairs rose from the water, all the way up to soaring heights amidst the colored clouds. Great pillars of the palace bore soaring halls which entered the mountain itself. Those outside were capped with golden domes, brighter whose glory must spark jealousy in the sun.

“I do think Poseidon cheated,” Meliae said firmly. “The tournament is much more than a squabble. Zeus plans to announce the true prize at the feast tonight. All the Gods have attended the trials for years. All have been eliminated one by one, by failure or surrender to the impossible tasks Zeus set them to. Now only Apollo and Poseidon remain.”

“How did Poseidon cheat? I can’t say I’m sympathetic to him, after he tried to drown me.”

“You will see for yourself at the feast.”

Cora was so tired she thought she would never arrive. And when she got there, she still had to be a servant! At least she was able to rest for a while on the ferrywhich carried them to the base of the marble stair.

It wasn’t a feast like Cora imagined it though. Sure, there was the music, and the bonfires roaring. The ground trembled beneath the dancing Gods. It was a party no doubt, but there was no food, or anything for her to sink her teeth into. Instead, a fountain flowed with rich orange mist. It poured from the mouths of marble statues, depicting fearsome beasts, or leering titans and ogres. The ambrosia pooled in stone basins where the Gods dipped chalices into. Each God brought their own chalice, unique and masterful in its craftsmanship. But the nymphs were allowed to drink too. Cora followed the guide of Meliae as they dipped into the stone basin and drank Ambrosia with their hands.

Ambrosia more satisfying than any corporeal food. It wasn’t liquid, or solid exactly, but more like drinking a dense cloud. It was soft and delicate, and melted in your mouth, only to expand within you and fill you with the most incredible intoxicating warmth.

Cora wiped her mouth, though nothing was there. Then turning in shock, she found herself facing the giant horns of a golden bull. It began to charge, and she dove aside to cower on the other side of the fountain. She would have been trampled a moment later if she’d stayed. The bull ran straight into the stone basin, leaping to splash. It rolled to bathe itself, sending up a massive plume of fragrance like a bomb. The Ambrosia floated softly through the air, only to break up into clouds which rained and dribbled the heavenly orange drink back to earth. If earth they still remained at all, with such wonders all around.

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“Careful now,” Meliae sang in Cora’s ear.

“Where did a bull come from? Who invites a bull to a party?” Cora asked in shock.

“It came from Apollo. It was his gift to his father, the fruit of their last competition. Each God was given the task to create the most powerful animal, as befitting a gift for all powerful Zeus. To give falsity or weakness would be an insult to the King. Apollo has given his creation the strength of the sun.”

The creature was glorious to behold. Its fur shed the ambrosia which flowed as beams of light.

“Did Poseidon create one as well?” Cora asked.

“Yes, but you will see how he cheated.”

There it came now, announced not by roar or challenge, but a slow heavy pounding of the earth. Poseidon’s champion was made of steel and brass plates, a metal machine which plodded relentlessly through the parting Gods. Steam hissed and leaked from the joints in its legs, and its eyes were burning embers.

“Poseidon didn’t make a real bull at all,” Meliae said. “Instead, he asked Hephaestus, smith of the Gods, to make a metal thing for him. Apollo was so angry at this mockery of life, and at his brother for not making his own champion, that they had a great fight last night.”

“I know. I was there,” Cora said. “If Apollo hadn’t saved me, he probably would have gone on to destroy Poseidon’s mechanical bull. No wonder he was angry.”

Even these wonders were still not as glorious as the Gods themselves. Cora could only laugh at herself again for thinking herself in love so easily. Every God was glorious and powerful. Every Goddess was an impossible aspiration, a walking dream. With what crude brush has man been formed, to live in such false imitation of the perfection of Gods.

Apollo was just one like all the rest. And she would not be fooled again. Those were the words in Cora’s mind as she turned away from the ambrosia fountain. Those words lost their meaning when she suddenly found herself facing prince Apollo once more. No longer dressed down for battle, he wore a red cloak which the setting sun must envy. Gleaming metal armor in overlapping plates, secured by leather, ready for war. Upon his soft hair rested a crown of golden laurel leaves. In his hand he held a walking staff as tall as he, which appeared to be carved from a single long bone. Which animal could possess such a bone, Cora could not imagine. Apollo looked so noble, and so proud, and so distant. He could not hide the light in his eyes when he saw her.

Looking at him was not like looking at the other Gods, as she suspected. For he alone saw her. The moment was fleeting though, and Apollo swiftly moved past her to the fountain.

“Out of my way, nymph!” Apollo bellowed. Cora flinched at the sound. His words weren’t for her, but they were to her.

Cora bowed low and stepped aside. Apollo moved past her without looking again to fill his silver chalice with ambrosia. Then raising it above his head, he assaulted the night with a wild roar which frightened Cora. It was a challenge, made as though by a wild boar.

“Your fishes are waiting for you, Poseidon!” Apollo shouts. “You will admit you cheated the last challenge, and you will leave the tournament tonight!”

The other gods and nymphs and strange creatures howled with delight. Others jeered and laughed. The music played louder, the fire roared higher. Apollo stole a glance at Cora, but she didn’t look at him. Of course he must conceal his feelings, but couldn’t he at least treat her with respect? If he wanted to talk to her, then she was right here. Could he not even spare a smile in her direction?

But Apollo did not pay her any more mind. Taking his silver chalice with both hands, he drank deeply. Other Gods came to him that Cora did not recognize. He laughed with them, and they clapped him on the back. He would act no different if she was gone. Cora didn’t want to be angry. She didn’t want to want anything at all, but there her Apollo stood so close, but more distant than the Gods had ever been. His words were not for her, his glance was not for her. His joy was not hers. And yet she was fool enough to think his heart might be.

Then Cora spotted Apollo’s bone walking stick. It rested on the side of the fountain while Apollo was busy laughing and boasting with the other Gods. She didn’t know what the worth of his word was in that moment. But she knew the worth of her own. She made a promise to the nymphs, and her anger bound her to it.

Cora discretely stepped in front of the walking stick. Apollo did not notice. His back was turned to her. Cora snatched the stick, wrapping it in her skirt to conceal as much of it as she could. A hobbling run, she dashes from the fountain to follow the other nymphs. Each of them seemed to know which God to serve and how, doting on them with ambrosia, and music, and dance. She found the other nymphs gathering at the edge of the large crowd around the two bulls.

A ripple of wind went through the nymphs at the edge. “Zeus is here. He will speak!”

“First we gather to drink, and to celebrate our glory!” Zeus’ words were thunder, physical percussions against Cora’s ears. She couldn’t get a good look through all the people.

“Second, we will let the bulls test their strength. We will see which of my son’s brings me the greater gift.”

The music was growing louder and more frenzied. Cora was starting to feel a little strange, a buzz in her mind and body. What was the ambrosia doing to her? She didn’t try to look at Zeus, and instead kept her head low, hurrying along behind the crowd with her awkward burden. Soon she found Meliae and Oreads together.

“I’ve got it. Apollo’s stick, like I said I would.” Cora unwrapped the stick from her skirt and gave it to the nymphs. Her green eyes flashed, her red leaves smiled. Other nymphs were gathering swiftly, all pressing around to conceal their prize. It seemed as though a forest was growing around them. The music even seemed to fade.

“Third and chiefly, the reason we are here tonight,” Zeus bellows. “Is for Apollo and Poseidon to test their own courage in battle. I will now reveal that I am going away on a long journey, and that one of them will sit as King of Olympus. The winner of the challenges tonight is worthy to sit on my throne, wield lighting as though it were my hand. And the loser shall be his servant until I return.”

The nymph Oreads took the stick from Meliae. She kissed it, rubbing it against her face. Cora felt embarrassed by this. She wished the nymphs did not love Apollo as she did, her feeling cheapened by being so common.

Before her eyes, the bone walking stick transformed into a brilliant sword. The handle remained bone, while the blade gleamed as stars forged into a deadly edge.

“It won’t be easy for Apollo to win the tournament without his sword,” Meliae mused. “Don’t you think Poseidon would want us to give it to him?”

“I didn’t mean to take his sword!” Cora was horrified. “You have to give it back!”

But the nymphs only laughed, dry leaves promising the chill of winter.

“We will keep Apollo’s sword. Soon Poseidon will be King of the Gods. We would rather have his favor. If you are going to be a nymph, then you should know how it’s done. We do what we must to survive,” Oreads said.

Cora kept her word, and lost everything else. How could she allow herself to be angry and betray Apollo over nothing? If she destroys his chance for the throne, how will he ever forgive her?