This Immortal Heart: A Novel of Aphrodite(109)

“Like you said”—his voice is steady, his tone measured—“my life is here now.”

“I know,” I say. “But you should know that Eris rules in your place. You can imagine what that’s like.”

His lips press together in a grimace. “I can.”

Some of the tension loosens in my shoulders. I feel lighter, freer now that I’ve told him the truth about Hephaestus and what he’s left behind. “I’ll go soon,” I say. “I’m sorry that I came without any kind of warning.” I watch Melo and the Scythian boy she loves lifting a body together, heaving it away to join the pile of their would-be conquerors. “But I suspect my business here is almost done.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he says. “You don’t need my permission. And,” he adds abruptly, “Alkippe’s mother. She left me years ago. Amazons don’t like to be tied down.”

“Alkippe?” I ask.

He nods.

There’s an ache in my throat. “I’m glad,” I say, “that I saw you again.”

Warm, golden light illuminates him; his dark hair thick and shining, his beard glinting and his eyes gleaming with flecks of bronze. “Goodbye, Aphrodite,” he says.

I don’t look away, not immediately. The last time we said goodbye was subsumed by bitter grief, too painful to think of. This is how I’ll remember him, I vow. Under the Scythian sun, in the heart of the wilderness, strong and free. Always young, always handsome, but not mine. Not anymore.

“Goodbye, Ares.”

For a second, I see it in his face, the moment that he fractures. Sadness washes over him, breaking the stoical set of his mouth, flickering in his eyes. It’s brief, not more than a heartbeat, before he’s the imperturbable War God once more, but I know that he feels this just as much as I do.

He gives me a half-smile. And he walks away.



* * *



—

The queen approaches me. “Goddess,” she says, “what did you think of your first Amazon battle?”

I blink, focusing on her. I’ve been staring at the empty space where Ares was; now I snap myself back to the present. “It wasn’t my first. I’ve seen you fight before,” I say.

“You were ready to come to our aid.”

“I was,” I say. “And so were the men you thought were enemies. Tell me, did they impress you at last?”

She snorts, wiping her sword on a rag so that it glitters in the sun. No trace of blood remains. “Did you know they wanted Amazons as wives?”

“Some of them were hopeful,” I concede. “They’re in love.”

She rubs her jaw. “They came to fight at our side,” she says. “No Amazon will marry them, but any that have made an impression on one of the girls can ride with us. If they can keep up.”

“You’re letting them join you?” My heart lifts.

“If they can fight, hunt and please an Amazon, why not?” she says. “We have plenty of horses and armor and weapons to spare. More now.”

She nods toward the pile of everything they’ve stripped from their attackers. “We’re moving on from here,” she says. “Those who are willing to live like we do, who’ve paired with a woman here, can come. Any others can go back home and find a wife among their own people.”

“I’m glad,” I say. No Amazon has had to choose between love and freedom. Any that wants one of the men can have him, any who prefers a woman, or to be alone, or to take as many lovers as she desires, can do it. They can travel onwards, warring and loving as much as they like.

“Will you celebrate with us tonight?” she asks.

I glance across at the Amazons. “No,” I say. “I’m sure your god will return for that. I’ll go back to Olympus. But,” I say, smiling at her, “if your people call to me again, I’ll hear it.”



* * *



—

I go home to Cyprus first, to visit my sanctuary and to tell Eros what happened. When I reach the palace and leave my chariot in the stables, I see that smoke rises once more from the forge chimney. I glance toward it and see Hephaestus at the door. He doesn’t notice me. He’s talking to Charis. She stands on the steps, her face bright, the two in animated conversation.

I don’t visit the great hall. I don’t want to feast tonight; I want the quiet of my quarters. I want to bathe, wash the dust of the steppes from my body and sleep. Dysis and Hesperis await me, and I sink my limbs into the warm, fragrant water they’ve prepared.

My mind wanders back to Scythia against my will. I wonder what an Amazon war celebration is like. I imagine the flames stretching up to the stars, how the women will dance around them, hollering in triumph. The lovers will have more to celebrate than victory alone; they’ll be together tonight, probably Ares too. I think of the smoke, the flickering shadows, the euphoria and the ecstasy. I’m thinking of it still when I climb into bed, alone, and close my eyes.



* * *



—

Sleep finds me quickly, and I’m happy to surrender to its sweet oblivion.

In the morning, a soft breeze floats through the half-closed shutters in the hazy glow of dawn. I put on a pale-pink dress, letting it settle around my body, and take a look at the wide bed and painted walls; the haphazard collection of stoppered bottles and glittering jewelry scattered across the table. Last night, I begrudged this place for not being open to the stars, for not being a rough tent, for being scented with rose petals instead of grass and flame and smoke. But it’s beautiful here, and it’s mine. It’s what I chose for myself and I don’t regret it.