This Immortal Heart: A Novel of Aphrodite(112)

“I’ll tell Zeus,” I decide. “He can chase Poseidon down.”

Zeus is at the stables, his horses already harnessed.

“Zeus,” I call, hurrying across the courtyard, “I think I know where Halirrhothios has taken Poseidon’s chariot.”

His heavy brows are drawn together, his face taut with anger. “Tell me,” he demands, a crackle of thunder in his voice.

“Remember how fascinated he was by Helios’ talk of the Amazons?” I say. “I think he’s gone to Scythia.”

Zeus gathers the golden reins in his fist. “Scythia.” His winged horses strain, hooves pawing at the ground.

“Yes.” I rest a soothing hand on the flank of the first horse. “But Ares is going to bring him back.”

“Ares?” His stare is penetrating. “You told me you hadn’t talked to him.”

“Does it matter?” I ask. “He’ll find Poseidon’s son.”

Zeus snorts. “Out of the goodness of his heart?”

“You’ll get him back,” I say. “Isn’t that what you want?”

“Aphrodite,” Zeus says, “don’t think I care any more than Ares does about Halirrhothios.”

“Then why all this urgency?” I ask.

“When Helios’ brat stole his chariot, he risked setting the entire world alight,” Zeus snaps. “I had to smite him with my thunderbolt to bring him down before he burned it all—every forest, every kingdom, every last living creature. The Sea Chariot controls the tides and the waves; it can shake the land beneath the water. Halirrhothios could cause a flood big enough to swallow the earth itself.”

I take a step back. “I didn’t know you killed Phaethon. I thought he crashed himself.”

“Well,” says Zeus, “you’re the one who thinks Ares will collect Halirrhothios and bring him back safely.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You couldn’t stand that boy after exchanging two sentences with him,” Zeus says. “How long do you think Ares’ patience will last? He has no loyalty to Olympus. He doesn’t care for mortal lives; you know that better than anyone.” His eyes sweep my body. “Just because he’s back in your bed, Aphrodite, doesn’t mean he’ll do as you ask.”

I recoil. “It doesn’t matter to you if he does or not. It’s not Halirrhothios’ safety you’re concerned about.”

“No,” says Zeus. “It’s that Halirrhothios is an idiot and Ares is out of control. Between the two of them, the world will probably drown.”

I shake my head. “You’re the only god who’s ever sent a flood, Zeus. You wiped out all of humanity once before and started again for your own amusement.”

“And if it happens again, it will be at my choosing,” he retorts.

I don’t have time to argue with Zeus and point out all the things he’s wrong about. There’s one thing that is undeniably true: the Sea Chariot isn’t safe in the hands of Halirrhothios. “I’ll go to Scythia,” I say. “The more of us looking for him, the better.”

“Start with the home of Ares,” Zeus orders. “Helios described it well. That’s where he’ll go.”

I stare at him. “You sent Helios to spy on another god and let a mortal listen to his report?”

Zeus yanks savagely on the reins, and his horses rear up, whinnying. “I’ll see you in Scythia,” he growls.

The horses surge forwards, trampling across the stones and veering up into the sky.

I follow in his wake, setting my course for the steppe.



* * *



—

The grasses stretch on and on beneath my chariot, but I remember the Amazon queen’s directions. It’s easier this time, by the light of day, to find the valley where a tree-lined river coils and gleams, reflecting the clouds above.

A bird shrieks, an unfamiliar call. I don’t know all the creatures that live here yet, but this one has an unearthly cry, something like a howl of pain. It sends a shudder down my spine. As I bring my chariot lower to the ground, I hear a horse whinny and see the unmistakable sleek stallions belonging to the Sea God. There’s his chariot, left by the cluster of trees on the riverbank.

I was right. This is where the mortal came.

I step down from my chariot. I can see no sign of Ares, or Halirrhothios either.

The air is still and silent, as though the world itself holds its breath. Then there is a rustle of branches, a thundering of footsteps, and Ares barrels out of the woods, a mortal seized in his hands. The man’s eyes bulge at the War God’s grip, frantic with terror, but I recognize Halirrhothios in an instant.

“Ares!” I cry out, but my voice is swallowed up by the pounding of hooves behind me, and Poseidon streaks past me just as Ares lifts his son as though he’s no more than a straw doll and flings him across the river.

Poseidon rears up, a horse, then a god again, and bellows, an incomprehensible shout of rage and horror. I’m racing toward the riverbank, dread curdling in my stomach. Poseidon crumples to the ground as though he was the one who’d been thrown. I see Halirrhothios’ body tangled in reeds on the opposite bank, blood mingling with water in a crimson cloud. His head lolls on the jagged rock where he landed, Ares’ throw enough to deal a fatal wound.