This Immortal Heart: A Novel of Aphrodite(114)

Ares stands apart, armored and helmeted. Still bound by his brother’s restraints.

It’s like a dagger to my chest; a slicing blade of pain and fear.

“Aphrodite is here. We can begin.” It’s Athena who speaks, not Zeus. She’s standing at the head of the group, her own armor silver and gleaming in the moonlight.

Behind her is Poseidon, his face twisted into a sneer. He’s glaring at Ares across the uneven ground, his hands curled into fists and his fury a palpable, pulsating force. He tries to hold a smirk, but the result is a strange grimace, made of anger and pain and grief. He was proud of his son, that much was evident. I’ve never thought this sullen god capable of love, but he felt something for Halirrhothios.

“This trial is for Poseidon,” Zeus says. “To give him justice and compensation for the loss of his son. That’s why we’re in Athens, not on Olympus. For a crime of this magnitude, all of us gods must judge it together, not me alone. This involves the whole of the Olympian family. In the heavens, I rule; here, we can all have our say.”

“But this is Athena’s city,” I protest. “Doesn’t that make the decision hers?”

“Everyone can speak,” Athena says.

“No,” I say. “No, Zeus, you never offered me justice for Phaon. This trial isn’t about Halirrhothios. It isn’t about justice. This is a sham.”

“It’s different.” Poseidon’s nostrils flare. “This time it’s my son.”

“You chose Athens,” I say. “You want Athena on your side.”

Next to this rock, stands a hill crowned with her temple. Behind the torchlit pillars on its summit, there is a statue of her made from ivory, bronze and gold. The city takes her name; she won it from Poseidon in a contest long ago. He would never have come here, except that he wants her support; this is flattery on his part. She’s the wisest among us; the only god whose opinion Zeus values at all. If she speaks against Ares, Zeus is bound to follow. It’s a show of impartiality to descend from Olympus, but we are far from neutral ground. We’re in Athena’s world: one of cold logic, devoid of passion or emotion.

This isn’t where I belong, or Ares either. Dread crawls up my spine. Ares already exiled himself once and proved it was no punishment. What can they be planning for him this time?

“You saw him do it, Aphrodite,” Poseidon says. “You know he’s guilty; that’s why you’re trying to prevent this.”

I straighten my stance, willing Ares to look me in the face. “He must have a reason.”

“What reason can there be?” Poseidon splutters.

“I’ll ask the questions,” Zeus interrupts. “Poseidon, tell everyone why we’re here. Tell us what you saw.”

Poseidon steps forward, and the gods shuffle into a loose semicircle. No one betrays their thoughts, their divine faces neutral and composed. Artemis and Apollo stand together, her bow slung over her shoulder, her gaze drifting to the skyline as though she’s calculating how long it will be before she’s allowed to leave. Dionysus stands with Demeter, his expression unusually serious. Hephaestus leans on his staff beside them. If he feels any satisfaction in seeing his hated brother in this place, it doesn’t show—not yet. Hera is at Zeus’ side, regal and polished. Hermes twirls his slender wand between his fingers, his peaked cap high on his forehead, looking the keenest and most interested of us all.

There’s a flutter at Ares’ side, a ruffle of dark wings, and Eris lands. Two of the Keres follow, settling themselves behind her. Eris glowers at us all.

Poseidon splutters, turning to Zeus. “These aren’t Olympian gods,” he says. “Make them leave.”

Eris leans forward, her hungry eyes fixed on him, a smile playing across her lips. “We’re here to see the outcome.” The rasp of her voice drags across my nerves. “We won’t interfere.”

There’s a ripple of discord among the gods, shifting and muttering. The jolt of her presence alone is like a stone cast into a still pond. Her eyes brighten with delight.

Zeus grimaces in distaste. “Stay and watch,” he pronounces. “But you and your sisters must be silent, or we’ll hurl you from this rock. You can see what becomes of a war-god who defies us.”

Eris flexes her wings, as though mocking his empty threat. “We’ll say nothing,” she purrs.

Ares doesn’t acknowledge her. He doesn’t look at any of us, his gaze fixed on the empty darkness.

“Go on,” Zeus prompts Poseidon.

“My son,” Poseidon begins, his voice deep and hoarse, “my son, a mortal man, ventured into the lands controlled by Ares and his worshippers. It was curiosity that led him there, an eagerness to see more of the world the gods had described to him. It was foolish of him to take my chariot, but he was a young man and a courageous one too. We would have punished him for the theft, but not with death. He sought to be a hero, to seek out new places and win glory and honor as befits the son of a god. Ares saw him and killed him in an instant. We all know he’s a savage god, ill-tempered and violent. We’ve all seen his rages, all suffered his destructive temperament, but we are gods. The moment he turned his anger onto a mortal man, that man was defenseless against him. Despite his strength and skill, the noble blood in his veins didn’t protect him.” Poseidon hangs his head, his thick hair falling over his forehead. His speech sounded rehearsed but not false. I wonder how many times he said it on the way here, practicing to make sure that he didn’t falter or give way to emotion.