This Immortal Heart: A Novel of Aphrodite(115)

It was good, it sounded convincing. My skin prickles.

“Ares?” asks Athena. “You don’t deny that you killed Halirrhothios?”

Ares stands tall, a full head and shoulder above Eris and her wraithlike companions. Against their wispy, delicate frames his strength and power is even more obvious. The muscles of his bare arms, the extra height of his plumed helmet, the abyss of his eyes—the gods must be acutely aware of how terrifying he would be to Poseidon’s naive and arrogant son. “I don’t deny it,” he says. “I killed him.”

“For what reason?” Hera asks, her voice ringing sharp and clear through the air.

“Ares doesn’t need a reason to kill,” Poseidon snaps.

Hera ignores him. “Ares,” she says. “Did Halirrhothios break some law? Did he offend you, insult you, steal from you?”

Ares’ jaw tightens but he says nothing.

I jump in. “He stole from his own father. He took the Sea Chariot and flew to the land of the Amazons. We all know he had no good intentions.”

Poseidon is shaking his head, incensed. “He was my son! What right did Ares have to hurt my son?”

“Well,” Zeus demands, “Ares, answer Hera. Tell us what the boy did to incur your wrath.”

Ares looks down at him, his stare cold. “Why don’t you hurry up,” he says, “and get on with the punishment?”

I hear a gasp from the watching gods.

“Ares, no.” I stride toward Zeus, taking his arm, looking into his face. “This is madness,” I say. “We don’t hold gods to account for killing mortals. If we did, how many of us here should stand trial before Ares? What about Phaethon? Shouldn’t it be you in chains first?”

Zeus tilts his head, a sparkle of amusement in his eyes. “You do make a fair point,” he says. He’s enjoying this, I can see. After all, no one has the power to put him on trial. “But, in this case, Ares was too hasty. And he’s not an Olympian god anymore, by his own choice. He’s forfeited the protection of our family.”

“But, in this case,” another voice interjects, “he was protecting his own.”

“Eros?” My son flutters down onto the rock, a chariot following him. At the reins, looking discomfited by a journey that must have been challenging even for a proficient horsewoman, is an Amazon girl.

For the first time, Ares betrays himself. “No,” he says, alarm cracking his words. “Eros, take her away from here. Now.”

“Father,” the girl speaks up. Against the immortals, her voice is thin and quiet, but we’re all intent upon her. “I won’t go. I’m here to tell them what happened.”

Eros is smiling, his eyes warm on mine. A tentative smile starts to creep across my face in return. Hope sparks to life in my chest for the first time since this began.

Eros bows his head to Zeus. “I was in Scythia,” he says. “Charis told me what was happening and so I followed Aphrodite out there. I saw Iris’ rainbow in the sky and went to see what the commotion was. You’d all left by the time I arrived, but Alkippe was there.”

“Alkippe?”

Eros gives her his hand, helping her down from the chariot. She might be an Amazon, but she’s young. Apprehension darts across her face at the sight of all the gods. “Ares’ daughter,” Eros says.

She’s unmistakable. Despite her worry, that uncompromising glint in her eyes is just like her father’s.

“She won’t speak on my behalf,” Ares insists. “I left her in Scythia to keep her away from this.”

I take a step toward the girl. “Alkippe,” I say, reaching out to touch her shoulder, “you’re safe here.”

“Aphrodite.” I can hear the warning in his tone, the strain in his voice, but I don’t turn away.

“You’re an Amazon.” I lean down toward her. “I know how brave you are. If you want to tell us what happened, the gods will hear you. And I’ll be by your side.”

She doesn’t waver. “I want to.”

I turn to face the others, standing with her as I promised. “Let’s hear her,” I say.

Alkippe flushes, and she glances at Ares. I squeeze her shoulder in gentle encouragement, and she takes a deep breath before she speaks. “Halirrhothios attacked me on the plains,” she says. “He dragged me into the trees, where no one could see. I fought him, but he’s strong and he hit my head against a branch so I was dizzy. I screamed.”

The shriek I heard, the one I thought was a strange bird-cry.

“And my father heard. He came running, and he pulled Halirrhothios off me before he could—before he could…” She trails off, her words slowing and quietening, and she looks down at the ground.

“Why didn’t you say any of this?” Zeus asks Ares.

I can see that Ares is holding steady, trying to remain implacable, but he sounds hoarse when he answers. “I wanted everyone out of Scythia,” he says. “Away from my daughter. I would never bring her here and make her face you.”

“It’s clear, then,” I say. “Ares was defending his daughter.” My mouth is dry, a sudden weakness in my knees as the tension that’s been holding me upright drains away. “This is over.”

“Hmm,” Zeus muses. “Would Halirrhothios really dare to lay hands on the War God’s daughter?”