This Immortal Heart: A Novel of Aphrodite(117)

“As I thought,” he says smoothly. “Five for Ares. And five against.”

“The decision is yours,” Poseidon says. Relief bleeds through his words. He’s confident that Zeus will choose in Poseidon’s favor, and I fear so too.

Eris must agree, because color is flooding into her sallow cheeks, excitement giving her an unearthly glow. Perhaps she hopes to cement her position as the replacement Goddess of War. Or else she’s thinking that whatever punishment Zeus pronounces for Ares—chaining him up in Tartarus, feeding his liver to an eagle or some new and creative torture he’s devised—will provoke a fight. And the gods are split right down the middle.

The peace of Olympus hangs in the balance, and she strains forward, eager for it to collapse.

If it crumbles, I’m with Ares this time. Not Zeus, and not Olympus. Alkippe’s hand is entwined in mine, her body trembling against me. I won’t shrink from war now. Just as I felt when the Amazons were attacked, I know that this is worth any battle that comes. Justice truly is at stake—not justice for Halirrhothios but for Alkippe.

Zeus takes his time deliberating. Ares watches him, unmoved. The tension on Poseidon’s face is relaxing, the strain dissipating as he anticipates Zeus’ edict.

The night air is warm, but I feel cold inside. I clasp my arms around my body, holding myself tightly, trying not to shiver.

Zeus looks to Hera, then Poseidon. Then Hera again.

Which of them does he most want to please today? And who would it entertain him the most to frustrate and annoy?

“A god does have a right to punish a mortal,” he says.

I hold tight to Alkippe’s hand. I can’t breathe.

“And the boy was trespassing,” Zeus continues. “He did steal that chariot, putting the world at risk.”

“Zeus,” Poseidon breathes, aghast, “you can’t mean—”

Zeus claps his hands together. “This wasn’t murder,” he declares. “Ares can go free. Hephaestus, unlock him.”

I sag and Alkippe stumbles against me. Demeter reaches out, her hand warm and grounding on my elbow, holding us both steady.

Hephaestus steps forward and Ares holds out his wrists to his brother. In a swift motion, the chains drop to the ground.

“My son!” Poseidon gasps.

“He offended a god.” Zeus shrugs. “And you have other sons.”

Eris curls a finger, beckoning her sisters forward. I recognize the predatory way they move, the intensity and eagerness uniting the three of them. They’re ready for war.

Poseidon’s eyes bulge. “This can’t be.” His chest heaves as he stares at Ares, then back to Zeus. “You said…you promised…”

“I promised justice.” Zeus smiles. “It’s delivered.”

“Then we’re done here,” Artemis says. “May we go?”

Zeus nods. “I’ll summon you all to the next council.” He looks steadily at Ares. “You too. You’ll return to Olympus now.”

Artemis and Apollo are already leaving, she a graceful deer, he a darting serpent, both disappearing swiftly under the moonlight. Hera flashes us a disdainful look and transforms herself into a hawk, vanishing into the skies. Demeter squeezes my arm and takes a dove-shape similar to my own as she leaves. Hermes is gone before I notice. Athena folds her arms, her perfect face troubled. “Is that really all?” she asks.

“It is.”

I can see her weighing it up, contemplating what’s taken place. “Very well, then,” she says. She sweeps herself into the shape of an owl and follows Hera’s ascent.

Poseidon shoves his way past Zeus. “I won’t forget this.” His eyes are chaotic, his hair rumpled, and his body quivering with a rage he can barely suppress. I hold my breath, thinking he’s about to launch himself at Ares, but he storms to the edge of the rock and leaps forward. There is a moment of silence, then a storm of hoofbeats echoes into the distance.

The sparkle drains from Eris’ eyes, leaving her drawn and sulky once more. She spins on her heel, spreading her wings, and the Keres follow her into the night.

“Well,” Zeus says briskly, “Poseidon will get over it. I’ll see you on Olympus.” And, with that, he’s an eagle, swooping away from the rock.

Only Hephaestus and Dionysus are left with me, Ares, Eros and Alkippe. Dionysus stands watchful at Hephaestus’ back, his eyes on Ares.

Ares clears his throat. “Thank you,” he says. “For speaking in my defense.”

Hephaestus doesn’t smile, just inclines his head in acknowledgment. “I only said what was fair,” he says. “It was the truth.”

Dionysus claps him on the back. “Very noble,” he says. “Not everyone here was motivated by the truth.”

He’s very shrewd for a god who’s usually drunk.

“Come on,” he says to Hephaestus, “let’s go.” They leave as the other gods did: Dionysus a slinking leopard vanishing down the sloping sides of the rock, and Hephaestus a crane soaring into the sky.

“Eros,” Ares says, “please take my daughter back to Scythia.”

“Of course,” Eros says.

Before she obeys, Alkippe steps from my side, over to Ares. “Thank you,” she says.

“It’s I who should be grateful,” he tells her. He folds her in his arms. “Thank you for defending me. But never come near the gods again,” he says. “I’ve warned you enough.”