This Immortal Heart: A Novel of Aphrodite(21)

Hephaestus shrinks back in the scorching heat of Ares’ contempt.

“You know nothing about war,” Ares goes on, every word distinct and audible in the busy hall. “Don’t make a fool of yourself for Aphrodite.” He stands up, the legs of his chair dragging on the marble tiles with a painful screech, and strides toward the bronze doors.

“Ares,” Zeus calls out, a warning rumble in his voice, but the door slams, and Ares is gone. Zeus turns his displeasure on Hephaestus. “No wonder he talks to you like that when you say nothing back.”

The other gods at the table watch, curious. There’s a stinging truth in his assessment that none of them would ever deny.

Hephaestus won’t retaliate, despite his powerful bulk. Instead, he stares down at the table.

“Ares storms out of every dinner he attends,” I say lightly. “It’s hardly as if we’ll miss his sparkling company, is it?”

There’s a ripple of laughter, and the tension is diffused, Ares quickly forgotten.

I only wish I could banish the image of his face, dismissive and arrogant, from my mind.





7


I’m rarely one of the first to leave a feast, but the incident with Ares brings a sour taste to my mouth. I bid goodnight to the gods and exit the feasting hall, walking out beyond the courtyard, letting the darkness wash over me, cool and soothing. As I pass an olive tree, one that flourishes in the inhospitable climate of the heavens thanks to Athena, a figure detaches itself from a marble column and steps out onto the path in front of me.

Ares.

His silhouette blocks out the glimmering moon behind him. It could be intimidating—he’s tall and powerful, a warrior dressed for battle—but it would take more than that to scare me. I’m the daughter of Ouranos, born from the shattering of the Sky.

I draw myself up to my fullest height. “Why are you here?”

I can still see him charging across that valley, urging on the chaos.

His face is in shadow. I can’t see his expression, only the dark gleam of his eyes. “I accepted Zeus’ invitation so that I could speak to you. I didn’t want to leave until I had.”

I can see my own wavy reflection in the bronze plate fitted over his chest, my puzzlement writ clear across my face. “Zeus doesn’t issue invitations, only orders,” I say. “And you didn’t say a word to me all night.”

“It’s not for everyone else to hear. I keep my business private from the other gods.”

“So you waited to get me alone.”

“Is that a problem?”

I can’t find a reason that it would be, but still it’s jarring to be here with only him. We’ve never been alone together before. “It’s fine,” I say coolly. “Say what you want.”

“I’m sure you know that it was Eris who fired that arrow,” he says.

“Eris?”

“Yes.” His tone is cold, no trace of regret.

Fury surges right back up inside me, as hot and fierce as on the battlefield. “What is this?” I demand. “An apology?”

“If you have any ideas about revenge,” he says, ignoring me as if I hadn’t spoken at all, “forget them. Eris is my deputy. I deal with her.”

Not an apology, then. I fold my arms across my chest and glare at him. “Why tell me this?”

“I assumed you’d realized already.”

Is he mocking me?

“How would I have known?” I bristle. “There were arrows flying everywhere; it was a battle.”

He shifts, and now the moonlight reveals his face, hard as if it were chiseled from stone and just as cold. “No mortal’s arrow could have flown past you,” he says. “You would have stopped it.”

I shake my head in disbelief. “Weren’t you the one telling me I didn’t belong in battle?”

“You don’t.” He’s too swift to answer; it’s maddening. “But not because you aren’t powerful. Because it’s not your concern.”

“You told me that you don’t intervene when it comes to saving mortals. But it’s fine for her to kill them with impunity?”

His lips tighten. “She overstepped.”

“And if that’s not enough for me?” I ask. “If I decide to take matters into my own hands?”

“That would be a mistake.”

He hasn’t dropped his eyes from mine. The intensity feels like flames licking across my skin. Anger burns in my core, roars in my skull, obliterating my thoughts. I want to shake the complacency from him, to tear away the guarded front and see what’s beneath. I know he isn’t really this controlled. He’s a war god.

“The mistake,” I grind out, “is hers. His life belonged to me. I gave it to him. No one had the right to take it but me.”

“So you do plan to avenge him.” His voice is as hypnotic and menacing as the beat of the army’s drums.

“If I choose.” I lift my chin. “Perhaps I will. Then again, I’m not like you. I don’t waste my time on feuds and conflict. Perhaps I’ll decide neither of you is worth it.”

Something flickers in his gaze before it shutters.

“You should have learned your lesson already,” he says, and it’s the same superior tone he adopted when he dismissed Zeus at dinner. “Don’t come back to my realm. Leave Eris to me.”