This Immortal Heart: A Novel of Aphrodite(30)

Demeter nods in approval.

“Sounds like a lot of work for me,” Artemis mutters.

It takes all my restraint not to roll my eyes. “No doubt your tender manner will be a great comfort to the mothers in their hour of need.”

“Balance is important,” Athena interjects, her voice cool and measured. “Life and death. That’s why we’re here, discussing everything to make sure we’re keeping it all in check.”

“Enough of this war talk. I have a question,” Poseidon interrupts. “Zeus, why did you cripple the river god Asopos? All the Nereids are talking about it. Amphitrite told me you struck him with a thunderbolt and it’s got all the Titans chattering.”

Athena looks concerned. “Asopos is the son of Okeanos,” she says. “He didn’t fight alongside his brothers against the Olympians, and he still remains a valuable ally to us. Hurting his son could cause a problem.”

No one wants to see another conflict between Olympians and Titans.

“It won’t come to that,” Zeus says, irritated. “The River God was impudent. He challenged me.”

“Why?” I ask.

Zeus drums his fingers against the tabletop. He glances at Hera, then looks away again. “Something to do with his daughter. It was tedious. I forgot about her long ago.”

Hera’s face is pinched, her lips pressed tightly together in a narrow line. I think the contempt in her gaze should shrivel him to ashes there and then. Instead, he juts out his chest, defiant.

“He started ranting and raving at me. In the end, I blasted his leg with the bolt just to make him be quiet.”

“Well, he walks with a limp now,” says Poseidon. “But I don’t know why he’s complaining; he can still swim.”

The two of them snort with laughter.

When the council is over, Hera rises and stalks away without a word. Ares slides his chair back on the marble tiles and walks out without bidding anyone goodbye. I note the smug curl of Zeus’ lips, pleased that his errant son is back under his command.

For now, I think. But peace between the two of them never lasts long.

It can’t shatter quickly enough for me.





9


“Zeus.” My voice rings decisively through the corridor.

He turns around, genial. “Aphrodite.”

My steps echo on the marble tiles as I catch him up. “I didn’t want to raise it in there,” I say. “But it’s Eris.”

His smile fades. “Is this about your mortal fisherman again?”

“Yes,” I say. “But Ares told me that Phaon didn’t just die in war. Eris killed him deliberately, to stop me from saving him.”

Zeus nods. “That’s no surprise.” He looks at me more closely. “But why would Ares tell you? I’ve never seen you two talk to each other.”

“He thought he could stop me from pursuing her over it,” I say.

He pats my shoulder. “You can’t win with Eris,” he says. “She wants to provoke you.” He snorts. “She’s a thorn in all our sides, but she has her uses.”

“Not to me,” I say. “Even if you need her to stir up strife, she should be under your control. You’re king of all the gods. Eris thinks she can do as she pleases, taking mortals away from the Olympians to cause trouble. She needs to be reined in.”

“You want justice?” he asks.

“I do.”

“Hmm.” He starts to walk, the pressure of his hand still on my shoulder steering me along. “There’s something in what you say, I agree. I don’t want her getting out of hand.”

“Exactly.” I smile.

“But,” he says, and my smile wavers, “this was only a mortal. Don’t you have another one now—your sculptor. Am I right?”

“Surely it’s the principle,” I argue. “Shouldn’t she be punished?”

He sighs. “What would you have me do? Chain Eris to a rock like Prometheus?”

“No!” I despise her, but I’m not advocating for torture. I remember her gloating face; the way she took delight in Phaon’s death. I’m not her. “I don’t want revenge; I want justice, like I said.”

We reach the end of the corridor, where one of Athena’s tapestries hangs. It shows the twelve of us, each Olympian god upon their throne, majestic and proud. I’m crowned with flowers, my dress flowing around my body like water. Poseidon bears a trident; Zeus a thunderbolt; Athena herself a sharp-tipped spear; Demeter a sheaf of corn; Hera a scepter; Artemis a silver bow and Apollo mirroring her with a golden one; Hestia a torch; Hermes a wand; Hephaestus a hammer; and Ares glowers behind his helmet. We all look regal and beautiful, gazing from our lofty height.

“I’ll keep an eye on her,” Zeus concedes. “You might be right; she might go too far. But our relationship with Ares is challenging enough. I won’t give him an excuse to make it worse.”

“Zeus,” I say, “you and Ares fight all the time. Why would this be any different?”

He lifts his hands as if to say What can I do about it? As if the power and the choice aren’t his. “I promise, I’ll watch her,” he says. “If she does anything further, I’ll intervene. You have my word. In the meantime, let her think you don’t care.”