This Immortal Heart: A Novel of Aphrodite(32)

“You don’t care about anything,” Zeus growls with frustration, slamming his fist against a pillar. A crack runs up it and a little shower of dust tumbles from the ceiling. “You’d be happy to let the world fall back into chaos.”

“Better that than under your rule.”

I half expect Zeus to hurl a thunderbolt at him right here in the throne room.

“You should fight for me. You’re my son. Why do you persist in defying me?” His tone is pure menace, low and terrifying. When Zeus is in benevolent spirits, it can be easy to forget how ruthless he is and how dangerous too.

Ares has no fear. “I’ll never fight for you,” he says.

Zeus stares at him, and for a breathless second everything hangs in the balance. Then he crashes his fist into the same pillar again, and it buckles. “Hephaestus!” he bellows.

I slip back out of the doors behind me. Let Hephaestus come and patch up the damage; it isn’t my fight, and I have no desire to get dragged into it.

I’m skirting around the stables when I’m startled by a low whinny.

The War God’s midnight horses, pawing impatiently at the earth. I come to a halt at the first horse’s head and put my hand up to stroke its jet-black muzzle. It’s soft under my palm, and I make a soothing noise as it strains against its harness, eager to go. It snorts, a jet of flame shooting from its nostrils.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

He’s right behind me. He must have stormed out in my wake.

“Why not?” I ask.

His face is cold. “They aren’t friendly.”

I think of saying something arch—that they’re friendlier than their master even when they’re breathing fire. But I’m not here to placate Ares, or to joke with him again. Instead, I ignore him and pat the creature’s muscled flank. It swings its heavy head toward me, the burst of flame just missing my dress.

I don’t flinch.

“Aphrodite,” he says.

The sound of my name in his mouth sends a jolt through my body.

“Aphrodite,” he says again, this time giving a brusque gesture with his hand.

Belatedly, I realize what he means. “If you want to get past,” I say, “excuse me will do.”

A short, exasperated sigh escapes his throat. “It’s better for everyone,” he says, “if I leave right now. And you’re standing in the way of my chariot.”

His rudeness makes my anger, never far from the surface when he’s around, flare up into heat. “Why don’t you just do as Zeus asks?” I burst out. “What difference does it make to you, to fight one war or another?”

His gaze flickers over me, contemptuous. “Did he tell you to wait for me here? Is this his new strategy?”

“I don’t act for Zeus,” I say.

He laughs and it’s a mocking sound, entirely devoid of mirth. “If you say so.”

“You and Zeus,” I hiss, “are just the same.”

For an instant, he looks surprised, then commands himself again, his eyes granite once more. “If we were,” he says, “you’d be whispering in my ear, trying to persuade me to do your bidding. It doesn’t work on me. As you might have noticed.”

I blink. I can’t quash the image his words summon in my mind. Leaning in close to him to lift that bronze helmet from his head, dipping my head to his, my lips brushing his earlobe. “Neither of you cares how many mortals die,” I snap, trying to refocus. “You argue over which ones or where, but the outcome never changes. I heard you in there. You’ll both spill the blood of thousands for the sake of your egos.”

He shakes his head and moves past me as though my words were empty air. He doesn’t push me aside, but briefly his body touches mine and I can smell smoke and leather and earth. Then he’s in the chariot, reins gathered in his fist, about to leave.

I swing myself up onto the chariot at his side.

“What are you doing?” He’s jolted into incredulity.

“Just admit it,” I say. “As much as you argue with him, you both want the same thing.”

“And what’s that?”

“Destruction,” I say. “And power.”

He stares at me. “What I want,” he says, “is for you to get out of my chariot so that I can go.”

I fold my arms and stare right back. He’s not leaving until he concedes that I’m right. The blood is surging through my veins, carrying me on a wave of fury and determination.

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

I don’t move.

“Fine,” he says, his voice tight with anger. “You can fly yourself back from Thrace.”

He snaps the reins, and the horses leap to his command. I jerk backward, grabbing hold of the wooden rim in front to keep my balance.

His horses are fast and powerful, muscles shifting under their smooth flanks as they trot across the yard, their hooves beginning to lift into the air.

He’s waiting for me to jump off.

I clench my fingers around the wood, locking myself into place.

We start to ascend, the air cold against the heated skin of my face, and finally I question my wisdom.

But it’s too late. Olympus is shrinking beneath us with dizzying speed.

“What are you doing?” I yelp.