This Immortal Heart: A Novel of Aphrodite(41)

I’ve already resolved to put Ares behind me. He’s back at war, and my curiosity about him is sated. It has to be. And I don’t feel any guilt about my lovers just because Hephaestus harbors feelings toward me.

But knowing how the brothers feel about one another, it might be an unnecessary cruelty for Hephaestus to learn just whose bed I’ve left. Even if I have no intention of returning to it.

“Aphrodite!” He’s leaning through the door to his side room, beckoning me in.

Too late for me to leave, then.

I walk through the workshop toward him, past the golden automatons and into the side room, where I’m surprised—and pleased—to find Charis already there, perched on a stool.

“Are you busy?” I ask. I can hear the clanking of metal and the hiss of steam from the workshop on the other side of the wall.

“No,” Hephaestus says. “Sit down. Wine?”

“Thank you.” I sit down on a silver stool, and Charis fetches the jug to pour it. I take the proffered goblet. “I’m just avoiding Hera,” I say with a sip. “I saw her in the courtyard.”

Hephaestus nods. “She wouldn’t follow you in here. She never visits me,” he says wryly.

“She’s been trying to get me to help her with weddings lately. She says I should be involved, but I’m fairly sure she wants me to preside over some on her behalf.” I shake my head and laugh.

“Again?” Charis asks me.

“Has she asked before?” says Hephaestus.

I roll my eyes. “She does, sometimes. Every so often she gets it into her head that it would be fitting, however many times I tell her it isn’t.”

“Why not?”

Charis and I exchange knowing glances. “Love and marriage aren’t the same thing. You’d think she’d know that better than anyone.”

“Oh,” says Hephaestus.

“She just hates it so much that she’d love to foist it onto someone else.” I clasp Charis’ wrist, gesturing to her to sit. “But it’s nothing to do with me.”

“Well, sometimes it must be, surely?” Hephaestus leans forward. “There must be weddings that you can celebrate, countless matches you’ve brought together?”

I wrinkle my nose. “It does happen, and I’ll accept their thanks when it does. But it’s always a little tedious when one of my women pledges herself to a husband forever.” Phaon was the only exception, I think, and look how that turned out. “It feels like an ending.”

Hephaestus furrows his brow. “But surely it’s a beginning.”

“She prefers the unknown,” Charis tells him. “All the possibilities of other love affairs.”

The thrill still courses through my veins now, heat and passion vividly stamped on my memories of last night. I take a firm hold of myself, banishing them from my mind.

“Which a wife rejects,” I explain. “Well, she’s supposed to anyway.”

“Even so,” Hephaestus says, clapping his hands together, “a wedding is a happy occasion.”

“Sometimes,” Charis interjects.

I nod. “How happy was Amphitrite when Poseidon sent his sea-gods to hunt her down and drag her to his palace? Or what about Boreas, galloping down to earth and sweeping up his bride while she was playing in a meadow with her friends?” It makes my toes curl with revulsion when I picture it: the sudden chill in the air as the purple-winged God of the Wind descended, his icy breath freezing the droplets of dew on the grass as he swooped to grab her. “Too many of the gods take what they want without asking.”

“And men follow their example.” Charis sniffs, tossing her curls so they fall like a shining river down her back.

“It’s not love as I know it,” I finish. “Not the kind I want to inspire in gods or mortals.”

Hephaestus frowns. “But it’s not always like that.”

I laugh. “I think you might be more romantic than I am.”

“Surely not.”

“Well, maybe not. More romantic than Hera, certainly.”

Hephaestus looks serious. “Who can blame her, though?”

It’s interesting how much sympathy he’s prepared to extend to his mother. I haven’t noticed much maternal affection from her to either of her sons, but he’s far more willing to excuse her than Ares is. I remember what he said about Hera and Zeus fighting to win him in their perpetual battle against one another, and indignation for Hephaestus stirs inside me. They don’t fight over their second son. They’re both equally contemptuous of him. “Don’t feel sorry for her,” I tell him. “Her misery is of her own making.”

My sharpness startles him. “Not entirely,” he protests. “It’s mostly Zeus’ fault.”

“Either way,” I say, “it’s a waste of time getting involved.”

He gives me a curious look. “That doesn’t sound like you.”

A blush starts to creep across my cheeks. He’s right. I drain my wine hastily. “Perhaps I’m more worried about her dragging me into her weddings than I thought,” I say. “Anyway, if she was looking for me, I’m sure she’s lost patience by now.” I get to my feet, and Charis follows. In a hurry, we bid Hephaestus goodbye and walk back to my quarters across the thankfully empty courtyard.