This Immortal Heart: A Novel of Aphrodite(45)

“Nothing.” Ares throws the word at her like a spear, its heavy finality forbidding further argument.

“And the rest of them? Will they go to his rescue?” She’s finding this so delicious, and the urge to silence her is greater than my desire to ignore her.

“Zeus’ word is law.” I keep my voice flat.

“Hmm.” Disappointment wars with disbelief across her face. “No one cares about the Blacksmith God anyway,” she says. “If he thought he had friends among the Olympians, he’ll soon realize his mistake.”

Anger coils inside me, like a snake ready to strike. It’s only the knowledge that she’d feast upon its release that makes me hold it in.

The dark feathers of her wings flex and ruffle, and she tilts her head as though she’s listening.

“The Thessalians are ready to attack,” Ares says. I realize with a shiver of horror that the two of them are aligned, both sensing the same thing, the tendrils of conflict rippling out across the world to entangle them.

“I’ll join them,” she hisses, eager, and she pushes past him, brushing against me as though I’m not there at all before launching herself into the sky with a fearsome grace.

An icy wind whips through the courtyard. I picture Eris flying to their warriors, a pitiless queen of suffering, hungry for more. And I think of Hephaestus held prisoner in a volcano and feel a collapsing inside, like I’m caving in on myself at the thought of him hurt and alone and hopeless with no one there to comfort him.

The other gods are scattering, everyone a little more subdued than usual, even if they’ll forget this soon enough.

It seems that the Olympian gods really are united under Zeus’ law. No one will risk themselves for the sake of Hephaestus.

“I’ll go too,” Ares announces.

Demeter turns her head, curious. I wince. When does Ares ever utter any kind of goodbye? He should have stalked off to the stables instead.

After a few seconds of silence, he does just that.

I can feel Demeter’s eyes on me, but she doesn’t ask any questions. “Don’t worry,” she says. “I’m sure Zeus will relent eventually.”

Across from us, the forge stands quiet and dark.





13


Charis sits alone in my quarters, surrounded by the fragrant blooms that the Horae have picked on Cyprus.

“He survived.” She looks up at me. Her hands are clasped together in her lap.

“That’s right,” I agree. I summon up Demeter’s words, hoping they will feel true. Hoping that they are true. “And Zeus will relent. He’ll forget his own edict in time, I promise.”

She shakes her head. “He’s unforgiving. He’s never reprieved a god before.”

“But Hephaestus is his son.”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“He’ll be all right,” I say. “Hephaestus is so unassuming and gentle that the other gods forget how strong he is. The thunderbolt didn’t break him.”

“It’s so unfair,” Charis says, an unfamiliar seam of bitterness in her voice. “Hera is the one who wronged him, but it’s Hephaestus who suffers for it. You saw her in the council. She’s still the queen.”

I’m reminded of Ares telling me it would never matter which side he took between Hera and Zeus; the only winners would be them.

“Hephaestus will be restored to his position,” I tell her.

“How can you be sure?”

I’m not. “Because you love him,” I tell her. “And I’ll make sure you get him back. Somehow.”

“I never told you that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“Of course not. You always know.” She sighs. “But even if you get him back—how, I don’t know—he won’t be mine. He doesn’t love me, and you know it. He loves you.”

I’m quiet for a long moment. “I know that too,” I say at last. “But I don’t love him, except as my friend. In the end, he’ll see that.”

She shakes her head.

“You know,” I say gently, taking her hands in mine, “I could make him forget what he feels for me. I could make him see you instead. I could stir up his passions when he looks at you so that he never thinks of me again.”

“But you promised me,” she says, “that you’d never do that.”

“I did,” I say.

“I won’t change my mind.” She stands up from the couch, her fingers sliding out of my grip. “And, right now, it doesn’t matter who he loves. It only matters that he’s freed.”

“You’re right,” I say. “Charis, just wait a while. We’ll find a way, I promise we will.”

She reaches out a hand and brushes the bloom still tucked in my hair. “Where did you find this?” she asks. “I’ve never seen a flower like that before.”

I wish I was still in Ares’ courtyard, watching the strange purple petals unfurl before this day happened. “I don’t remember,” I lie.

She nods, her eyes clouded. “I’ll go and find Pasithea,” she says, and leaves.

I gaze through the fluttering drapes that hang from the archway to my balcony. Helios has sunk his chariot beneath the surface of Oceanus, dousing the golden rays of the sun in its dark waters, and Nyx has thrown her veils of black mist across the dome of the sky, glittering with stars. Silver-haired Selene coaxes the moon into fullness, her pale beams bathing everything in soft silver light and gray shadows.