This Immortal Heart: A Novel of Aphrodite(46)

As I watch the gauzy fabric drifting in the breeze, my attention is caught by a movement. I pause for a moment before stepping through the thin material and onto the balcony.

“You’re here.”

He’s leaning against the low wall of the balcony, moonlight shining on his dark hair and bronze armor. His helmet lies on the ground at his side, along with his spear and shield.

“Where did you think I’d be?” he asks.

I shrug. “Thrace. Thessaly. Wherever the war is.”

“Without saying a word to you?”

“How did you know I’d be here without my attendants?”

He looks surprised. “I didn’t think of that.”

“That’s why you’re not the God of Strategy,” I say. “If Athena were planning illicit trysts, she’d have all contingencies covered.”

Surprise sweeps over his face, then he smiles slightly in amusement. “So you’ve never discovered Athena in your chambers?”

“She’d look almost as out of place here as you.” The balcony wall that he leans against sits on top of slender white columns of marble, each twined with pink roses. Sprigs of myrtle blossom spill out of shining vases clustered in each corner, and the floor is polished tile. It’s so incongruous to see Ares in the midst of it, dressed for battle.

He tilts his head in acknowledgment. “Will your attendants be back soon?” His tone is casual, unconcerned, as though he doesn’t care about the answer, but there’s a meaning in his half-lidded gaze and my heart flutters.

“Well,” I say, “how long are you staying?”

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“On when you want me to leave.”

It’s supposed to be over. But here he is: a secret temptation under the stars that no one has to know about.

But I can’t pretend that nothing has happened, push the events of the day out of my head, even if I’d like to.

“What about Hephaestus?” I ask.

“What about him?”

“What do you mean?” I say. “Don’t you care at all about what’s happened?”

He steps over to me, framing my face in his hands. “He shouldn’t have got in Zeus’ way.”

I pull back. “Not even to save his mother?”

“Hera,” Ares says, “doesn’t need Hephaestus to save her.”

“This isn’t his fault.”

He slides his hand up my neck again, stroking the shell of my ear with his thumb. His touch ignites a fiery trail down my spine, making me crave more. “He should know that he can’t fix what’s broken between the two of them.”

I swallow. “Did you ever even try?”

He smirks. “No one ever expects me to fix anything.”

“No, they don’t,” I say. “You break things. Hephaestus puts them back together.”

He gives me an appraising look. “I don’t worry about Zeus and Hera. Olympus isn’t my home.”

“But you’re still here,” I point out. “Don’t you have another war to fight?”

He nods, and I feel the crush of disappointment in my chest. “I wanted to make sure, first of all,” he says, “that you were all right.”

My heart lifts.

“And that you weren’t thinking of looking for Hephaestus,” he finishes.

I stiffen. “Why?”

“I know you’re upset,” he says, “but you should stay out of it.”

A flush rises in my cheeks, a sting of irritation because he thinks he can give me an instruction, even if I know I won’t do anything yet, not while Zeus’ anger is still so fresh. The memory of him hurling his thunderbolt stops me in my tracks. But it doesn’t have to stop Ares. “You could help him. You’re never worried about defying Zeus.”

His eyes harden. “I don’t want to.”

“Why not?”

“We’re nothing alike.”

“But you’re brothers.”

“It makes no difference.” The moonlight catches him so that half his face is in shadow, the silver shining on his cheekbone and tracing the line of his jaw, sparking in his eyes. “It’s always been this way. Zeus and Hera hated us both from the day we were born. Me for being angry and him for being ugly.”

“Hephaestus isn’t ugly,” I protest.

His eyes are like flint. “But it didn’t bring us closer together. I ignored them; he kept trying to win them over, even though it would never work. They’ll never respect him. He’s free of them now.”

“So he shouldn’t have even tried?”

“He shouldn’t have cared so much.”

“That’s not in his nature. Maybe you should care more yourself.” I take a step back from him, my chest heaving.

“Aphrodite,” he says, and the arrogance has melted away, leaving only sincerity. “Just don’t go after him. Please.”

I curl my fingers around the low rim of the balcony, keeping my face turned away from him. I don’t want to look at him. His lack of compassion for his own brother is incomprehensible.

But then why did I expect anything different from Ares? A god who orchestrates death in a never-ending macabre dance…