This Immortal Heart: A Novel of Aphrodite(62)

But I’m not so sure.





17


Once I finish at my sanctuary in Paphos, I return to Thrace. At the side of the broad river where Ares was once attacked by the snake that adorns his armor, I tell him about Artemis.

“I brought that woman to life from stone,” I complain. “And still Artemis finds fault with me.”

A snake darts out onto the path ahead of us, its brown scales glinting in the sunlight. On the riverbank, a mouse scurries through the reeds to the water’s edge. In an instant, the snake strikes, its body surging forwards, its jaws wide. The little creature goes limp between its fangs.

I wrinkle my nose.

Ares laughs. “Did I tell you about the serpent I gave to the witch-king of Colchis?”

“You didn’t.”

“It was twenty times the size of that one,” he says. “At least.”

Above us, a cloud slides in front of the sun, and a chill shivers through the air. The river behind him turns dull like moss-covered stone, and cold raindrops begin to scatter lightly. “Was it a gift or a punishment?” I ask doubtfully.

“A gift. In reward for his devotion.”

“I hope he was grateful. And,” I sigh, “I hope it worked out better than my reward to Pygmalion.”

“You rescued her from him.”

“But she started out her life captive to a man who hates all women,” I say.

“He’s lucky you didn’t punish him more severely,” Ares says.

“Hmm.”

“What is it?” he asks.

“What?” I say.

A sliver of sunlight slices through the gray, a bright knife of gold, and a moment later a rainbow gleams iridescent across the horizon, bridging the valley.

Iris, on her way to take a message from Hera or Zeus, or maybe just in the mood to brighten up the sky with a riot of color.

I wish I could find it heartening. But my promise to Hephaestus weighs on me. I told him that I wouldn’t tell any god that I’d found him, and I’ve kept his secret. Only Charis knows.

I remember his fear at the thought I might tell Ares. It’s held me back so far. That, and the knowledge that Ares was so worried that I’d go.

But hasn’t Hephaestus’ fear dissipated now? He was bold enough to kiss me, for one thing. He’s made a home of his volcano; his own kingdom. And, while he might not believe it, I know that Ares has no intention of hurting him.

“What is it?” he repeats.

“What?”

“You’re so quiet.” He stops walking.

I don’t want this secret anymore. I want to tell him, and I don’t know that I owe it to Hephaestus to keep it from him. The volcano, Hephaestus’ injury, even the kiss. If Ares is angry that I went there, let him rage. It’s never been for him to tell me what I can and can’t do.

He hears me out, then looks up at the fading sky. The rain is slick on his breastplate, dampening his hair.

“I don’t know why you’d risk yourself for him,” he says. “I can’t understand it.”

“I care what happens to him.”

“He sounds as though he’s better off where he is,” Ares says. “He’s his own master now, not beholden to Olympus any longer. He doesn’t need your sympathy.”

“I don’t think he sees it like that,” I argue. “Being alone, without the protection of Olympus, abandoned by his family. It isn’t as easy as you think.”

“It should be,” Ares replies.

I’m infuriated by his response. “Then why don’t you leave? Tell Zeus you won’t be one of his Olympians and never come back? If you hate it so much there, if that’s what you want, why don’t you just do it?”

He looks at me, quizzical. “You know why I don’t leave.”

“Why?”

“I have been tempted sometimes. Often. But I had my worshippers.”

“So you’d give up all your privileges if it wasn’t for them?” I challenge. “Your worshippers?”

“I don’t know,” he says. “That’s what I used to think. Before.”

“Before?” I say. “What’s changed?”

“You.” The world around us is silent except for the gentle patter of the rain. “You’re there, and I want to be where you are.”

“Oh,” I say, my anger abruptly diffused.

“Hephaestus probably feels the same,” he says. “And I don’t care about that. It doesn’t matter that he loves you, or even if you love him.”

“It doesn’t?” I interrupt. As far as I can tell, this is either wildly insulting, or else it isn’t true.

“If you didn’t care so much, you wouldn’t be the Goddess of Love.” He takes a breath. “You wouldn’t be the goddess I love. I wouldn’t stop you.”

“There’s nothing to stop. I don’t want Hephaestus as anything other than my friend.”

“I only told you that you shouldn’t go to him because I don’t want to see you punished by Zeus, that’s all,” he says. “But if Zeus finds out and fastens you to some remote cliffside, I’ll rip the chains out of the rock and he can try hurling me into a volcano. I’d make sure he regretted it.”