This Immortal Heart: A Novel of Aphrodite(66)

“You know as well as I do that the only person who can release me is Hephaestus,” she says. She’s so cold and composed, not letting a hint of panic into her voice. “So send Ares to persuade him.” She twists her lips into a delicate sneer. “He won’t dare stand up to him. And Ares won’t show him any mercy, given the stakes. He won’t want to see you married off to his own brother, will he?”

I stare at her. “You came up with the marriage idea,” I breathe. “So that Ares will force Hephaestus to give in and let you go.”

“Finally,” she says. “You understand.”

I shove the armrest with more force than necessary, jostling her, but of course the fetters stay in place. “Why not just send Zeus down to Sicily with his thunderbolt?”

“Zeus could have blasted Hephaestus to pieces last time,” Hera says. “I won’t risk that happening.”

“Because if Hephaestus is torn to shreds, you’ll never be free.” In this moment, I don’t think I’ve ever hated her more.

“Don’t make such a fuss.” She’s still giving orders, even when she’s the one captive. “Don’t you all end up with what you want? Hephaestus gets to humiliate me and defy Zeus. Everyone can see how clever he is, how powerful and brave to have done this to me. You can marry Ares. It’s better than waiting for Zeus to get it in his head that he can give you to someone else. You know he will, sooner or later. One day, when he wants to strengthen his alliance with the Titans, when you’re just too good a bribe for him to leave you alone any longer. He’s threatened it forever and you can’t keep on avoiding it. Your luck will run out in the end.”

I hesitate. Even in the grip of my outrage, there’s an awful logic to what she’s saying. I have no doubt that her reasoning is selfish. She wants her freedom. But, in some twisted way, isn’t she offering me mine as well—or the closest she can come to it? If anyone on Olympus knows the horror of a forced marriage, it’s Hera.

Better Ares than someone else, that’s what she’s saying.

She senses my weakness and pounces. “You know I’m right.”

She might be. But this is exactly why I wanted to keep my love for Ares a secret. Now they know, they can use it to manipulate us, just as I knew they would.

I exhale with impatience. “This is impossible,” I hiss, pushing myself back from the throne. I throw my hands up in defeat. “I can’t free her.”

Zeus smirks. Apollo stirs, hopeful.

“Go ahead and try,” I tell him. “You won’t do any better.”

He brushes past me, deep in concentration as he examines it from every angle.

I don’t watch Apollo. My eyes are on Ares. He hasn’t put himself forward. He hasn’t said a word. But I can see his knuckles whitening around the shaft of his spear.

“After Apollo, Ares can try,” Zeus announces. “Then,” he smirks, “I’ll open this contest up beyond Olympus. Let every god of the world have their attempt.”

“Do it.” They are the first words that Ares has spoken since we arrived in the hall. His voice rings out, startling and decisive.

“What did you say?” Zeus asks.

“You can hold your contest,” Ares says. “Aphrodite doesn’t have to abide by the rules.”

Zeus tightens his fist around the thunderbolt in his hand. My eyes are drawn to it; the slender prongs of dark metal, sleek and sharp and deadly. A hiss emanates from its gleaming surface, a whisper of threats to come. “Any god who wishes to remain on Mount Olympus,” he says, every word quiet and ominous, “will abide by my rules.”

“If we wished to stay,” Ares replies, matching Zeus’ tone, “then we would.”

Zeus’ heavy brow lifts a fraction. “You don’t think I can replace you?” He takes a pace toward Ares. “I can father another war-god, another love-goddess, anytime I choose.”

In the silence, Hera’s stifled intake of breath is audible to us all. Apollo’s hands have stilled. Everyone holds tense in anticipation.

Ares shrugs. “Go ahead. Maybe they’ll free Hera for you. But we won’t.”

Everyone’s eyes turn to me. My mind is racing. Everything is moving too fast. Ares’ words open something up inside me. There’s a lure to the vision: fleeing with him, never seeing Zeus again or being a piece in his petty games.

But for all I’d love to leave Zeus behind—what about my followers? What about Cyprus? The Graces, the Horae, the friends that I love among the gods? Would I really turn my back on them?

I say nothing.

Zeus is as quick as a striking snake. “It seems that Aphrodite isn’t quite in accord with you. Perhaps she doesn’t like the idea of being expelled from the heavens quite so much,” he says. “Of watching me burn her temples to the ground, of losing her retinue”—he glances at my nymphs—“though I’m sure I can think of other uses for them here once they don’t have Aphrodite to attend to.”

“That’s enough.” I draw myself up, folding my arms across my chest, as haughty and cold as Hera herself. “You’ll leave the Horae and the Graces alone.”

“You’ll do as I say.” Zeus’ voice rings off the marble columns. “And if you don’t, you’ll suffer the consequences and so will they.”