This Immortal Heart: A Novel of Aphrodite(67)

Ares lifts his spear, his insouciance burned away, his eyes alight with the savage glow of violence.

I look at the appalled faces of my handmaids. My friends. I won’t let Zeus hurt a single one of them.

“Have the contest,” I say. “I’ll abide by the outcome.”

I don’t look away from Ares’ face. His shock burns into me.

Zeus nods, satisfied. “As I thought.”

The spear clatters to the floor, the strike of bronze against marble loud in the quiet room. Ares strides out of the hall, the heavy doors swinging behind him. I take a long breath.

“Iris,” Zeus calls.

She steps up beside him, a golden pitcher in her hand.

“Aphrodite,” says Zeus. “On the water of Styx, swear you’ll marry the winner.”

I toss my hair behind my shoulders. Nerves are rising up inside me, but I won’t let it show. I want to follow Ares and tell him everything is going to be all right. But I can’t. Not yet.

The water swirls silver inside the jug. I know that Iris has flown to the edge of the world for this, to the clifftop waterfall that cascades down beneath the surface of the earth, all the way to the subterranean river where the Goddess Styx presides over its shadowy flow. When the Olympians took power, every god of the world swore their fealty to us on her waters. No oath binds us like a Stygian vow.

Zeus takes the pitcher from Iris. His voice is steady and I hear every word echoing as though he’s speaking from that vaulted cavern on the banks of the river that the dead must cross to reach the Underworld, the river that holds even the most powerful immortal to their promise.

He comes to the end of the oath, leaving silence for me to repeat his words.

I take the pitcher. If I speak them aloud and then fail to keep them, my power will dissolve into nothing, swept away on the inexorable currents of the Styx.

Zeus keeps his eyes fastened on me, waiting for me to falter.

But I have faith in one god to protect me.

I take the oath.

I’m going to save myself.





19


“I’ll persuade Hephaestus.”

Ares is at the stables, not yet gone. He must have been waiting to see if I’d follow.

“And if you can’t?” His jaw is granite, his teeth gritted, but his hands on the horse’s bridle are gentle as he attaches the reins.

“Hephaestus won’t do this to me,” I say. “He couldn’t have known this would be Zeus’ reaction.”

Ares stops what he’s doing and turns to face me. “You don’t know what he was thinking. For all you know, he set the condition himself.”

“No,” I say. “Hera came up with that part.”

“Hera?”

“Yes,” I tell him, impatient. “Because she knew that was how she could get you involved. Obviously, you’d never rescue her otherwise.”

He frowns. “Why me?”

“Because she thinks you’re the one Hephaestus won’t dare to refuse.”

He shakes his head. “Did anyone think that he would dare do what he’s done to Hera? To Zeus?”

“Exactly,” I say. “That’s why I don’t need you to get involved.” I sigh. “Look, this is some impulsive, reckless scheme that Hephaestus has come up with—probably along with Dionysus. He wasn’t there today, did you notice?” I say. “I can picture it: the two drinking together, complaining about Zeus and Hera…and now this. But he’ll have sobered up now. I’ll go there and explain what’s happened, and he’ll tell me how to unlock the throne. I’ll be the one responsible for freeing Hera. The oath can’t be fulfilled if I’m the one who frees her. I won’t have to marry anyone.”

“You took an oath?” Ares asks.

“Well, yes. I had to.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“What other option was there?”

He stares at me. “You could have left. With me.”

“Ares—”

“He can’t replace you, and you know it. You’re more ancient than he is,” Ares says. “You were born from Ouranos, not Zeus.”

“But he can exile me, take my throne, banish me from Cyprus. I won’t walk away from my followers that easily. Besides, you heard the threats he was making. It wasn’t just against the two of us. What about the nymphs?”

He hesitates.

I take a step closer to him, taking one of his hands in mine. “I know you’d rather fight him, Ares, but I’m telling you my way is better.”

He inclines his head just a little, acknowledging the truth of it. “Fine,” he says. “You can go and talk to Hephaestus. But I’m coming with you.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

He pats the horse on its flank and steps up into the chariot, extending his hand to me. “I’ll wait outside,” he says, “while you try.”

“I don’t need to try,” I say. “As soon as Hephaestus realizes what he’s done, he’ll change his mind. I just need to tell him.”

“So it’ll make no difference that I’m there,” Ares says.

I consider it, then put my hand in his. “As long as Hephaestus doesn’t see you.”