This Immortal Heart: A Novel of Aphrodite(85)

A stone head, wearing a carved helmet. I nudge it with my toe, tipping it over so that its painted face stares up at the furious sky.

Those dark eyes and the flat line of that unsmiling mouth hit me with a jolt.

In the haze and the chaos, I see them dancing, shadows against the flame. They scream and lift their hands, erratic and wild, and above the deafening rumble of the fire I can make out the name they cry out loud.

Eris! Eris! Eris!

A wave of nausea makes me unsteady and I back away. I desperately don’t want to see what’s become of the rest of the statue.

His worshippers have abandoned him, as surely as he abandoned them. The Goddess of Strife reigns here now.

Ares is a god in exile.





25


I don’t know how I make it to my chariot, how I stop my hands from trembling enough to hold the reins. I already knew that he was gone. He chose to leave, and these are the consequences.

But that everything could turn so quickly, that everything he built could fall apart in the blink of an eye, is what terrifies me.

I land on Cyprus, yearning for my island, needing to feel its embrace as usual. But as I hover over the towns and villages, there is no joyful ripple of welcome. Instead, a sense of restless unease emanates from them. I expected mortals stirring from sleep into drowsy embraces as I passed, but I find wakeful anxiety instead.

I find Eros in his favorite glade at sunrise, alone.

“Eros,” I say, “something’s wrong.”

He stands up, wings unfurling, eyes intent on me. “I know.”

“You feel it too?” I ask. “Like the balance has shifted, like nothing is quite right?”

He lifts his hand to his jaw, his fingers grazing his chin as he thinks. “Something like that,” he says. “Something that’s been building.”

My heart sinks at his confirmation. This isn’t my imagination; not a hangover of dread from the scenes at Thrace. It’s real. I glance around the glade, as though the trees or peaceful pond might yield an answer, but there is nothing but the whisper of the breeze. “Come on,” I say. “To my sanctuary.”

The rosy tendrils of dawn are warming the soft pearl sky over Paphos, but already there is a snaking line of worshippers at my temple. We pause, watching the offerings.

“She was here only yesterday,” I murmur to him as a young woman sets down a honey cake. “She wanted to attract the attention of a man in her village; I granted it. Why is she back already?”

The woman prays again, faint shadows like bruises under her eyes. My breath hisses through my teeth. “She’s asking the same thing,” I say to him, bewildered. “What’s going on?”

He’s looking past me, at the other mortals behind her. “So many of them,” he says, “so early in the day. And none of them look as though they’ve slept.”

I follow his gaze and see another woman I recognize. “She came last week,” I say. “Her husband has lost interest.” I note how drawn and tired her face is, how weary everyone around her looks and how many familiar faces there are. A widow who yearns for someone she can love, now that she’s finally free of the cruel man she married. A youth who craves the affection of the boy he studies with, both under the same tutor, stealing wondering glances at one another while their teacher drones on. “I blessed them all.”

“Why would so many prayers be unfulfilled when you’ve granted them? It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Is it frustrated love that’s turned them all out of their beds at this hour?” I ask.

“Maybe,” Eros says slowly. “Though Pasithea was in tears a few days ago.” His eyes dart to mine. “A quarrel with Hypnos.”

“With Hypnos.” I seize his hand. “That’s it. If Hypnos is distracted, no wonder no one can sleep.” I remember the other night, how I kept waking after Dysis argued with her new lover. “Dysis too,” I say. “I set her up with Kedalion from the forge. It went awry almost at once.”

“Pasithea and Hypnos, Dysis and Kedalion, all these mortals…” Eros trails off.

Frost creeps into my heart, the truth cold in my bones. “It’s me,” I say.

“You?” He shakes his head. “No, it can’t be you.”

“Whatever I do, it goes wrong,” I say. “Ever since—ever since I got married.”

Eros bites his lip. “I don’t know,” he says.

“That’s it, Eros, I know it is. I got married to protect my role and look what’s happened. Everything’s falling apart.” Ares left his realm to fall into chaos. But I stayed, and still mine is crumbling.

Eros takes a long breath. “It makes sense,” he says.

“Does it? I didn’t foresee this; did you?”

“No, I didn’t. But you’re the Goddess of Love,” he says. “And you’re not in love anymore. You’re not even looking. Since Ares left, your heart is like the forge on Olympus. Shut down and silent. No wonder the rest of the world is floundering.”

I swallow. “I have tried,” I say, “to reawaken my heart.”

Eros squeezes my hand. “I know,” he says. “But maybe you can’t, at least not while you’re still on Lemnos.”