This Immortal Heart: A Novel of Aphrodite(87)

“So,” says Eros, “will you settle it?”

Their devotions trickle in, tentative at first, rising in sighs like the rush of wind through the leaves. Let him be mine, give him to me, Aigeiros, Guardian of the Poplars. I was the one who saw him first, Kraneia of the Cherry Trees, I want him more. Bring him closer to me, let him seek the shade of my crown, let him lie among my roots. No, Ptelea of the Elms deserves him the most, let me enfold him in my branches. Adonis, Adonis, Adonis they cry, their soft voices intertwining and melding together in my head.

Adonis. I taste his name in my mouth.

“Can you choose?” Eros asks.

“No,” I murmur back. There’s nothing to distinguish one from the other.

“Me neither,” he says. “I can’t find a reason why one nymph should have the prize of this man more than any of the rest of them.”

My eyes rove over him again, searching the flawless shape of his face and the supple grace of his body for an answer.

“Maybe,” says Eros, a singsong lilt to his voice as he studies me closely, “none of them should have him at all.”

“What do you mean?”

The golden feathers of his wings brush across my back, a delicate tickle. “Maybe you should keep him for yourself.”

I drag my eyes away from the hunter. “Eros,” I say, “did you plan this?”

“No!” he says at once. “Not until this moment, when I saw the way you looked at him.”

“I don’t know.” Every time I’ve thought of love lately, the feeling has slipped out of my grasp before it can take hold. I’m about to tell him that when a bird trills from above my head and Adonis glances up, his eyes landing on mine.

And every word I was about to say evaporates from my tongue.



* * *



—

I return to Lemnos, the Dryads’ dispute still unresolved and Eros’ words floating in my mind.

“Zeus has called a council of the gods on Olympus.” Hephaestus’ voice butts into my thoughts.

“What? Oh.” I shake my head, trying to clear my reverie.

“Will you come?” he asks. “Or do you want me to make an excuse for you?”

I shake my head. “I’ll tell the Horae to prepare our chariots.”

“Chariots?” he asks. “You want to go separately?”

“Oh.” I twist my necklace between my fingers. “I might be going somewhere else later.” Back to Arcadia to decide about Adonis? Or else to Cyprus to try to find another way to heal the cracks that threaten my realm? I still don’t know.

He doesn’t ask any more about it, and my doves follow his horses through the sky toward Olympus.

Almost nothing has changed in the palace since our wedding, except that Dionysus sits in the place that was Hestia’s. As the Olympians take their thrones, I see all the same faces—masks of immortal perfection, concealing everything that goes on behind their smooth smiles.

I shift, restless, before Zeus even begins talking.

Almost immediately, he brings up Ares. My spine stiffens, tension knotting in my shoulders as he describes the violent battles seizing the mortal world. His words rumble like distant thunder, and the threat of menace brews in his dark eyes. He knows his foolishness in letting Ares slip through his fingers, and he looks at each of us, daring us to mention it. The words dance on my tongue, itching to be free, but I hold them in—for now.

“There’s nothing else for it,” he declares. “Athena, you’ll have to step in.”

Her sleek head whips around, her gray eyes cold. I’ve never seen her look so frostily at Zeus before. “I have my own realm,” she says. “And more than enough to do without taking on Ares’ unruly followers—especially now Eris has them in her hold.”

He waves his hand dismissively. “You’re a war-goddess,” he says.

“Of strategy and strength,” she counters. “These mortals don’t want real war; they want carnage.”

“They won’t follow Athena,” I say. I can’t imagine how it must feel to call for divine assistance in the heat and dust of battle, and, instead of the wild ferocity of Ares, have the icy, imperious goddess hear your cries.

Eris now, I remind myself.

Zeus snorts. “No mortals will dare defy an Olympian.”

“They burned Ares’ shrine.” My heart beats painfully in my chest as I say it, and there’s a flurry of glances in my direction. “I don’t think they care who they defy.”

For a moment, he’s dumbfounded, his mouth falling open. Then he rallies, snapping back to his commanding posture. “Athena,” he says, “find Eris and deliver a warning.”

“What warning?” she asks.

“That she’d better not anger any more of us,” he bites out. “Remind her that when Ares comes back, she’ll be in enough trouble as it is.”

“But will he come back?” Exasperation cracks her cool fa?ade, real frustration in her words. “And should we let him if he tries? He’s abandoned every one of his responsibilities. His mortals are dying in droves, slaughtering one another, and he does nothing to stop it.”

“Does he know that?” Demeter leans forward, her hands steepled together under her chin. “Does anyone know where he is?”