This Immortal Heart: A Novel of Aphrodite(88)

Zeus drums his fingers on the table. “No,” he admits. “I’ve sent Iris searching, but even she can’t find him.”

Demeter shrugs. “Then he might not know.”

“He should know,” Athena snaps. “Of any of us, he knows Eris the best. He should have predicted this would happen.”

For the first time in a council meeting, I sympathize with Athena. I don’t know if I’ve ever agreed with her before, but on this I can’t deny that she’s right. “Eris loves to cause trouble,” I say. “But Ares must have had some hold on her, to keep her reined in all this time. You might give her pause if you make her consider that he might return and see what she’s done.”

“And if he doesn’t?” Those cold eyes land squarely on me now.

“Then at least,” I say, “it gives us time to work out what to do.”

Another moment of scrutiny, and then she nods. “All right, Aphrodite,” she says. “I’ll tell her.”

“That’s right,” Zeus booms. “You will.”

Her eyes flicker to him with a flash of scorn, and then she catches my eye again and I think there’s a hint of approval there.

“Enough of war. What about you, Aphrodite?” All heads turn to me at Zeus’ address. “You must have much to report on matters of love, now you’re so richly inspired by your own marriage.”

I don’t intend to broach the problems bubbling up in my own realm. “Of course,” I say smoothly. I slide my hand up Hephaestus’ arm, wrapping it around his broad shoulder. Before I can fabricate a story of how wonderfully matters of love thrive across the world, Artemis interrupts.

“Whatever it was that brought you to the Arcadian woods,” she says, “stay away from them in the future.”

“Excuse me?” I snap my head up like I’ve been doused in freezing water.

“You heard me.” Her chin juts toward me and her arms are folded across her chest. “I don’t want your interference in my forests, among my nymphs.”

“I have no interest in your nymphs.” I look to Zeus, forcing out a chuckle as though I’m amused by her obnoxious behavior rather than raging at her impudence. “But I’m free to walk in any woods that I choose.”

“Not mine,” she retorts.

“Aphrodite is right,” Zeus interjects. “You can’t keep her out of any place she wishes to roam—or where she’s called.”

Artemis tenses. “No one calls her to the places I rule. None of us would invite her or Eros to meddle there.”

“Your followers are your concern,” he tells her. “If they want to obey you, they will.”

She sweeps a glare of fiery contempt over him, then me. “Stay out,” she hisses. “Or I’ll make you.”

“That’s enough,” Zeus snaps.

I don’t think for a moment that Zeus is intervening on my behalf—he just wants free rein to wander the secluded woods himself, and we all know he poses a far greater threat to her nymphs than I do. But she subsides, satisfying herself with no more than a glare at me across the table.

At last, the fractious council meeting comes to an end. When we rise to leave, I keep my hand on Hephaestus’ arm, though he gives me no response. It’s not just spite against Zeus that makes me want to maintain a show of togetherness. I’ve seen time and time again how they dismiss the Blacksmith God. I want him to know I’m here with him, that he has an ally at that table. That I’m his friend, even if I can’t be anything more.

But, as I squeeze my fingers around the hard muscle, pressing warmly to remind him that he isn’t alone, I notice Charis in the recesses of the hall. She looks pale, her hair pulled back tightly and secured with a jeweled comb, and the angles of her face seem more severe than usual. Her eyes linger on my hand.

I swallow a sigh of frustration. Zeus appears unruffled; my efforts are likely wasted on him. Hephaestus is so remote he might as well be made of stone. The only person paying any attention to what I’m doing is Charis, and she’s the only one I care about hurting.

On our way to the stables, Hephaestus stops. We are alone in the courtyard, snowflakes falling lightly around us. On the path just beyond, I can see Iris and Auge, both enveloped in Iris’ golden wings.

“Don’t pretend,” he says, “in front of them.”

“Pretend what?”

He looks annoyed. “That we have a loving marriage. It’s not necessary.”

I drop my hand. “What would you prefer I do?”

“Whatever you want.” Hephaestus is never so short with me. I feel a sinking in my stomach, a genuine dismay.

“I thought we were there together,” I say. “That we’re on each other’s side. Those councils can feel lonely, especially when everyone’s at odds. Like Artemis attacking me out of nowhere.”

“How did you know about Ares’ shrine?” he asks.

“I saw it burn,” I say. “Why?”

He shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. Pretend I didn’t ask.” His mouth is flat, a grim line in his stern face. “It’s nothing to do with me,” he says. “And neither is the way you were fawning over me in that room.”

This shocks me more than Artemis’ venomous strike across the table. “Fawning?”