Chapter 16
Ares returns from Corinth under the cover of night. The first I know of it is when I startle awake to the sound of him climbing over the balcony outside my bedchamber.
I sit up, clutching the furs to my chest, thinking for a second that Zeus is rampaging again. But it’s just the clatter of Ares’ spear falling to the floor as he swings himself down.
Then he’s standing, framed in the archway, stars shimmering in the dark skies behind him.
“Why did you come that way?” I ask. “Did you scale the mountainside?”
“I didn’t want to be seen.”
He comes into the room, unhooking his breastplate, setting it down more carefully than his spear. The only light is from the stars, but the shadowed shape of him outlined against their faint, distant glow still quickens my pulse. “Did you free Thanatos?” I ask.
He sits on the bed, leaning in to me, his face close to mine. My senses are flooded, stupefied with his scent of earth and wood and leather, the warmth of his skin and the intoxicating nearness of his lips.
“As soon as I was done with Sisyphus, I came straight here,” he says. “To you.” He slides the furs away from my shoulders, and his hand slips down to my hip, the other twisting in my hair as he kisses me fiercely.
I don’t want him to stop, but I press my hand against his chest, pushing him back.
“Why did you go there?” I ask. “I didn’t think you took orders from Zeus.”
He pauses. “I thought there had been enough discord on Olympus lately.”
“That’s never bothered you before.”
“No,” he says, “but it upset you. I thought this time I’d keep the peace. Do what he asked.”
“For me?” I ask.
He leans back, a wariness in the set of his shoulders. I can see in the shadows how his brows draw together in confusion. “Shouldn’t I have?” he asks.
“I don’t know.”
“Aphrodite,” he says, “what’s wrong?”
I look down. “I told you this had to stop happening.”
He recoils. “Do you want me to go?”
I can’t answer, because the truth is that I don’t. But he takes my silence to mean the opposite, and in a moment he’s on his feet, poised to leave.
“Ares,” I say, reaching for his hand.
He stares at my fingers intertwining with his. “What do you want?”
“I didn’t think,” I say, “that it would be like this between us.”
His eyes find mine again in the dim light. “Like what?”
“So…” I search for the words that can describe this. “So…so all-consuming.” Unlike any other affair I’ve known, in all the centuries I’ve lived.
“I did.” His voice is low and steady. “I knew from the moment it started, from the first time you came to Thrace, that I wouldn’t stop thinking of you, not even for a second.”
This is what Demeter and Hephaestus don’t know. What they could never see.
“I know,” he continues, sitting down on the bed again, his hand still clasped in mine, “why you don’t want the other gods to know that you’re with me.
It’s because of who I am. But I don’t care.
I have no friends among them. What they think doesn’t matter to me.
I only want to keep them from having anything they can use against you—against either of us. ”
“It doesn’t matter to me what they think,” I say.
It wasn’t shame that I felt when Demeter and Hephaestus warned me against Ares.
A bridling anger that they dare stand in judgment, yes.
Compassion for the hurt it causes an already wounded god, that too.
And fear that they might be right. “I only thought that if we kept it secret that I could keep it under control.”
“And?” he says. “Can you?”
I slide my hand to the back of his neck, pulling him toward me. My kiss is all the answer he needs.
—
In the morning, I tell him about Dionysus. “He has plans,” I say. “And definitely a grudge against Hera.”
Ares rolls his eyes. “It won’t take him long to realize it isn’t worth it. Zeus will fight her forever, but he won’t let anyone else attack her. He might find it amusing to watch his new son spar with her, but he’ll never let it go far.”
I shift onto my elbow, looking down at his face. I never get tired of tracing the haughty angle of his cheekbones and the dark beard that dusts the line of his jaw. “Did you never think,” I ask idly, “of raising an army against them both?”
“And rule Olympus myself?” He snorts. “No. They can keep it.” His eyes flicker to mine. “You don’t think that’s what this Dionysus intends, do you?”
“No.” I remember the Wine God’s tousled curls and limpid charm. “It’s definitely not his style. He was all about pleasure. I don’t see him as a fighter.” But there was something about him that gives me pause. A steely determination underneath that merry surface.
“Hmm.”
“What?” I ask.
“He interested you,” says Ares.
“Oh,” I say, kissing him lightly. “He did. Very much.”
His hand twists in my hair, holding my face to his. “How much?” he asks, a wicked glint in his eye.
I laugh. “You’ll see for yourself,” I say, “when you meet him. He’s captivated half the gods on Olympus already.”
He presses his mouth to mine hungrily. “I don’t think,” he says, “that I’ll like him.”
“You don’t like anyone,” I reply.
He pulls me against him, his skin hot against mine. “Not quite,” he says. “I can think of one exception.”
“Are you jealous?” I smile.
“You told me you’d take other lovers,” he says.
It isn’t an answer. “And what about you?” I ask. I’m thinking of the mortal woman who summoned me. There’s no shortage of admirers who would eagerly take my place. I ask it playfully enough, but I feel the moment change, a seriousness settling in his eyes.
“There’s no one,” he says, “no one for me except you. Not anymore.”
I’m taken aback, too startled to think of what to say in return.
He smiles, his mood lifting once more. “You didn’t think the God of War had a heart to give,” he says, kissing me again. “But if I do, it’s yours.” His kisses trail down my neck, and he stops for a moment. “I’m not jealous, though,” he adds. “As long as you come back to me.”
“Don’t worry,” I say. “I will.”
—
After that, I can’t pretend any longer that things between us are about to come to an end. Something has shifted. And, as Hephaestus is so observant, I think it’s kinder for me to stay away.
I ask Charis to go to him, to bring him more nectar and ambrosia. I should have asked her in the first place. No one would question her presence in the storerooms.
“Of course.” She’s eager, just as I knew she would be. This is better, I decide, for all of us.
And, true to his word, it’s only a matter of days before Dionysus comes to Olympus. Hera’s face is a sight to behold, but Zeus insists on hospitality for his son, a guest in our palace.
Hera alights on the word guest and, though she regards Dionysus with hostile suspicion, she seems mollified that his stay is only temporary. He brings great jars with him, winning over the rest of the gods with an abundance of wine like none they’ve ever tasted before.
Except for Ares, naturally. “I’d rather drink worse wine and not have to listen to him talk,” he mutters to me.
Dionysus looks over at us, smiling, unfazed by Hera at one end of the long table and Ares at the other, both mutinous and ungrateful, both wishing him gone.
We’re all sitting together along the wide benches in the center of the feasting hall, and there’s a throng of nymphs and minor gods standing together in clusters by the walls.
Word has spread, and everyone is eager to lay eyes on Zeus’ divine son.
I lean across the polished wood, toward Dionysus. His eyes sparkle as they meet mine and, despite myself, my heart flutters. “I’m impressed,” I say. “You did get to Olympus, just like you said you would.”
He inclines his head. “In a way.”
“What way?” I ask. “You’re here, aren’t you?”
He shrugs.
“And now you are,” I continue, “you’re probably realizing how much you prefer Naxos.” I laugh, expecting that he will too, but he’s looking through the archway at something in the room behind me.
The twelve golden thrones, one for each of the Olympian gods.
Except one of them is vacant, its former owner now king of an empty volcano. There’s a covetous gleam in Dionysus’ eyes, and I feel a shiver of foreboding.
Just how far do his ambitions reach?
—
The moon is a silver coin shining in the darkness.
I’ve been on Mount Haemus long enough for it to shrink to a sliver and swell round again, and only now am I about to step into my chariot in the stony courtyard.
My doves are straining on their harnesses, eager to leave at last. The poor creatures hate it here, shrinking from the shadows and burying their faces in their plumage every time the Keres drift past them.
“I won’t bring you next time,” I promise them.
Ares wraps his arms around my shoulders, pulling me back into him. “Don’t go yet,” he murmurs into my hair.
I luxuriate in his warmth, breathing in the earthy scent of him. “I wish I could stay,” I say. “But surely you have a war to fight by now?”
I feel him shrug. “I’ll send Eris.”
The shift of his body against mine makes my skin tingle, a shiver of pleasure that makes me ache for more.
I’ve been happier in this gloomy place than seems possible, more so than I could have dreamed when I first saw it—but we can’t hide away here forever.
“I should go back,” I say, “before everyone notices we’re both missing. ”
“No one will notice I’m gone,” he points out. “Or care. And they wouldn’t know you’re with me. You could be going to Naxos with Dionysus.”
I slip around in his arms to face him, linking my hands behind his neck. “Is that where you think I’m going?” I ask.
He hesitates, just for a moment. “Are you?”
“Would you mind if I were?” I hold my breath.
“I told you that I wouldn’t.” I can’t read in his eyes if he means it or not.
“Well,” I say, “I’m not so sure that no one would think I’m with you. I think the other gods might be noticing us. I know Demeter has already.”