Chapter 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.”
“But the oath…” I say.
“If you break it, you lose your power,” Eros says. “But what if keeping the oath means you lose it anyway?”
It’s a risk either way. “Hephaestus doesn’t want me to leave,” I prevaricate.
“Maybe he doesn’t, but he should.” Eros shades his eyes, looking beyond the sanctuary, across the island.
“You torment him with hope every day that you stay. I was watching him at his work. All those muscles, Aphrodite. Someone else would appreciate the opportunity, but you steadfastly refuse to take advantage of your situation. It’s a waste, you know. ”
“I don’t think that my being with Hephaestus would solve this,” I say.
“Then go,” he urges. “Find out what will.”
“Maybe,” I concede. “Maybe I should.” I’ve been happier on Lemnos than I expected to be. It’s been a cocoon in my heartbreak, and I find myself more reluctant to leave it than I thought possible.
But love is the reason I went through with this marriage, even if it meant giving up my own. I’ve seen now what’s become of Ares’ kingdom, and I won’t let it happen to mine. If romances among the gods and mortals are languishing, if it’s because of me, I have to find a way to fix it.
“Let’s start putting things right,” I say. I cast a look up and down the line of worshippers. “I can try again with all these prayers. I’ve been distracted; maybe all I need to do is concentrate. Or I’ll start fresh. Are there any lovers you have in mind? Perhaps a new problem is what I need.”
“Oh,” says Eros. “Now that you mention it, there is someone. A tangle I couldn’t solve—maybe it needs your touch.”
“Well, then,” I say, “let’s go.”
—
We land in the forests of Arcadia, surrounded by spreading oaks and slender poplars, leafy ash trees and wide elms; branches ruffled by the breeze so that the sun’s rays become darts of greenish-gold.
The air tastes fresh, verdant, and I fill my lungs, the tightness of my torso relaxing.
My throat is soothed from the lingering scorch of the ash and soot in Thrace, and I feel the pink stealing back into my cheeks.
“Show me,” I say. “Let’s see why you brought me here.”
“The Dryads are quarreling,” he says.
“Dryads?” I ask. “It’s hardly in their nature to argue.” Dryads are timid, rarely seen and always peaceful. I can’t imagine what would stir them to discord.
“You’ll see why,” he says, but he seems a little distracted.
“What’s the matter?”
“We need to be careful here,” he admits. “We’re on the outskirts of Artemis’ territory, and she won’t be pleased to see us.”
“Artemis?” I ask. “She’s here?”
“All the forests are her home,” he says. “But she and Galatea have settled in this one of late. We’d do better to avoid her nymphs. Only they roam so far in pursuit of the hunt that sometimes it’s impossible to stay out of their way.”
I shrug. “She has no more rights over the land than we do.”
“She certainly thinks she does.” He frowns.
“Eros, have you had some kind of skirmish with her?” I ask. Never mind the gentle nature of Dryads, I really can’t imagine Eros in an argument. He’s far too relaxed and devoted to pleasure to be at odds with anyone.
“She’s just so hostile,” he complains. “Always thinking I’m going to enchant one of her nymphs and make them fall in love with a man.”
“You haven’t, have you?”
“No,” he says firmly. Then he takes my arm. “Listen!” he commands.
I don’t see anything out of the ordinary, but I do as he tells me.
At first, I can’t hear anything but the breeze fluttering through the leaves, and then I realize that’s it.
The noise intensifies, building up as the branches start to tremble as though in excitement.
And then another noise—a snapping twig, the pad of footsteps and a muttered exclamation.
“This way,” Eros whispers, and he leads me through a gap in the trees.
There’s a small glade in the woods, through which a crystal-clear stream bubbles.
Kneeling at the edge is a hunter. A young man, scooping up the water with delight before drinking greedily from his cupped hand.
Then he swipes his arm across his forehead, lightly sheened with sweat from the heat of the afternoon.
“Now you see,” Eros breathes.
And he’s right, I do.
The sunlight plays on the young man’s face, glancing off his high cheekbones and warming his skin.
There’s something of Dionysus in him—a carefree boyishness, though he looks more of a man than the pretty god does.
Beside my sandaled feet, violets spring up from the earth, delicate and joyful, turning their sweet purple faces toward him, drinking him in like sunshine.
“The Dryads,” I murmur. “He’s the cause of their argument.”
“They’re fighting over him,” Eros confirms.
“I can see why.”
The hunter, his thirst quenched, leans back on the grass, and I feel the trees that surround the glade lean in closer toward him. The yearning in this forest sings to me, a hymn of longing that kisses the skin on my arms and the nape of my neck, tingling across my flesh.
“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.