Chapter 25 #2
“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 facade, 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?”
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?”
He sighs with impatience. “Yes, fawning. It wasn’t an act of solidarity. I know that much.”
“No, you don’t,” I protest.
He cuts me off. “It was about you. You’re the lonely one in council, because you don’t have Ares to gaze at from your seat anymore, thinking the rest of us don’t notice. Don’t use me as a comfort just because you miss him.”
I flinch. “I won’t.”
Silence falls between us. My face stings with heat and a lump rises in my throat.
“I’m sorry,” he sighs. “I didn’t mean that.”
I lift my chin. “Yes, you did.”
“I just don’t want you to pretend,” he says, not meeting my eyes. “Even if it’s out of kindness.”
Across the courtyard, Auge drops Iris’ hand and turns on her heel, stalking away.
Everyone is arguing—and it’s not just us. This instability that tilts my realm sets all of us at odds, even me and Hephaestus, a couple only in name.
“I understand,” I say.
“Are you going back to Lemnos?” he asks.
I picture Artemis: her disdainful scowl and the knife edge of her voice.
She won’t stop me from doing what I need to do. I owe it to the world to put things right in my kingdom. For all of our sakes. “No,” I answer, and he nods.
He walks to the stables without a goodbye, and his chariot ascends swiftly. I glance back at Iris, who stares in Auge’s wake, and vow to fix this.
In the stables, I jump into my own chariot and issue my order to the waiting birds. “To Arcadia.”