Chapter 31
“Aphrodite?”
His voice sounds just as it always did. Deep and wild with the thrum of battle, a low and savage timbre that sings through my veins.
I thought I’d never hear him say my name again. He’s whispered it to me so many times, breathing it into my ear as he held me tight to his body, murmuring it into my skin, the memories still seared into my heart.
Now he speaks it to me across a battlefield, a world away from when we saw each other last.
“Aphrodite?” he says again. I’m locked in place, as though standing still might help me disappear, but then I drag my eyes to his.
He’s unchanged. The handsome warrior that he’s always been; the same stern line of his jaw, the same black eyes fixed on me from under the forbidding plume of his helmet. And yet he looks at me as though I’m a stranger. I know every inch of him while knowing nothing at all.
“Why are you here?” He must be as shocked as I am—more so, given that he had no idea I was anywhere close—but he stays level and cool. Neither hostile, nor welcoming.
“I didn’t mean to come,” I say.
His brow creases slightly. “You can’t have gotten here by accident.”
“I didn’t realize it was your land when I first came here.”
“And when you did realize?”
I fold my arms across my chest. “By then, I had work to do here as well.”
He narrows his eyes. “What could you possibly have to do? You have no worshippers here, no influence. Why would you come?”
He’s even more rigid and uncompromising than I remember. A familiar frustration wells up inside me, and I become defiant. “It’s none of your business.”
His eyes flicker up and down the battlefield, where the Amazons and newly allied Scythian men tend to their wounded. “It looked as though you were ready to plunge into battle.”
“I wasn’t going to let these women get hurt,” I say. “I’ve grown fond of them.”
He exhales sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and finger. “What is this? Do you live in Scythia now?”
“Why would you care?” I bite back. “This is a big place.”
“I don’t,” he says shortly. “But won’t your husband mind your absence?”
“No.” I don’t elaborate. We’re both glaring now, and I’m determined not to be the one who breaks first.
“I didn’t think,” he mutters at last, “that you approved enough of war to get involved in one.”
The Amazons are making efficient progress, hauling the bodies away and restoring what they can of their ruined camp.
I see men hurrying back to their own, returning with tents and possessions, offering them to the women.
Kydoime kneels at the side of the girl I saw falling from her horse, tying cloth around her injured arm to hold it securely in place.
“I don’t,” I say, lifting my chin. “But I’ve seen the Amazons attack others—I’ve seen them attack these very men who help them now. They didn’t kill them. They didn’t revel in their violence. This was different—the men who invaded just now wanted death and destruction. I couldn’t watch it happen.”
“You wouldn’t have had to,” he says. “I’ve never seen an army that would be a match for them.”
“Even so,” I say, “I wasn’t going to take the chance.”
“Well,” he says. He reaches up to scratch his jaw.
“You’re right about them. You’ve seen for yourself that they aren’t afraid to fight; they never shrink from battle.
But it’s a necessity, not a goal. It keeps them alive.
It keeps them together. They’re not burning cities or plundering without reason. They’re surviving.”
I nod. The ground feels steady beneath my feet now. I look him up and down, ignoring how my body stirs, how my skin remembers the heat of his touch. What is it that’s different about him? Why has he let his combative tone drop? “Is that enough for you?” I ask.
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
“It’s what you want”—I clear my throat—“for your daughter?”
He’s been so controlled, but now he can’t hide his surprise. “You’ve seen me here before.”
“I have.” I sound cool, no crack in my composure.
He glances skyward and sighs. “Then, yes, it is,” he says. “She’s happy.”
My arms are still clasped across my body. I twist my bracelet between my thumb and forefinger, glancing down. “I didn’t see her mother.”
He shrugs.
My unspoken question hangs in the air between us. I don’t pursue it. “ tents are a far cry from an Olympian palace,” I say. “You have an entirely different life.”
“Don’t you?”
I shake my head. “I didn’t want a different life. That was you.”
“You didn’t want to be a wife,” he says. “But you became one.”
“Ares,” I say, “it was never a real marriage. I told you it wouldn’t be. And, whatever it was, it’s over now.”
“How?”
“I left Lemnos,” I say.
“Lemnos?”
“It’s where Hephaestus lives. Alone.”
Something flares in his eyes. “Well, then,” he says, “you got what you wanted.”
It’s not an accusation, just a statement of fact. And he’s right. This is what I wanted. To keep what I had—to be what I am, without giving up my freedom.
“I suppose so,” I say. “And, just so you know, you’re only exiled by your own choice. Zeus wants you back. He wouldn’t try to punish you, if you decided to return.”
“Like you said”—his voice is steady, his tone measured—“my life is here now.”
“I know,” I say. “But you should know that Eris rules in your place. You can imagine what that’s like.”
His lips press together in a grimace. “I can.”
Some of the tension loosens in my shoulders.
I feel lighter, freer now that I’ve told him the truth about Hephaestus and what he’s left behind.
“I’ll go soon,” I say. “I’m sorry that I came without any kind of warning.
” I watch Melo and the Scythian boy she loves lifting a body together, heaving it away to join the pile of their would-be conquerors.
“But I suspect my business here is almost done.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he says. “You don’t need my permission. And,” he adds abruptly, “Alkippe’s mother. She left me years ago. Amazons don’t like to be tied down.”
“Alkippe?” I ask.
He nods.
There’s an ache in my throat. “I’m glad,” I say, “that I saw you again.”
Warm, golden light illuminates him; his dark hair thick and shining, his beard glinting and his eyes gleaming with flecks of bronze. “Goodbye, Aphrodite,” he says.
I don’t look away, not immediately. The last time we said goodbye was subsumed by bitter grief, too painful to think of. This is how I’ll remember him, I vow. Under the Scythian sun, in the heart of the wilderness, strong and free. Always young, always handsome, but not mine. Not anymore.
“Goodbye, Ares.”
For a second, I see it in his face, the moment that he fractures. Sadness washes over him, breaking the stoical set of his mouth, flickering in his eyes. It’s brief, not more than a heartbeat, before he’s the imperturbable War God once more, but I know that he feels this just as much as I do.
He gives me a half-smile. And he walks away.
—
The queen approaches me. “Goddess,” she says, “what did you think of your first battle?”
I blink, focusing on her. I’ve been staring at the empty space where Ares was; now I snap myself back to the present. “It wasn’t my first. I’ve seen you fight before,” I say.
“You were ready to come to our aid.”
“I was,” I say. “And so were the men you thought were enemies. Tell me, did they impress you at last?”
She snorts, wiping her sword on a rag so that it glitters in the sun. No trace of blood remains. “Did you know they wanted Amazons as wives?”
“Some of them were hopeful,” I concede. “They’re in love.”
She rubs her jaw. “They came to fight at our side,” she says. “No will marry them, but any that have made an impression on one of the girls can ride with us. If they can keep up.”
“You’re letting them join you?” My heart lifts.
“If they can fight, hunt and please an , why not?” she says. “We have plenty of horses and armor and weapons to spare. More now.”
She nods toward the pile of everything they’ve stripped from their attackers. “We’re moving on from here,” she says. “Those who are willing to live like we do, who’ve paired with a woman here, can come. Any others can go back home and find a wife among their own people.”
“I’m glad,” I say. No has had to choose between love and freedom. Any that wants one of the men can have him, any who prefers a woman, or to be alone, or to take as many lovers as she desires, can do it. They can travel onwards, warring and loving as much as they like.
“Will you celebrate with us tonight?” she asks.
I glance across at the Amazons. “No,” I say. “I’m sure your god will return for that. I’ll go back to Olympus. But,” I say, smiling at her, “if your people call to me again, I’ll hear it.”
—
I go home to Cyprus first, to visit my sanctuary and to tell Eros what happened.
When I reach the palace and leave my chariot in the stables, I see that smoke rises once more from the forge chimney.
I glance toward it and see Hephaestus at the door.
He doesn’t notice me. He’s talking to Charis.
She stands on the steps, her face bright, the two in animated conversation.
I don’t visit the great hall. I don’t want to feast tonight; I want the quiet of my quarters. I want to bathe, wash the dust of the steppes from my body and sleep. Dysis and Hesperis await me, and I sink my limbs into the warm, fragrant water they’ve prepared.
My mind wanders back to Scythia against my will.
I wonder what an war celebration is like.
I imagine the flames stretching up to the stars, how the women will dance around them, hollering in triumph.
The lovers will have more to celebrate than victory alone; they’ll be together tonight, probably Ares too.
I think of the smoke, the flickering shadows, the euphoria and the ecstasy.
I’m thinking of it still when I climb into bed, alone, and close my eyes.
—
Sleep finds me quickly, and I’m happy to surrender to its sweet oblivion.