Everything’s a wreck. His bed is overturned, the silk curtains I hung on his walls have been ripped down and the array of weapons he usually keeps so organized are scattered across the floor. A particularly sharp ax is even buried in the wall, inches from the exit into the hallway.
And standing in the middle of the whole mess are Ares and Hephaestus.
“She’s mine,” Ares bellows, and he thumps his chest with his fist. His rage is palpable, and he glows a faint red. “Not yours, little brother—mine.”
Hephaestus flinches. “You’ve said that,” he says quietly. “But she is not a possession.”
Says the boy who asked his father to give me to him. I snort, and both heads turn in my direction.
“Aphrodite?” says Hephaestus. He steps toward me, but Ares blocks his way with a wicked-looking sword.
“Stay out of this,” says Ares, giving me a look. That same fire is in his eyes, but this passion isn’t for me. It’s for the fight.
“Why, so you two can have it out and decide who gets to marry me instead of letting me choose for myself?” I move toward them, sidestepping a massive shield. “Do either of you actually care about what I want?”
Hephaestus opens his mouth, undoubtedly to claim he does care, but Ares cuts him off. “Now isn’t the time. I will speak with you once I’m through with Hephaestus.”
Ares glares at me, and for once, I don’t flinch. I’ve had enough fighting for one day. If they want to go to war over me, then so be it. I won’t be sticking around to see it, or to give the winner his prize.
“Fine,” I growl, and I turn on my heel and leave. Storming into my chambers, I start to pack. I don’t have many things to take—a hand mirror decorated with pearls that a nymph gave me before Daddy found me, several of my favorite pillows and a reflection of Daddy and me playing on the beach. Even though others shower me with beautiful things, the only items I really care about are the ones with love attached to them—with sentimental value. No matter how angry I am with Daddy, I can’t leave those things behind.
By the time I’m done, Ares is standing in the archway between the hallway and my room, his arms crossed over his broad chest. He smirks, looking disgustedly pleased with himself. The jerk.
“Oh, so you won the battle then?” I say, bitterness saturating every word.
“Don’t be ridiculous. What do you think you’re doing?” he says in that hoarse voice I love. I pause. What am I doing?
“I’m leaving,” I finally say, because it’s the truth. “I’d like for you to come with me, but I won’t demand it.”
He eyes me curiously, as if he’s trying to figure out the puzzle in my words. But there’s no puzzle. He deserves a choice, just like me. “All right then,” he says. “Where are we going?”
With those four words, all of my anxiety vanishes. Grinning, I run to him and wrap my arms around him, showering him with kisses. “I love you so much,” I murmur.
He holds me securely against him, his arms strong and his grip firm, as if he’s never going to let me go. I hope with everything I am that he doesn’t. “Is that a place now?” he teases.
I kiss him again, pouring every last bit of me into it. Words can only say so much, and the way I love him—those words don’t exist. “Home,” I say. “We’re going home.”
* * *
I don’t often talk about my life before Olympus. Or at all, really. There’s no point. I spent most of it on an island with nymphs, who took care of me as if I was their own. But I wasn’t their daughter. I was nobody’s daughter, and no matter how much they loved me, the knowledge that my real parents had abandoned me hurt. Daddy likes to theorize that I didn’t have parents, that I was born from the blood of a Titan, but that only makes things worse. Who wants to exist because someone was in pain?
But one good thing did come out of my childhood: the island. It didn’t have a name when I was growing up, and humans haven’t found it yet, which means it still doesn’t. It’s my safe place, the place I go to think, and the act of taking Ares’s hand and dropping onto the island from Olympus makes me feel more vulnerable than I ever have before.
“Wow.” At least the first words out of Ares’s mouth are appropriate. We stand on a collection of boulders smoothed down by time, and across a clear pool is a waterfall. Vines of pink and purple flowers hang down each side like curtains, and above us the sunset stains the sky.
“This is my favorite place in the world.” I squeeze his hand. “Other than wherever you are, of course. And you being here makes it perfect.”
Ares wraps his arm around my shoulders, every trace of his earlier wrath gone. Being away from Olympus will do us both some good, but Ares needs it more than I do. He needs to see the beauty in all things, not just in conflict and blood and war.
We stand there for several minutes, soaking in the last of the sunset. As soon as the indigo of night seeps into the sky, I lead him across the edge of the pool toward the waterfall. “Come on,” I say. “I’ll show you where I grew up.”
He follows me, and though he doesn’t say anything, I can feel his wariness. None of the gods except Poseidon—and me, of course—are comfortable around water. It isn’t part of them, just like the Underworld isn’t. But he doesn’t complain as we both step through the waterfall, and his bravery is well rewarded. On the other side, in a hidden grotto, is my home.
Over the years, I’ve brought little things here, and little things add up over time. The nymphs must have known we were coming, because a cozy fire crackles in the middle of the cave, illuminating everything with a warm glow. A nest of pillows inhabits an entire corner, more than enough for both of us. Jewels hang from the ceiling, sparkling in the low light, and my collection of reflections hover on the walls, attached by a thought. If a mortal were to stumble across this cave, they’d be horribly confused. Most of them believe in us, but believing and seeing are two entirely different things.
“Do you like it?” I say. Fresh grapes wait for us on a golden platter, and I lead Ares to the nest of pillows.
“It’s incredible,” he says, for once not trying to act like he’s above it all. “This is where you grew up?”
I nod. “It’s my secret place. And you’re my secret now, too.”
He kisses me with that same bruising passion, his fingers tangling in my hair as he lowers me onto the pillows. The sting of leaving Daddy behind still cuts me, but it isn’t forever. Just long enough for him to apologize and let me marry Ares instead.
A choice. Love. Devotion. It isn’t too much to ask for, and Daddy will wear down eventually. He has to.
* * *
I’ve never been very good with time. I can tell you how long a day is, of course, and a lunar cycle. But eventually everything sort of blends together no matter how alive I feel.
That’s what time with Ares is like—a whirlwind of living. We explore the entire island together as the days trickle by, and for the first time ever, I feel like the center of someone’s world. There’s nothing like it, being someone’s sun, and I lose myself in Ares and our life together.
Years pass—it must be years, because the mild seasons change, and I’ve nearly forgotten the scent of Olympus—and we have a son. At first I’m not crazy about the idea of being a mother. I’m too young, I still have too much to do before I’m tied down like Hera, and half the time I forget to take care of myself, let alone a baby. But Eros is the sweetest little thing I’ve ever seen. His blond curls, blue eyes and rosy cheeks are all
mine, but his focus and intensity are Ares’s. And his chin. Definitely his chin. I’ve never seen Ares as happy as he is the moment a nymph lays Eros in his arms.
But on the day he’s born, my world shifts, and Eros becomes my sun. I think I see it in Ares’s eyes, the way he looks at me cradling the baby, though neither of us says it aloud. It’s the happiest moment of my life, but it’s also the moment our paradise starts to change.
“You still love me, don’t you?” I murmur three days after Eros’s birth. He’s my timepiece now, my moon and my stars, and I won’t ever forget a day he existed. I’m curled up in the nest of pillows, cradling Eros as he sleeps. Ares sharpens his sword by the fire.
He pauses, and resounding silence replaces the screech of stone against metal. Somehow the sound doesn’t bother the baby. “Why do you ask?”
His reluctance to give me a yes or no answer makes doubt coil inside me, hard and cold and impossible to swallow. “Eros. I just wanted to make sure—nothing’s changed, has it?”
He sets his sword down and joins us in the pillows. He hasn’t touched me properly since before Eros’s birth, but now he gathers me up, his hand splayed across my back as he buries his nose in my hair. “I love you,” he says. “Do you still love me?”
“More than ever,” I whisper, and it’s the truth. Somehow, even though I thought it wasn’t possible, my heart’s swelled. I loved Ares with everything I had before, but now there’s more—enough for Eros, and even more for Ares.
The fire crackles, and Ares traces my lips with the pad of his thumb. “I have to go tomorrow. There’s a war brewing, and I’ve neglected my duties long enough.”
I feel like someone’s poured a bucket of cold water over my head, and that doubt returns, thicker than ever. “But—why? You don’t need to fight.”
He chuckles, but there’s no humor in his laughter. For a brief second, he looks at me the way he did in Olympus all that time ago, when he and Hephaestus argued. Like I’m a child. Like I don’t understand. “And if I told you that you don’t need to love?”
I snort. “That’s absurd.”
“Then why tell me I don’t need to fight?” He kisses my cheek. “I’m taking care of my duties, that’s all. The nymphs will be here to take care of you and Eros, and I’ll be back soon enough.”
“How soon is soon enough?” I say, and he shrugs.
“As long as it takes for someone to win. But I’ll think of you every second, I promise.”
We both know he won’t, not when there’s a battle to fight, but I appreciate the sentiment anyhow. And at sunset the next day, he kisses me and Eros goodbye, his lips lingering on mine. A flash of green bursts through the sky, and all that’s left of him are two footprints in the sand.
Swallowing tightly, I notice a shell beside the spot where his left heel was moments before. Picking it up, I wash it in the ocean and cradle it in my palm, as if it holds the key to when Ares will return. But it’s just a shell, and it gives me no answers. I take it back to the grotto anyway.
I spend the whole night sobbing, even though I’m upsetting Eros. His tears only make me cry harder, and I cling to him as if he’s my lifeline. He is, in a way. Ares is gone, however temporarily, and Eros is all I have left until he returns. I need love the way Ares needs war; without him, I’m just immortal again, waiting for that spark to bring me to life once more. But at least he waited until we had a baby to leave. At least he knows I can’t be alone.
That in and of itself is a sign of how much he loves me, and I force myself not to forget it.
* * *
I go to the beach every day at sunset to wait for him. I make plans for what we’ll do together when he returns, and on my bad days, I consider returning to Olympus just to find out where he is. But even though Ares isn’t here, Eros is, and watching him grow makes me feel again.
“Eros! Not so fast!” I laugh as I chase my toddler down the beach. The sun beats down on us, warming me from the inside out, and the gentle waves lap at my feet. The only way today could be more perfect is if Ares would come home.
Eros stops at a scattering of driftwood near the entrance to a cave we’ve explored a dozen times before. Kneeling in the sand, he picks through the crude rope and logs, and I crouch down beside him.
“What are you looking for?” I murmur. He ignores me, but suddenly he beams and pulls something from the wreckage.
“Sell!” he declares, and he sets a white-and-coral spiral shell in my palm. Out of all the shells we’ve found on the beach together—one for each day Ares has been gone—this is the most beautiful. I turn it over in my hands, admiring its perfection. I miss him. Badly. And though I’m usually good at hiding it from Eros, seeing this triggers something in me. The love I have for my son isn’t the same kind of love I have for Ares, and I want that back. I need that back.
While I’m struggling not to tear up in front of him, Eros toddles off again, this time toward the caves. My vision blurs, and I wipe my eyes as I rise. “Eros, no, baby, not without me.”
He keeps going, naturally, and I follow him. He’s immortal, and nothing can hurt him. That doesn’t mean I want him to get lost, though.
As I close in on him, however, I spot something in the sand. Footsteps. Not Eros’s small, uneven ones, but large enough for an adult. For a man.
Pocketing the shell, I scoop Eros up and balance him on my hip. He lets out a cry of protest, but I kiss his hair and follow the path toward the cave. The footsteps soon turn to drag marks, as if whoever it was could no longer hold his own weight. Did Ares return without telling me? But why would he leave behind the remains of a raft, and why would he go this way instead of back toward the waterfall?
No, whoever it is must be hurt, and no mortal battle could ever injure Ares. It isn’t him.
“Hello?” I call as I swallow my disappointment. No answer. I poke my head inside the cave, smaller than the one we live in, and I have to squint to make anything out in the sudden darkness. “Is anyone here?”
A rough cough. I hold Eros tighter, and with a wave of my hand, a cheerful fire forms in the middle of the cave. Huddled in the nearest corner is a young man dressed in rags. Everything about him is dark: his matted hair, the stubble on his cheeks—even his skin is tanned to a leathery brown.
A horrible smell reaches me, and I wrinkle my nose. Blood. The smell of violence and war. Without letting go of Eros, I approach the huddled figure. Shadows dance on the walls of the cave, confusing his shape, but eventually I make him out.
He’s bent in ways a body isn’t supposed to be. His legs are mangled, and it’s a miracle he was able to leave footprints at all. Part of his chest is concave, as if he had been hit by a large rock, and his breaths are labored. But at least he’s breathing. At least he’s alive.
“Eros,” I say, setting my son down. “I need you to do exactly as I say and follow me home without wandering off. Do you promise?”
Eros nods solemnly, somehow aware of the gravity of the situation despite how little he is. He latches onto my leg, and I wave my hands. It’s tricky, and the young man groans, but his broken body rises in the air.
I float him out of the cave, and after three seconds in the sunlight, he passes out. From pain or the shock of being held up in the air without any discernible source, I have no idea. Either way, at least I won’t have to dodge any questions.
Even though I know Ares would have a fit if he found out, I bring the injured young man back to the grotto. He moans as I place him on the
pillows, and blood browned by time stains his hands. This isn’t good. This really, really, really isn’t good.
I settle Eros in a corner with a basketful of flowers to chain together. I need all the concentration I can get right now.
Apollo?
I push the thought into the sky as hard as I can. Sunset’s coming soon, which means so is Olympus as it hovers eternally between day and dusk, and that makes this marginally easier. Unless he’s off somewhere wandering the world. Apollo isn’t exactly a homebody.
I hold my breath. Not that I need to breathe anyway, but it’s the thought that counts. Ten seconds pass, then fifteen, then twenty. I’m about to send it again when—
Aphrodite? There’s a tinge of surprise coloring his thought. What’s going on? Are you all right?
I sigh with relief. I found a mortal, and he’s dying, and I don’t know how to heal him.
Several more seconds pass. Zeus is watching me. If I go to you, he’ll track you down.
I hesitate and glance around the home Ares and I have made. If Apollo comes, it could mean giving up all of this. Everything we’ve built, every perfect moment together—maybe even Eros. No telling if Daddy would let him stay in Olympus. I might lose all of this for a single mortal life.
The young man in the corner lets out a soft, agonizing sob, and my heart breaks. Screw it. If Daddy wants to come find me, let him. He will never take my family away from me.
I don’t care. He needs your help. I project an image of the island to him, along with an imprint of where it would be from Olympus. The sunset must be close now. Hurry.
While I wait for Apollo, I sit beside the young man and touch his cheek—the only part of him that isn’t bloody or bruised or both. His breaths come in gasps, but he remains unconscious. From the pain, I think, but I don’t understand how he could possibly register the brutality done to his body and still be alive.