Curses of Olympus (The Olympus Trilogy #2)

32. Aphrodite

32

APHRODITE

“ W hat do you mean you don’t know where she is? You’re the fucking oracle for Fates’ sake!” Aphrodite sighs. An hour of talking in cryptic circles and getting nowhere is testing every ounce of patience she possesses.

“Goddess, even the Fates cannot tell you what is hidden from them.” The oracle’s gravelly voice is almost swallowed by the darkness of the room.

“This was a waste of time.” Aphrodite stands abruptly, knocking her chair to the ground as the lights in the room turn on.

Brushing past the acolytes and their endless swarm of questions, Aphrodite pulls the hood of her cloak over her head and storms out onto the streets of Olympus.

Useless oracle. She could not even tell Aphrodite a cardinal direction in which to begin her search.

Yet the pain in her heart is too much to bear.

I cannot believe she is really gone.

This is it. Icarus’s last life. Five hundred years yearning for the missing piece of her soul, and she callously tossed it aside when the universe brought it back to her.

The cobblestone street is uneven beneath Aphrodite’s sandaled feet, and the congestion of the crowd is stifling, but the goddess is grateful for the anonymity it provides as she makes her way back to her ship.

As she gets closer to the harbor, the cluster of people thins, and Aphrodite pulls her hood down farther, praying to the pointless Fates that no one recognizes her.

Sunlight reflects brightly off a set of armor. Athena and Ares walk down to the marina in front of her. Aphrodite almost ducks into a narrow alley to hide, but then she stops. What do the other gods talk about when she’s not around?

Heart pounding, Aphrodite picks up speed until she is close enough to hear their conversation.

“Some Goddess of War,” Ares growls. “If you cannot even keep your trainees in line, perhaps you are past your prime.”

“You are not without defectors yourself. Now is not the time to turn on each other. Believe me, I am livid. Icarus is a true Hero, not like these buffoons with inflated egos.”

Ares scoffs. “The Heroes are an elite fighting force, trained by you and me. Maybe your ability to recognize greatness is not what it used to be. I knew that girl would prove to be a disappointment.”

Rage bubbles in Aphrodite’s chest, and she fights the urge to defend Icarus’s honor. It won’t do, though; better to continue listening.

“It matters little now. Telegonus will find her, and then she will regret betraying the Pantheon,” Athena snaps.

W ith nothing else to focus on, Aphrodite tears through the storage rooms of her temple, wracking her brain for any clue in Circe’s words.

The artifact room glitters as she steps into it. Jewels, precious metals, and important items from the Temple of Love fill the shelves, and she tenderly runs a finger over them.

It cannot be somewhere as obvious as this, right?

There is a small, jeweled box covered with sparkly flowers—the same ones from the painting with the forgotten name. The short green stems curve at the top, allowing the white petals to hang. They remind Aphrodite of those first days of Spring when Winter is still clinging to the earth.

Aphrodite sets the box back on the shelf and notices a silver hand mirror propped against the wall behind it. A serpentine dragon swallowing its own tail frames the circular mirror, similar to the full-size ones that hang in the temples.

As she gazes into the silver reflection, even when nothing happens, Aphrodite knows this is the item she was supposed to find.