Curses of Olympus (The Olympus Trilogy #2)

41. Aphrodite

41

APHRODITE

A phrodite hands the Ferryman a coin, and he silently gestures for her to board his vessel as she pulls her cloak tightly over her face.

The small island just on the other side of the Mysts is only known to the gods of the Pantheon, and passage is always guaranteed with proper payment. It cannot be simply any coin; it has to have significant meaning and be something the offeree will truly miss. Otherwise, is it really a worthy enough fare?

As soon as the coin leaves her hand, Aphrodite’s heart cleaves in two. But with this being Icarus’s last life cycle, what use will it be to Aphrodite?

The thick fog of the Mysts coats Aphrodite’s skin even through her heavy cloak, and she shivers against the uncomfortable sensation.

Just as Aphrodite was hoping, the small dock is empty and silent when she disembarks. Before she can demand the ferryman to keep his mouth shut about her presence, he is already gone, fading back into the fog.

Facing the landscape before her, she takes a staggering breath. Where to go first to look for her lost lover? The stables?

Having been to the Underworld several times, she easily navigates to where the horses are kept. She encounters next to no one along the way, and instead of finding that suspicious, she praises her luck for not being discovered so far.

A loud thunking from inside the building has she pushing the door open in a hurry. There she is—Amara, stomping the ground and kicking the walls of her stall. She rushes over to her lover’s steed and gently strokes the creature’s neck.

Amara’s eyes flare when she sees Aphrodite, and she nuzzles the goddess but continues to stomp agitatedly.

“What’s wrong, girl?” Her stomach turns to a ball of hot lead as dread rises.

Amara stomps again and swings her head down, huffing.

“You want me to get on?” she asks, brows furrowing as she tries to understand.

Amara swings her head again, and she sends a prayer to the Fates that this is not the dumbest thing she has ever done in her very long life. She leaves the stall door open and uses an overturned bucket to climb onto the pegasus. There is no time to bother with a saddle, plus she hardly knows how to use one.

Threading her fingers through the flaxen mane of Amara, Aphrodite clenches her teeth as the pegasus trots out of the stable, then builds to a gallop before taking to the skies.

The rush of the wind flapping against Aphrodite’s cloak is exhilarating, but she can hardly enjoy it as she drowns in worry for Icarus.

Amara lands next to a large doorway, and Aphrodite dismounts. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I can bring you in here with me. I’ll find her, all right?”

Aphrodite strokes the mare’s neck before slipping into the doorway and getting her bearings.

The occasional person comes by quickly, paying her no mind. They all seem to be heading in the same direction, so she decides to follow them.

She winds down corridors and stairways until the air begins to chill around her. They must be getting pretty far underground by now.

Two acolytes come rushing by, and Aphrodite picks up her pace, hoping to pick up snippets of their conversation.

“ I think she’s going for it!”

“She can’t be. It’s too dangerous!”

“She’s a phoenix, you idiot. She can handle it.”

Aphrodite’s blood runs cold. They are definitely talking about Icarus. Every step down the staircase feels like the tick of a clock, getting closer and closer, tick-tock.

At the base of an enormous set of stairs, a crowd is gathered, looking up to the top of the cavern. The bright light of a star is blinding, but Aphrodite squints against it. There, nearing the celestial orb, she can just make out wings.

As she struggles to breathe, Icarus and the star collide. She is forced to look away from the solar rays that burst out.

The brightness fades, and Aphrodite looks up again just in time to watch Icarus’s lifeless form free falling, hitting the ground with a thud.

No. No. No. No.

Someone shrieks as Aphrodite scrambles over to Icarus, still and crumpled on the ground, and she realizes the sound is coming from her, along with heaving sobs.

Seeing Icarus’s broken form sends Aphrodite over the edge as she pulls Icarus close to her, ignoring the blood and her mangled limbs.

Aphrodite’s own hands now covered with Icarus’s blood leave a macabre trail of handprints as she grasps her face, her shoulders, shaking her, anything to bring her back.

Hands land on Aphrodite’s shoulders, but she shakes them off, unleashing a guttural howl that sends whoever approached backing away.

Aphrodite cradles Icarus’s hand to her face. Her other hand is closed in a fist, clutching something. She pries her fingers open, and a small metal key clatters to the floor.

Aphrodite stares at the key, twirling it between her fingers. Was this really worth Icarus’s last life?

Someone lowers to their knees before her, and the goddess locks her face with Hestia’s. There is no anger or animosity, only kindness and understanding in her former rival’s eyes. She cannot be bothered to care about whatever petty thing they fought over in the past.

With Icarus gone, the world feels hopeless, worthless.

Without a second thought, Aphrodite hands the key to Hestia, watching as her jaw drops.

“I don’t know what she was doing, or why this was worth her life, but she clearly meant for you to have it.” Aphrodite’s throat is raw as she speaks.

Fresh sobs well in the goddess’s chest and she throws herself over Icarus’s body.

“You can’t be gone,” she wails. “We were supposed to have forever this time.”

“She left you a letter,” Hestia says softly, placing the scroll in Aphrodite’s hand.

Aphrodite grasps it tightly as if it is a lifeline.

A gruff voice interrupts, “Come with me.”

Aphrodite looks up. Hades is standing before her, extending a hand.

“I cannot leave her.” Aphrodite clings to Icarus even tighter.

Hades kneels down and takes Aphrodite’s bloody hand. “This is merely her vessel. She is no longer there. Come with me and let them prepare her body for rites.”

Aphrodite is numb, an empty husk, as Hades and Hestia help her to her feet.

Acolytes in long, dark hooded robes come out and tenderly collect Icarus’s body, draping it in white cloths and carrying it out of the cavern on a ceremonial litter that Aphrodite knows is usually reserved for those receiving the highest honors in death.