The Ruin of Eros

Chapter Twenty-Three

They are golden, like the sun. And for the briefest of moments, before he has time to focus, I see him without him seeing me. And it seems to me then I’m looking not at his eyes, but through them. For just an instant, I leave time and space behind.

I see everything there is in the world: the long grasses in the fields, stirred by the wind’s breath, and the beetle swaying at the grass’s tip. I see the living and the dead, and every star in the sky. I see the beating heart at the center of the earth.

I see futures, so many of them, all the futures that could be. I see him, and myself by his side. I see war, and blood, and love, and rebirth.

And then it’s over. The visions leave my head like a fog clearing and I’m looking at his golden eyes again—which are focused on me now, and full of horror. His arm darts in front of his face, as though to shield me from some hideous thing.

“What are you doing; what have you done? Look away ,” he growls. “Little fool, look away!”

But I don’t.

“I warned you, Psyche! You swore it.”

“I know who you are,” I say. Because I do. I knew it the moment I saw his face—or if not then, the moment he opened his eyes. I know his name like I know my own.

“Why did you hide yourself from me? All this time…You had me believe you were a monster.”

“I am one, to mortals!” His voice is full of fury. “Now you will suffer, and I will lose you!”

“I don’t understand…”

“The sight of my face…” His words tip between anger and dread. “It brings madness upon them.”

Madness? I don’t know whether to shudder or laugh. One could call what I’ve been feeling “madness,” I suppose, but it is the sweetest madness I have known.

“But look, I am not mad. Whatever curse you think you’ve brought on me, you are wrong.”

He is silent for a moment.

“Perhaps…perhaps if it was dark enough…perhaps it spared you…”

“There is nothing wrong.” I don’t care what he says; even his fear doesn’t make me fearful. Not when I know joy like this. I nudge his hand, trying to uncover his face.

“I am fine. Everything is fine. See?”

But he’s shaking his head.

“You made a vow. It cannot be unsaid.”

“Then I will make a new vow,” I say. “A better one.”

Because I know who it is that lies before me now. It is the god of love himself, and his name bubbles up in me: a well of joy, begging to be spoken.

“Eros,” I murmur.

*

Even though I whisper it, it’s like the world stops. The walls seem to shake with it. I feel the echo, shuddering through the room and reverberating up to the heavens.

Eros .

Eros.

Eros!

His hand is over my mouth now, but it’s too late. I don’t know what’s happening, but I can tell it won’t be stopped. I can’t find my voice, to ask questions or even to cry out.

Around us, the walls continue to tremble. The floor shakes harder. My hair swings against my shoulders; the bed seems rattled by an invisible hand.

“What’s happening?”

He knows: I can see in his face that he knows. He throws my discarded chiton at me.

“You must leave here. Now.”

Leave?

“Can’t you forgive me for this one thing? It was an impossible promise! I had to see. I had to know.”

“I know,” he says. “And now we both must pay the price.” His voice is sharp, but his face is full of a terrible sadness, which is worse. “I do not ask you to leave as punishment, Psyche. Soon this place will fall. And you must not be here when it does.”

I stare at the walls, the cracks like webs, growing furiously in all directions. The grinding sound of stone on stone. On the ceiling, cracks are spreading like tree-roots. Whatever’s happening is outside his control, and that frightens me: he is a god.

“Can’t you stop it?”

“Psyche, go! For once in your life, you must trust me!”

I stare at him, his radiance, his furious eyes. The shuddering is everywhere now. I don’t dare look up at the ceiling to see the cracks.

“What about you?” The way everything’s shaking, I have to talk between rattling teeth.

He makes an impatient noise.

“I am a god. Stone will not crush me.”

Then why are you so afraid? I want to ask. Because he is: I can see it in his eyes, in everything he tries to hide.

“You wished to run from here, so run.” His voice is harsh, the cold voice I used to hear and hate. I stare at him, and the pain wells up in my chest. This doesn’t make sense. It isn’t fair.

“You won’t come with me. Why won’t you come with me?”

His gaze shifts as if to find mine, but he stops himself in time. He refuses to look at me, no matter how much I want him to.

“You will not see me again, Psyche. Forget what you can.”

Forget?

Forget?

And then I feel a terrible shaking, a shuddering. It’s as though the very bones of the earth are creaking, as though some great edifice is about to give way. I become conscious of something else in the shadows. There, by the bed: the shadows are building something. A form. Almost human.

“What is it?” I whisper, the dread multiplying.

“It’s broken, Psyche. Run, before you are ruined.” His voice sounds distant, far away. “I can’t come with you, don’t you understand? You must run. Run, before she gets here.”

“Before who gets here?” I shout, frantic now. But I already know.

I had forgotten, for a moment, whose son he is.

He does not look at me—does not, or cannot. Either way, his face is stone.

And with one last sob I tear myself from the bed and hurl myself toward the doors.

*

The earth seems to heave beneath me as I run along the corridor; the torches rattle in their sconces and the flames flicker madly. It’s only when I reach the courtyard that I think of Aletheia—did I leave her inside the palace walls to die? And once I think of her, I think of the gate. She has the key, and it is locked. I will perish in here after all.

But when I throw open the door to the stable-yard, the huge gate stands open. Aletheia must have already fled.

A clamor from the stables stops me from racing out into the darkness. Whinnying, stamping; desperate noises. The horses are still tied up in their stalls. A chunk of plaster smashes to the ground beside me, and I race across the yard and into the stable. I start with the farthest stall first, scrambling to loosen the ties on the chestnut mare as her eyes roll wild with frenzy. No sooner have I finished than she bolts away into the night. I set the next two free, then steady my breath as I enter the final stall. The black stallion watches me with big dark eyes. I try not to feel the fear, but my body remembers all too well. If he attacks me now, no one will come to rescue me. These walls will fall on me in the darkness.

“Will you trust me?” I say aloud. “I’m here to get you out.”

The stallion snickers softly, his breath a warm cloud.

There’s no more time to waste.

The knots are tighter, or else my fingers are shaking harder: I can’t seem to loosen them. I let out a howl of frustration. The dust kicks up from the ground, getting in my eyes. I tear at the knots, seeing images of the abandoned palace whose rooms seemed to be crumbling even as I ran through them; and the Hearthstone in the great-room, its black surface sheared in two as though some great axe had severed it.

All the things I saw as I ran away, and left him behind.

What have I done? He said none of this could kill him. And yet he seemed weakened. Faded. Trapped.

I shake my head: a mortal cannot kill a god. But this place will kill me fast, if I don’t run.

The knots give way, and finally the stallion’s free. But instead of running like the others, he doesn’t move.

“ Go ,” I shout. Tears of frustration well in my eyes. “Run, you stupid creature!” I shout. “I can’t save you if you won’t save yourself!”

But he’s not running. He’s…

Waiting.

For me? His eyes are on mine, wide and black and urgent. And I can read exactly what he’s thinking.

Stupid creature . I can’t save you if you won’t save yourself.

I take a breath, grab a hold of his mane, and hoist myself up. And this time, he lets me.

He takes off, faster than I knew a horse could run. My stomach roils, my hands break out in sweat. I try to bury myself deeper in his mane, grip harder. I’m no great horsewoman, and I’ve never ridden a beast like this one. We burst through the open gate and into a dark, mountainous place. Are we in the mortal realm? I want to look, and yet I am afraid to. But dawn is coming in: I see its rays in the distance. We’re on a sloping hillside, the silhouette of vines and olive trees against a purple sky. The shapes are dark, yet…not unfamiliar. I suppose we could be anywhere, and yet it feels like a place I know. The horse pounds forward over earth and stone.

I don’t know how to begin to think about what has happened.

Eros.

Aphrodite.

I touch the medallion around my neck. I don’t understand what just happened, but I fear something in me will break if I let myself think about it. Right now, I must do as the horse is doing: one foot in front of the other, onward.

But I can’t help it. I have to look back.

I turn precariously in my seat—and suddenly I understand. I know where I am. I know what I’m looking at. The vines and olive trees, the sloping hillside. I know exactly why it all feels so familiar. I remember what he told me, my first night:

The mortal realm overlaps this one, like footprints in the sand.

As the stallion tears down a chalk-white road in the hillside, I stare back at Sikyon’s temple. The Temple of Eros. All along, I was this close—and yet, a world away.

A realm away.

How the magic works, I cannot say. Sikyon’s temple was built with simple stone, by mortal hands, and yet the place I have just come from was no mortal place. The temple, I suppose, is a threshold of sorts.

Was a threshold of sorts.

The path jolts beneath us, stony and uneven. But though my hands are balled in the horse’s mane to keep me upright, I barely feel it. I can’t take my eyes from the crumbling temple behind us. Soon it will be in ruins.

I watch another row of marble pillars splinter like bones, and a whole section of the roof collapse. I squeeze my eyes closed against it all: the dust and grit, the fear and confusion.

What has happened to him?

And what will happen to me?

The horse’s frenzied pace has finally begun to slow. I secure my hands tighter in his mane, and remind myself to breathe. Right now, there is only one thing I know.

Where I’m going next.