The Ruin of Eros

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Aphrodite.

“Are you sure?” I say, despite myself.

He makes an impatient sound.

“She does not follow us,” he says. “Perhaps because she does not have Ajax’s speed in that form.” He takes a breath. “She goes back to Olympus, I suppose, to gather allies. But she does not know where we are going. We must keep her from guessing where we are bound.”

I shudder. Deimos may not fly again, but that need not stop him from chasing after us to the ends of the earth. Nor will it stop his twin brother, I am sure.

“What about the other gods?” I say. “Will none of them defend you? Can they condone what she did to you; how she took you and kept you prisoner?”

“Perhaps not condone,” he says. “But whether they will condemn her is another matter. Hephaestus for one will take her part, and Zeus listens to Hephaestus more than he listens to any of the others.”

Because Hephaestus’s weapons are what keep Zeus strong . I understand what he’s telling me: right and wrong will take second place to brokered loyalties. The gods watch for their own interests, just like mortals do. And if Zeus takes Aphrodite’s part, we have little hope with the other gods. Surely none of them would risk defying Zeus.

“Adamantine, Psyche…” he goes on. “It is the thing the gods fear most. To bring it to Mount Olympus—to bring it to their home—I fear they will view it as the greatest of treacheries.”

“But you didn’t do it,” I say. “I did. And I didn’t know...”

But I would still have brought it. Even if I’d known what it was.

“It doesn’t matter.” Behind me, his voice is low and contained, the way it is when he’s trying not to feel.

“I’m sorry,” I say. Could all of this have been averted, if I’d stayed my hand a little longer? If I’d let Deimos continue a few moments more?

Eros pulls me closer against him and I feel his warmth in my body, even while the chill still covers my heart.

“Do not be sorry,” he says quietly. “You saved me from great pain.” He hesitates.

“My mother brought me to that place to punish me, yes—but also to re-make me. To re-make my mind, my loyalty. To make me forget you, and my own self.”

I close my eyes against the wind, the hurtling road.

“Even a god’s mind cannot hold out forever. I don’t know how long it would have taken her to break me, to take my mind apart and mold it back to how it once was—compliant, obedient, her devoted son.” His voice is sharp. “But… you came for me.”

It occurs to me that he is an outcast, an ostrakon now, too: such things exist even among the gods, I suppose. But despite the chilling things he speaks of, all I feel is his warmth behind me and his voice in my ear. We’re clear of the mountain now, flying along the open road to Elassona. The sun behind the trees looks watery and strained and a bluish cast is in the air; there is no warmth in this evening at all. But something warm and bright blooms in my soul.

*

It is evening by the time we reach Elassona. We have avoided any villages or encampments till now, taking back roads only, but Eros insists I eat tonight. Since he has no cloak and cannot accompany me, I ride Ajax into the marketplace alone. Quickly I barter for some bread and cheese, then on impulse stop at another stall selling hides and wool, thinking they may have a cloak to sell me.

“For a tall man,” I say, “and with a deep hood, enough to cover his whole face.”

He looks at me strangely, but finds something that will do the job. He stares at Ajax the whole time, and when I try to pay, nothing will please him except to try and buy my horse from me. I tell him that I cannot sell, that the horse is my husband’s, but he only looks at me more narrowly. It is a relief to be back on Ajax, riding toward the forest again. Ajax knows the way.

Eros is waiting for us in a small grove, ringed around with laurel trees. The sky is turning golden now, and in its light Eros glows, the most beautiful sight I have ever known. A confusion of awe and desire goes through me. Can this really be? I feel shy: it was easier when he sat behind me and I did not look upon his face. Did all that happened between us before truly happen? Did I once share my bed with a god? The memory assails me, like something I dreamed once, and heat flushes through me.

He reaches for me, to lift me down from Ajax’s saddle. Our eyes meet and I see his soften. But he says nothing, just places me gently on the ground.

All it takes is a wave of his hand, and laurel trees twist and grow, their branches sliding and interlocking with a sigh and a shudder. They twist into a canopy: a living treehouse more delicate than what any sculptor could craft.

“You are tired,” Eros says, his voice veering toward abruptness again. “We will sleep here for the night.”

I look sideways at him.

“You haven’t changed much,” I say. “Still making decisions for me.”

He turns sharply, then sees the look on my face and understands that I am teasing him. His eyes glint.

“ You haven’t changed much. Still lacking in gratitude and manners.”

“Manners!” I say. “I’ll teach you manners!”

“Not if I teach you first,” he says, and hoists me into his arms, lifting me over the threshold of our tree-home for the night. Its branches slide across the gap after we enter, sealing behind us, but an enchanted glow lights the space inside and turns everything a dim gold.

He sighs my name, and I bury my face in his neck and listen to his heart beat.

“Does a god’s heart always beat so fast?” I murmur.

He brushes the hair back from my face and looks down at me.

“Yours beats much faster,” he says. “Yours is thundering. You must want me very badly.”

I see the gleam in his golden eyes. He’s teasing me right back.

“Are you going to continue to torment me like this?” I say.

“Always,” he says, staring at me.

And just as I think he’s going to stare at me forever, he finally lowers his mouth to mine.

They say when you die your life flashes before your eyes. I must die a little, because every moment I’ve ever lived seems to flutter through my mind in an instant—and then after that, a blissful emptiness. I am an empty husk, nothing in me but warmth and want.

This is what mortals pray to Eros for, isn’t it? To feel this.

I draw him toward me, but he stills my hand with his. Then with the other hand he pulls the brooch from my chiton , and pushes the fabric slowly back from my shoulder. He bares my skin inch by inch, his eyes never leaving mine, unwrapping me slowly, like a gift. I can tell by the pulse in his throat he’d like to go faster, but he’s showing off his self-control to me, his capacity for discipline.

I have no use for discipline now, and as soon as I can wriggle free, I show him that.

And it’s a long time before we come up for air.

*

Afterwards, we lie panting, his bronze flesh next to mine. He runs a finger over my bare skin. I am beaded with sweat, my hair tousled. And despite having spent until there was nothing left to give, I feel desire awakening in me once more.

I will never have enough of him, I think. Never.

And that thought, if I truly let myself think it, brings me pain.

“What is it like to be immortal?” I turn to him. “How does it feel?”

I watch his finger trace patterns on my skin.

“I do not know how it is to be any other way.” He pauses. “I do not envy you mortals. You have so little time. And yet…you find purpose, much quicker than we do. Quicker, and perhaps deeper.”

I swallow. His words remind me of other things, and as I stare at the ceiling I tell him what the oracle said about my family.

“I am grieved to hear it,” he says.

I gaze up at the ceiling’s interweaving tapestry of vines and leaves. It occurs to me that the oracle’s words were both blessing and curse, all interwoven like the vines. The blessing is in knowing my family are alive. And yet, not to see them again in this life…

Perhaps the oracle is wrong , I think. But oracles are never wrong.

“You are courageous,” Eros says at last. “All you mortals. We are not tested as you are.”

“I did not think you admired mortals much,” I say. I can’t help remembering the disdainful way he spoke of mortals when I first knew him, in his palace. As though we were some lesser form of life.

He frowns.

“For a long time I knew no better. I was not raised to honor mortals.” He looks at me. “But then, you too made free to tell me how much you hated my kind, did you not?”

I thought you were something else, I want to say, then stop, remembering his words about demons and gods and the eye of the beholder. Maybe I do hate his kind. Or maybe I just hate how much power they have.

“I thought you had cheated me,” I remind him. “I do not like to have my choices made for me. Nor to feel tricked.”

He looks at me for a while, his eyes wandering around my face. One hand reaches out and plays with a strand of my hair.

“I tried to persuade her, you know, once I knew my mother’s plans for you. I tried to change her mind. Despite how I wanted you, interfering in your life was not my first resort.” He shrugs. “But I admit, I was not used to having to explain myself to mortals, nor consulting their opinions. The gods would say that mortals rarely know what is best for them.”

The words sting, but I let them settle. They are arrogant words, but not without truth.

“I suppose it is true, we rarely know what is best for us. And yet everyone bears their own mistakes better, I think, than any choices forced upon us.” I look at him. “Could you not just have told me from the start? Could you not have let me know who you were?”

He runs the side of his thumb along my face.

“And would you have believed me? I think you would have been ever more suspicious, then. You would have thought me the worst of demons then, trying to deceive you.” He looks at me. “Besides, I have a god’s pride, Psyche. It was taught to me from a young age. I thought that with time, your feelings would change.”

I frown at him.

“Without ever seeing your face?”

And yet, he was not wrong. I can’t deny it. My feelings did change.

“I did not believe it would be possible for you to ever see my face. And if you had known the truth of who I was…I did not want your awe, Psyche. I did not want your worship. I wanted your desire.”

I turn to see his face better in the dim glow.

“You had it,” I say. “You have it.” I hesitate. A question pulls at me.

“I know your powers have grown diminished, since the temple at Sikyon fell.” I look at him. “I suppose it is all my fault. Is there anything I can do, to help you regain them?”

A shadow passes over his face. He doesn’t answer for a moment.

“Sikyon was one of my chief temples: its collapse left me vulnerable, but only for a short time. That alone would not have left me as I am now. Do not blame yourself. It is what my mother has done. She has made the people take her side over mine, forbidding them to worship me.”

I recall the conversation I overheard at the inn outside of Delphi.

“But…does that really matter? Whether people worship you or not?”

He looks at me.

“More than you can imagine.” He sighs. “Mortals always think our powers come from some magic source: nectar or ambrosia, or something in our blood. Perhaps it’s to our advantage that mortals believe such things. But that’s not where true divine power comes from, Psyche. That comes from one source only: worship.”

I stare at him. What he’s saying makes no sense.

“But then…anyone could become an immortal,” I protest.

He gives me an impatient look.

“Immortality is not the same as power, Psyche. A nymph or a dryad, for example—they are immortal. They are born that way. It’s their ischys, their life force. It’s different from a mortal’s. But, while the nymph or dryad may have a little power of their own, it will only ever be a little. They cannot turn a battalion of men into a flock of pigs; they cannot bring down mountains with a wave of their hand; they cannot set whole plains alight or cause a storm that splits the sky. That is great power, and that comes from worship alone.”

I frown, trying to absorb what he’s telling me. It’s not what I was taught as a child. It’s certainly not the message the priests give out.

“You mean, even Zeus…”

“Zeus is the most powerful of all the gods, but not because he was born that way.” Eros looks gravely at me. “It is because he captured the favor of the people for his deeds, and they prayed to him in droves.” He shrugs. “His brother Poseidon thinks he should rule the Pantheon, but he will always be second in command so long as the mortals worship Zeus in greater numbers.”

Thoughts tumble through my mind. It is all so different to what I thought I knew. The gods depend on us— what a new and foreign thought. I think about the great heroes of legend, god-children like Herakles, or Theseus, or Perseus. They were worshiped, too, in their time. Is it from this that their powers grew?

“So, as my followers dwindle,” Eros continues, “my powers do, too, like a fire burning low. It will not die out—it will never die out—but while the flame is starved, it burns lower.” He looks at me. “But as you see, there is every hope of my recovery.”

“If people change their minds,” I say slowly. If people cease to fear Aphrodite. If they stop doing what she tells them. I think of the oracle’s words: prayer is power, too. Perhaps her words were truer than she knew.

Or perhaps she knows, and keeps the gods’ secret for them.

My mind hums and my thoughts toss and spin. How extraordinary the world is, I think. How many secrets are yet to be known.

He runs a hand over my skin and we lie there, looking up at the green roof above us, the cracks of dark sky outside. Then after a while Eros waves his hand, an idle gesture: moonflowers blossom among the vines, small white orbs glowing in the greenish dark.

“They’re like stars,” I say, gazing up. To him I suppose it’s nothing but a little party trick. To me, a reminder of what power runs through his veins, even now.

He stands, reaching out to pluck one for me, but I shake my head.

“Let it live,” I say. “It belongs where it is.”

He looks down at me, that dazzling stare of his. He rarely smiles, I am coming to learn. And when he does, it is no more than a half-smile, a ghost of a smile.

We have so much to fear. And yet, I cannot help but feel elated, when I see his face.

He flicks instead at the canopy of vines, making the leaves and flowers tremble. They let fall a shower of stored raindrops, cascading down on my bare skin. I protest, but the sensation is delightful.

Eros kneels beside me, dips his thumb in the pool of rainwater on my breastbone, and begins to trace a pattern.

“I hope I will not exhaust you,” he says, his mouth quirking a little. “You are used to the appetites of men. I am the god of desire itself; I am not so easily satisfied. You will have to let me know, if I demand too much.”

Heat runs through me. This is how it is with him—he sates the hunger and whets it again. But I arch an eyebrow at him.

“You will have to tell me, if I exhaust you .”

He laughs gently into my ear.

“Very well, wife.”

Wife . For once the term sounds neither alien nor mocking on his lips.

“Am I really your wife?” I say. “Even if it is not recognized by the gods?”

“They will recognize what it suits them to recognize,” he says. “But you will come to know this about my people, Psyche: the gods are nothing if not inconsistent. They sway like the wind.”

“Even you?” I say, and he looks at me.

“You doubt me?”

I shift a little, turn my gaze back to the vined ceiling. He may be a god, but he fell for me the same way mortal men do—by watching me from afar, and liking the sight of me.

“You of all people should understand,” I say. “Beauty is only a shell, a skin. It means nothing. And I am mortal—whatever beauty I have will fade.”

I’ve lived all my life overshadowed by my own reflection. People see what shimmers on the surface, and all that swims beneath might as well be dead. It’s hard for me to believe that he —this being of divine beauty, of wild power—could actually see me as I wish to be seen. That what he feels is more than some passing infatuation, the desire to conquer and move on.

“I am familiar with desire, Psyche,” he says quietly. “There is none who knows its ways better than I. I am desire.” He swallows. “So when I tell you that what I feel for you is something else besides, trust me to know of what I speak.”

And I remember, then, that he is also a god of love.

He raises himself on an elbow.

“In fact, if either of us is to doubt the other, it’s I who should doubt you. Didn’t you spurn me, before you saw my face? Wasn’t it the sight of me that converted you?” He gives me a sharp look. “Or was it the knowledge that I was a god?”

I flush, but hold his gaze.

“What I felt took hold before then,” I say. “The difference is, I had every reason to fight it. I had no reason to trust you…”

“You had every reason to trust me,” he interrupts, but his voice is quiet, not angry. Neither of us speaks for a little while, then. He studies me, his eyes on my face as though trying to memorize it.

“I’ve seen a mortal lose his senses, Psyche. I knew what my face had the power to do, among your kind. I believed myself to be a walking curse among you. And yet you , you are completely unharmed. Your only madness was to come back to save me.”

I blink; my eyes threaten to betray me.

“But did I? Save you, I mean? Your brother…everything that happened.” We are refugees, branded as traitors. “I feel as though perhaps I…ruined you.”

He roves over me with those eyes.

“Oh, you’ve ruined me,” he says, his voice hoarse as he bends to kiss me. “You’ve ruined me all right, daughter of Sikyon.”

A few more hours of this, I think. A few more hours, to bask in the magic of each other’s bodies. And then, when morning breaks, our real journey will begin.

I reach for him, but as he takes my hand I drop it with a cry.

Pain like a white-hot flash stings my arm.

“What is it?”

I’m cradling my arm, the pain like a bright cord running the length of it.

“Psyche! What is it?”

That’s when I see it: a scorpion, white as pearl, scuttling away into the dark.