Danae’s heart hammered against her ribs as she summoned her life-threads. She did not wish to hurt him, but what choice did she have?
But rather than lunging towards her, the guard stumbled. Blood trickled from the corners of his mouth, then he fell heavily onto the ground.
Odysseus stood behind him, breathless, clutching a blood-slicked dagger.
45. The Burden of Love
Hermes lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He had not moved for some time. A thin crack, the length of his arm, splintered the marble. He had never noticed it before. Around him, the chamber was in disarray. Brightly coloured fabrics and torn cushions lay strewn over the exquisitely carved furniture, feathers and jewels scattered across the floor.
A week had passed since Zeus took away his secret mission and gave it to his siblings. A week of living with the realization that he’d had a chance to earn his father’s esteem, to finally rise above the other Olympians, to earn everlasting glory, and he had failed. His only consolation was that Zeus had been so consumed with quelling the threat of the dragon, Typhon, that he was yet to summon Hermes for punishment. But it would come, of that he was certain.
The beating of wings sounded from beyond Hermes’ balcony. He tilted his head to gaze through the billowing gossamer curtains. Two horse-drawn chariots flew by, driven by an armour-clad Artemis and Apollo, no doubt leaving the palace to scour the land for the Titan girl on their father’s orders.
Hermes squeezed his eyes shut, tears trickling down his temples.
Then his door creaked.
Blankets tangled about his armoured legs as he scrambled to sit upright, grabbed his helm from the pillow beside him and pulled it over his head.
Aphrodite stood in the doorway, a golden goblet clutched in her hand. Her copper hair was loose, tumbling over her freckled shoulders, her blush-pink chiton draped perfectly over every curve.
On any other day, the Goddess of Love visiting his chambers would have been a pleasure Hermes could only dream of. Now it only confronted him with yet another failure.
‘You’ve been avoiding me.’ Aphrodite walked unsteadily into the room and took a deep draught from the goblet in her hand. The scent of ambrosia wafted across the chamber. ‘Where is my son?’
Hermes swallowed. Given all that had happened in the Underworld – Hades’ and Persephone’s deaths, the freed dragon – he hadn’t given much thought to another attempt to convince Aeneas to give up his pledge to fight for Troy in the coming war.
Her face crumpled in the wake of his silence. ‘Oh no, please … he’s not …’
Hermes’ eyes widened and he shuffled off the bed to stand before her. ‘No, no! He’s alive. He’s well. Strong and brave.’
‘Did you give him my letter?’
Hermes nodded.
Aphrodite’s breath shuddered. ‘And you told him about the war?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is he somewhere safe?’
Hermes looked down at his feet. ‘No.’
The goblet tumbled from Aphrodite’s hand, clanging on the mosaic floor, amber wine soaking into the strewn silks.
‘Why didn’t you take him away!’
‘I tried to convince him to leave, but he wouldn’t go! So, I gave him one of your amulets, told him if he was ever inneed to find a bird …’ He trailed off at the jewel-bright tears tumbling from Aphrodite’s bloodshot eyes.
‘It’s all my fault,’ she whispered.
Hermes blinked. This was not the response he’d expected. He shook his head. ‘This is Ares’ doing.’
She laughed, the sound brittle with pain. ‘I was the one who whispered in Paris’ ear that Helen was rightfully his. I told him they were moulded from the same piece of clay and fate had cruelly ripped them apart …’ Her lip quivered. ‘I should have known when Ares bade me do it violence would follow … he is the God of War after all.’
She slipped her hand into the pocket of her chiton and drew out a wooden figurine of a little dove, holding it to her breast. She swayed, her eyes closed, more tears seeping beneath her lashes.
Hermes desperately wished he knew how to comfort her. He wanted to place a hand on her arm, but his limbs felt as dull and immobile as bronze.
