Aphrodite loosed a bone-weary sigh, then opened her eyes. ‘You think I forsook Hephaestus’ bed because of the injuries he sustained when Father threw him from Mount Olympus.’
‘No,’ Hermes said quickly.
‘Yes, you do,’ she replied sharply. ‘Everyone does. But it’s not true. Hephaestus stopped lying with me long before he was thrown from Olympus.’
Hermes’ cheeks reddened. He wished she would stop talking.
She looked down at the little dove. ‘No one has ever loved me like my mortal shepherd. Those few years with him are the only thing that has made this endless life bearable. Father has never stopped punishing me for running away, but I would do it again.’ Her voice faded to a whisper. ‘I don’tbelieve we can keep turning our hearts over afresh. For me there was one person in all of creation, and I am prevented from seeing the fruit of our love.’ Her tears flowed thick and fast. ‘I am Aeneas’ mother, I should be nurturing him, guiding him. He will have such a short little life, and I’m missing it. Sometimes it hurts so much I can’t bear it …’
Hermes summoned his bravery and threw his arms around her. She stiffened, then melted into his embrace, resting her head on his armoured shoulder. Her body shuddered, her tears soaking his neck.
‘What do we have here?’
Hermes sprung away from Aphrodite. Ares stood in the doorway.
His lip curled. ‘Am I interrupting?’
‘Don’t be silly.’ Aphrodite slipped the dove back into her pocket.
‘Don’t stop on my account.’ Ares prowled into the chamber. ‘I’m in need of some entertainment.’
Aphrodite recoiled from Hermes. ‘Stop it, Ares. He’s just a child.’
‘You hear that?’ Ares lifted the corner of a shredded cushion. ‘You’re nothing but a perverse little boy.’ He flung it from him. ‘You disgust her.’
The lump swelling in Hermes’ throat threatened to break free.
Barging past his brother, he ran through the doorway, Ares’ laughter hounding him down the corridor.
When Hermes finally returned to his chambers, he was relieved to find them empty. He pulled his helm from his head, crumpled to the floor in a heap of golden armour and sobbed until he ran dry.
He’s just a child.
He lay on the tiles for some time, the clay cool against his burning face.
Perhaps he deserved this. He had failed his father, failed Aphrodite. Maybe Ares was right and hewasnothing but a perverse little boy.
He could leave, fly away and live with Arachne in her forest. The thought eased his anguish for a heartbeat. But no, there was nowhere in the great expanse of earth, sea and sky that he could hide from his father.
Remember what you found in the Underworld, said the voice.
Hermes wiped his cheeks. Of course, after everything that had happened in the past week, he had forgotten.
He glanced around the chamber for the tell-tale shimmer of a shade lingering in the shadows, then crawled towards the bed. Reaching beneath the swathes of silk draped over the frame, his fingers found what they were searching for.
He pulled a tattered saddle bag into the light.
It had been a strange item to find in Hades’ palace. On first inspection it appeared to be filled with useless tat. But his uncle had never kept anything that didn’t serve a purpose.
Hermes removed his gauntlets and undid the clasp.
He upended the contents onto his bed: a knife, a few coins, a clay pipe and a pouch of herbs. He picked up the pipe and turned it between his fingers. The faded likeness of a golden tree was painted across the barrel. He sniffed the inside, wrinkled his nose and tossed it behind him. The herbs too he swiftly discarded.
Once more, he reached for the bag, his fingers prying around its depths. He paused. There was something still trapped inside. He turned the bag inside out and discovered an inner pouch sewn to the leather.
He drew out a ragged piece of brown cloth, wrapped around what felt like a roughly cut jewel. Swiftly peelingaway the wrapping, he uncovered a shard of stone, all shining obsidian edges.
His pulse quickened, his palm warming beneath the worn cloth as his life-threads clustered into his hand.
