As he soared across the workshop Hephaestus called, ‘Take care of yourself, Pip.’
Something in his tone made Hermes turn back, but his brother had already returned to grinding Ares’ axe.
Hermes landed on the steps of the aviary: a stone tower built onto the western wing of the palace. He really should have set off on his father’s quest by now, but he’d left his pipes here and he loathed long journeys without them.
He heaved open the oak door and was greeted by a cacophony of caws, chirrups and coos. Wings ruffled and beaked heads twitched at the disruption, feathers drifting through the cavity of the room like blossom shaken from a peach tree. Hermes looked up to the large window at the top of the tower, where the birds entered and exited to relay their messages. Nearest this portal of sky, resting on perches secured to the walls, were Zeus’ eagles. Below them were Artemis’ buzzards and Ares’ falcons, and beneath them an iron grate sliced the tower horizontally in two to prevent the birds of prey attacking their smaller cousins below. Great care had to be taken with the comings and goings around the tower to protect the more vulnerable birds. The eagles were particularly aggressive.
Hermes stepped around a fresh pile of droppings splattered across the stone floor. As he took the steps that curved upwards along the wall, he strummed the chains of the dangling homing medallions, leaving a chiming discord in his wake. The pendants were emblazoned with each of the Olympians’ sigils, given mainly to kings and priestesses so they could convey messages to the Twelve.
He stopped still. He’d been so absorbed in his thoughts he hadn’t noticed the figure sitting on the ledge of one of the barred windows further up the steps.
Aphrodite’s face glowed in the sunlight, her undulating copper hair dancing like flames in the breeze, her white dress pouring over her curves to drape across the steps below. She held a dove in her hands, smoothing the creature’s feathers.
What Hermes would give to be that bird.
Aphrodite was married to Hephaestus, but Ares was the one who shared her bed. It was one of life’s greatest cruelties that a bastard like the God of War got to lay his hands on the sweetest, most beautiful woman who’d ever breathed.
Hermes found being in her presence rather like being tugged in several different directions while a fire was lit beneath his feet. It was too much, trying to hold loyalty for Hephaestus, hatred for Ares and desire for Aphrodite inside him all at once.
His cheeks flushed beneath his helm as Aphrodite’s emerald eyes met his. She smiled.
‘Hello.’
‘Hello,’ he replied, hating the way his voice always cracked up an octave when he was in her presence. He coughed and tried to think of something clever to say.
‘You weren’t at the feast today.’
Aphrodite sighed. ‘I doubt I was missed.’
Tell heryoumissed her, whispered the voice.
Hermes clenched his jaw. The voice inside his head that had awoken the day he was made divine had grown quieter with the passing years, yet Aphrodite’s presence always seemed to aggravate it.
‘Have you … er … been to earth recently?’
Aphrodite’s eyes flashed and she looked pointedly over his shoulder. Hermes glanced back. He spotted a shimmer where the staircase curved up the opposite wall. A shade. He’d noticed more of them lurking about the palace recently.
‘Aren’t you allowed to go anywhere on your own?’
Aphrodite let out a tinkle of joyless laughter. ‘You know I’m not.’
She looked so sad. If he hadn’t been so self-conscious, he’d have embraced her. For twenty years the Goddess of Love had been kept under a guard of shades, ever since shestole from the sky palace and ran away with a shepherd. Ares had discovered her living with her mortal lover at the base of Mount Ida. They’d had a child. The God of War had forced her to return to Olympus, leaving her son and his father behind. For a while Aphrodite had her priestesses send her word of the herder and their boy, but the King of the Gods soon put a stop to that. As far as Hermes knew, the child was last known to be living in the city of Troy with his father.
Aphrodite released her dove into the air, where it fluttered up to an empty perch.
‘Hermes,’ she whispered, her eyes glistening like two green lakes, ‘will you do something for me?’
He allowed himself to step closer. ‘That depends …’ he said in his huskiest voice.
‘Will you take a message to my boy?’
His heart sank. Not that, anything but that.
‘I … I’m sorry. You know I can’t.’
Aphrodite stared at him for a moment, then blinked the tears from her eyes. She took a last lingering look out of the window, before rising to her feet. Hermes felt a familiar tingle in the base of his stomach as she swayed down the steps towards him. The breeze carried her scent: rosewater and sandalwood.
Wouldn’t you like to make her smile? Wouldn’t you like to make her moan?
