Destined (34 page)

Eros rolled his eyes. “What?”

“I don’t understand why you wanted that girl. She’s a mortal.”

Eros slapped his palm against his forehead. “Oh, that’s what she is? Why didn’t anyone tell me?” He knew, of course, that Psyche was actually only part mortal, but he wasn’t in the mood to correct Iris.

Iris thumped her hand down on her outthrust hip. “You don’t have to be such a jerk about it.”

“You don’t have to act like you’re telling me something I’ve never thought of before.” Eros’s head fell down into his hands, where it remained upheld only because he was clutching fist-fulls of his own hair.
 

Iris slid down next to him on the couch and wrapped her olive-tinted arm around his shoulders. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I can’t imagine being betrayed like you were. And by a human.” Iris paused a couple of beats before whispering in Eros’s ear. “I would never do anything like that to you.”

Eros’s head flicked up and he glared at Iris as he pushed himself far enough away that her arm could no longer hold him. “Is that what this visit is about? You still think we could be together?”

“Wake up, Eros.” Iris hopped to her feet. “Hera wants us together. Your mother wants us together. You can’t fight them.”

“Yeah, except I love someone else, remember?”

“She’s just a mortal. She’ll die soon enough.” Iris turned on her heel to storm out of Eros’s palace, when Eros caught her by the elbow and spun her around. His blue eyes burned with metallic ferocity and he pressed his nose in close to Iris’s.
  

“You will not say things like that about Psyche,” he hissed through clenched teeth.
 

Iris easily jerked her arm free from Eros’s grip and glared back, her eyes again dancing. “Fine. Then you won’t hear it from me that she won’t survive until nightfall.”

“What are you talking about?”

Iris placed her hand on her chest in mock astonishment. “Oh, I thought you didn’t want me to say things like that about Psyche.” The edges of her lips curled in an involuntary smile.
 

Eros reached out to rattle the lithe goddess again, but she easily avoided his grasp. “Don’t touch me. I’ll turn you a putrid shade of green for a month if you ever lay your hands on me again.” But as she spoke, her eyes lightened and she caressed her stomach, letting her touch run down to her thighs. “Unless I
want
you to lay your hands on me, of course.”

“Tell me what you know about Psyche.”

Iris took Eros’s hand in hers, forcing it to trace the sultry path from belly to thigh that her own hand had just explored. “Kiss me.”

“And then you’ll tell me?” His brows narrowed to a point as he eyed her. He was unwilling to let his mouth mesh with Iris’s thin, violet lips unless she assured him information in return.

“If you even still care afterwards,” Iris said, forcing Eros’s hand to her back as she pressed her mouth against his lips. She wrapped a leg around his waist and grasped thick clumps of his golden hair, drawing his body in closer to hers. Eros finally forced Iris away when she flicked her tongue against his lips.

“Enough.” Eros wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “What’s going to happen to Psyche?”

Iris smoothed back her hair and straightened her disheveled gown. Then she studied her garnet manicure indifferently before finally answering. “Don’t blame me. Your mother found her and called in a favor with Ares.” She folded her arms over her chest. “I heard he was going to have her killed, but that’s all I know.”

Eros staggered back a step from Iris and his eyes glazed over. “She can’t die.” Eros’s words were barely a whisper. “She’s not supposed to die.”

He thought back to how Charon had said he’d be seeing Psyche soon enough. Eros had been so enraged at the time that he hadn’t thought it through, but now he realized that his mom must’ve been planning on killing Psyche all along. Setting her up with someone hideous was just a temporary diversion. Aphrodite had always wanted her dead.

Iris ripped him out of his thoughts as she tromped out of the palace. “Don’t worry,” she called out before stepping outside,”I’ll forgive you for loving her first. I’ll be much more understanding that she ever was.”

Iris slammed Eros’s heavy, golden door on her way out. He grabbed a copper urn, the nearest thing he could reach, and hurled it at the closed door.

Once the echoes of the clanging pot had settled, Eros slumped back down to his couch and wrestled with his thoughts. Would he go back on his promises to himself and look for Psyche? Even if he never wanted to see her again, he didn’t think he could just let her die.
 

Without wasting time to think it through, Eros began scanning for Psyche. He quickly located her ambling on horseback down a dry road, flanked by even drier patches of grass.

He looked closely, studying her. She was dusty and her clothes were dirty, but nothing about her seemed harmed. Either he’d found her in time or Iris had made up the story in some demented scheme to torment him. Eros didn’t really care either way. His muscles relaxed and the knots of tension in his shoulders unwound as he watched her. Even disheveled, she looked amazing.
 

And then he saw the cloud of dust on the horizon and watched as the Spartan soldiers stormed closer.
No.
 

His mind raced as he watched one of the men accosting Psyche, dragging her from her horse and wresting her away from the road into the tall grasses. Even if he left Olympus now, he’d never make it to her in time. When the soldier threw off his tunic and pounced on Psyche, blind outrage flooded him.

“She’s mine!” Eros hurtled his powers of creation across the skies to Megara. As Psyche lay defenseless, with a knife pressed against her throat, Eros’s magic reached her.
 

To the soldier, her whole body appeared to quiver. Her shape shifted between monster and victim. Her hair flashed to coils of snakes. Her skin crackled, revealing deathly grey flakes and her eyes burned like fiery coals.

As the soldier staggered away, Eros knew he was reaching the only conclusion his eyes allowed. Psyche looked like a gorgon whose identity, concealed by a human mask, was falling away under the stress of his attack. The man would assume that if he looked in the gorgon’s eyes, he’d instantly turn to stone. And so he ran. Ran from his own attack, leaving Psyche basically unharmed.

Chapter 43 - Psyche

A foothold for getting myself back onto Xanthy never presented itself, so I walked the rest of the way to Megara. I knew I should move straight on to Eleusis, but ventured inside for more water and help getting on my horse.
 

As I led her through the city streets, I kept my head down and moved quickly while looking for a public fountain. The crowd of Megaran citizens thickened, a jumbled blend of farmers, merchants, slaves and senators. Surrounded by all of these people, I started to worry that I’d made a mistake coming inside. What if one of them recognized me? Or worse, what if they attacked me like the Spartans had done?

When I reached the edge of the fountain, I filled my flasks. I glanced up for a moment and caught the gaze of another girl who was doing the same. Her hair was neat, and her lightly olive skin was clean, but she was wearing a dress that looked like it’d been made from the harshest, undyed lambswool. She must be a slave, filling flasks for her master.

As her eyes flicked to mine momentarily, she gave me an almost imperceptible nod. A sign of camaraderie.
  

The momentary insult was quickly overcome by the realization that “slave girl” was a good disguise. I’d be able to pass through the streets virtually invisible if I looked like a slave. No one would give me a second glance. A tiny smile tugged at my lips and I felt safer.

Until a sharp voice ripped me from my momentary security. “Girl! Your master’s horse can’t drink from the fountain.”

I’d been so distracted that I hadn’t noticed Xanthy stick her muzzle into the city’s fresh water. I tugged at her determined neck until I pulled her head above the water line. Xanthy snorted, splattering me with cool droplets.

Only when I had righted my error did I look at the woman to apologize. “I’m sorry,” escaped from my lips at the same moment I fully saw her face. It was severe, but illuminated with the light of suppressed laughter. And it was familiar. A second passed before I realized the woman’s face looked the same as the relief image of Vesta I’d seen on her shrine.

My eyes widened and I bowed quickly. “My Lady.”

She regarded me carefully, studying my face and clothes. Then she nodded and lifted her chin with an expected air of superiority. “You look like a good, little slave girl.” Her eyes glinted. “I’ll give you a piece of advice,” she continued.
 

I let my eyes dart left and right to be sure no one was listening. The noble woman reprimanding the slave girl was going unnoticed.
 

“You ought to serve Ceres in Eleusis. It would be a mistake not to ask her assistance as well.”

I nodded my head in what I hoped was a reverent-enough bow. “Thank you, my Lady. I am forever grateful.”

One side of her mouth lifted in a half-smile as she leaned in close and whispered. “It’s not your gratitude I seek, it’s fulfillment of the promise you made.”

“The shrine!” I blurted before slapping my hand over my mouth. Again, I quickly looked around to see if anyone had noticed us yet, but we still appeared safe. I lowered my voice. “You will, of course, have your shrine if I live through this journey. I would not go back on my word.”

She raised one eyebrow accusingly. “Really? Is that what you told Eros?”

The air rushed out of my lungs like I’d been punched. Warm tears pooled in my eyes, threatening to spill over. I hadn’t even cried from my attack, but her words stung worse than any physical assault.

I started to defend myself. “I never meant to hurt —”

“Smarten up, girl,” Vesta cut in. “What you meant is apparent to everyone. You’ll earn favor from no one lying about your true intent. Admit to your mistakes and you may yet be forgiven.”
 

Her words were harsher than I would’ve liked, but I knew she offered them as a roadmap to redemption. I dropped to one knee and kissed Vesta’s porcelain-smooth hand. “My Lady, I can never thank you enough.”

Vesta shook her hand free and looked at me the way a teacher looks at a dimwitted pupil. “Get up before you draw attention to yourself,” she hissed.

As I stood, I brushed the dirt from my knees.

“Besides,” Vesta added, “I can’t promise you’ll ever be able to build me that shrine. You can wait and thank me if it ever happens.”

I stopped wiping at my dress and looked up at the goddess, my heart heavy with dread. Advice was obviously as much as I could hope for from her. I nodded. “All right then.”