Destroyer of Light (36 page)

She raised her brows. Now she was certain Aidoneus would tear him to pieces, if he weren’t too busy laughing. Perhaps he would do both. “Real pleasure?”

“You are a rare fruit ripe for plucking, radiant one, and this room is
filled
with eager harvesters. I thought to offer honesty before someone else beguiled you. There is so much you could have while you’re here… if only you’d allow yourself to be free.”

“And you intend to liberate me?”

“It would be my honor, fair goddess. If discretion concerns you, I will honor that as well. Surely for one who has
already
tasted forbidden fruit…”

She folded her arms and cocked her head to the side. “And yet there isn’t a single fruit here that tempts me, Apollo.”

His comely smile resolved into a sneer. “A hearty meal will leave your belly full, but you’ll know hunger again soon enough. Such a shame to pass up this feast. I can’t fathom how that crusty rind of stale bread pleases you so.”

“I guess you never will,” she said plainly. His countenance grew smug and dangerous, regarding her callously.

“Sweet, innocent Persephone…” He drew out her name. “You lie with one man, him of all men— and think you know what it will be like after ten years… a thousand… of
nothing
.”

“I wonder if you would dare say any of this to him directly.”

“He’ll never come here. You are so naïve… a goddess of fertility latching on to a king as infertile as his kingdom. I can see it in your eyes— smell it on you— how badly you need to be taken by someone who can give you what your heart
truly
desires.”

She felt fire rise within her as she stared at him, wondering if the Phlegethon lit her irises. She calmed. He wasn’t worth any more of her words. Persephone relaxed her arms to her sides and rolled her hips, pushing her bosom forward. She drew out an exaggerate sigh and gave him the most contrite of smiles. “Perhaps.”

“Oh?” he said with surprise. His eyes glinted as his gaze traversed her curves.

With a slow bat of her eyelashes, she spoke again. “Ganymede?”

“Y-yes milady?”

“I’ve changed my mind,” she said, not taking her eyes off Apollo. She bit her lower lip. “I think I’ll…
sample
some of that delectable nectar after all.”

The god’s fingers twitched and the corner of his mouth rose as Persephone extended her hand to accept the cup. She held his rapt and hungry attention as she brought it to her lips…

…and flung its contents all over him. Those nearby gasped and tried to suppress nervous laughter. Apollo stared down at his drenched clothes. So did every other pair of eyes in their corner of the room. The flute and tambourine stopped.

For a long moment, no one spoke.

“You… you contemptuous little
bitch
!” He snarled, drawing more of the hall’s attention. His eyes narrowed. “
I
am one of the
Dodekatheon
! When Zeus hears about this you won’t be received on Olympus ever again!”

“You say that to every girl who scorns you,” said a female voice behind Persephone. “No wonder the women you pursue have a habit of turning themselves into trees!”

The tension in the room snapped like a lyre string and the immortals roared with loud laughter, snickers and whispers spreading throughout the rest of the room. Apollo stood open-mouthed. His face turned red and he stomped off toward the garden, shoving both Ganymede and the serving girl aside. Sticky dates rolled across the floor.

Persephone turned to see who her savior was. Her jaw dropped— it was none other than Aphrodite. She beckoned to Persephone. “Come. Let’s away from this racket before another one of these Olympians underestimates you.”

***

The Queen of the Underworld followed the Goddess of Love outside to an airy pavilion overlooking the garden. Aphrodite uncoiled on a cushioned divan.

She motioned a girl over. “Khrysothemis! Wine for both of us.” She gestured at the seat and stared up at Persephone. “Please. Sit.”

The girl came forward with two golden cups and filled them with dark wine. “It is pomegranate,” Aphrodite said. “I think you will like it.”

The Queen of the Underworld frowned. “I heard what you said about me and my husband.”

“I know. And I want to apologize, Queen Persephone. Please sit. Drink.”

Persephone sighed and sat tensely on the opposite divan, folding her hands in her lap.

“I was mistaken,” Aphrodite started. “When I looked into you, you felt it, yes?”

“I… I did.”

“Have no fear. It’s my business to know these things. The two of you share a stronger bond than I have seen in many,
many
aeons. It was wrong of me to doubt your passion for each other.”

She blinked at the Goddess of Love. “If I hear you correctly, then, you’re apologizing for accusing us of
prudery
instead of apologizing for gossiping about us in the first place?”

“Is that the apology you would prefer?”

“Yes!”

“Then I apologize for that too. I shall speak no more of you or your honored husband.”

“Well, thank you very much,” Persephone said, getting up to leave.

“Persephone…” Aphrodite pleaded softly. She stopped. “I promise to you I shall not. Though I cannot lessen your pain when you hear petty gossip from the mouths of others.”

Persephone sat down again and stared at her lap. “Thank you for what you said… to Apollo. I don’t know what else he would have done in his anger.”

The Goddess laughed and lifted her cup to her lips. “I did him a favor. If he so much as touched you, your husband would have his testicles. And only because those would be the only parts left of poor Apollo once
you
were through with him.” She swirled the wine in her cup. “I know who you are,
Praxidike
.”

Persephone pursed her lips. “I take it you spoke with Ares.”

“He… may have curled up in my bed some months ago and whined about Sisyphus and flames and the Keres. It reminded me of stories told about you elsewhere. Where they call you Ereshkigal.”

Persephone sat upright. That was one of the names Merope had used.

In the easternmost islands of Hellas and the lands of Phrygia your name isn’t Persephone— it’s Perephatta. Beyond Phrygia, in the crescent land of the two rivers, you are called Ereshkigal.

Aphrodite nodded. “Yes. The Queen beyond the Seven Gates, ruler of the Land of No Return. Irkalla. Taken there from a flowery field above to rule with her consort Nergal,” Aphrodite said over the rim of her cup. She tittered at Persephone’s wide-eyed reaction and smiled. “Sound familiar?”

“The land of the fertile crescent… that’s where you come from?”

“No,” she said. “It was where I went when the Tyrant seized power.”

“But if you’re from here, then why do you look…”

“Eastern? Because something within you wishes to see me that way. But to my Ares, I appear thusly.”

Persephone reeled back and nearly knocked over her cup as Aphrodite transformed within the blink of an eye, her hair now silken straight and the fiery color of the setting sun. Her eyes were still heavily rimmed with dark kohl, but had changed to a steel gray. A smattering of freckles dotted her lightly tanned cheeks. Aphrodite giggled.

“And to Hermes…” Her hair curled tightly again and became flaxen gold and lustrous, her irises green with golden centers; her were lips fuller. With a shake of her head, Aphrodite’s hair and complexion darkened once more. She grinned and held Persephone’s empty hands within hers.

“Y-you—” Persephone could hardly form words.

“I am as they desire to see me. I suppose it comes from being born of the many seeds of Ouranos.”

“So the story about the sea foam…”

“Is true… depending on who you ask. But my story in the eastern lands as the Red Goddess, Astarte, is also true. And as for how
you
see me, Queen Persephone, I was first known in those eastern lands as Inanna. And Ereshkigal was my sister.” She gave Persephone a wide, starry-eyed smile and warmly squeezed her hands. “We shall be sisters here too, yes?”

“I… Aphrodite, I’m flattered, really, but I honestly don’t know you,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

“Ah, but you do,” Aphrodite said, sitting back and swishing her wine in the goblet. “You used my methods to deceive and humiliate Apollo. And you used my ways to seduce your husband that moonlit night on your balcony, when he was too shy to ask you to do what he truly wanted.”

Persephone felt her cheeks grow hot and looked away.

“Take no offense. It is my place to know these things. We are connected, Persephone, through fertility in the world above most acutely. And you are stronger here than you imagine.”

“I only,” she said quietly, “grow flowers when I’m here.”

“You bring the
seeds
to flower. In that way, you and I are more similar than you think. My domain lies within the flower as well. It is in the bee, humming inside the blossom. It is in the sweet nectar and pollen he stirs within it to start the fruit. My son and I, in that way, sow the seeds. He certainly sowed the seeds for you and your beloved.”

Persephone thought about the golden arrow and gave her a cautious half smile. Aphrodite was earnest, at least. She sensed that most women reviled the Goddess of Love, and that although she had a great many attendants, she had few friends.

“There is a sweet tale the mortals have. About how they were first created together as one,
hermaphroditos
, that they had two equal hearts, two minds, both a phallus and a vulva, or two of whichever. But fearing their power, fearing that the mortals were connected
too
perfectly, Zeus came with his thunderbolts and split them apart. They say that one part spends its lifetime searching for the other. They say I made one such being, sired by Hermes, of all men.”

“Is Hermes Eros’s father?”

“No,” she said, her face falling. “And neither is Ares. My son’s father was from far away.” Persephone read the sadness in her eyes as Aphrodite put down her cup. “And he lived a long time ago.”

“What was his name?”

“Dumuzi,” she whispered, looking down. She closed her kohl-rimmed eyes and took a deep breath. Aphrodite let it out, then returned her gaze to Persephone and forced a smile. “You and your husband are also split souls, yes?”

“I believe that,” she said. “My mother, not as much.”

Aphrodite laughed, hiding her teeth with her fan. “Have you yet performed the
hieros gamos
?”

Persephone blushed again, staring down at her dark reflection in the untouched cup of wine.

“No, then? You should. Of any of these Olympians,
you two
should. My
hieros gamos
created my son.”

“Do you think ours would?”

“Do what?”

“Give us a son.”

Aphrodite’s lips tightened. “I know not. And I am not the one to ask such questions.”

She thought back to Apollo’s snide words
… naïve little girl
, he had said
… a goddess of fertility latching on to a king as infertile as his kingdom…
“Who else could answer that for me but you?” Persephone said incredulously, her brow creasing.

The Goddess of Love put her hand up. “Please do not be angry with me. We’re sisters.”

“We’re
not
sisters! I don’t even know you!”

Aphrodite turned up her nose. “Yet you ask me questions only those closest by blood or bond should answer?”

“I don’t understand you.” Persephone stood up. “You insult me, you apologize, you call me your sister, you say that love, desire, the
hieros gamos
itself are your domain, yet you can’t answer a simple question about it? Do you do anything but contradict yourself?”

Aphrodite narrowed her dark-rimmed eyes and set down her cup of wine. “I cannot answer it because your question is far from simple, little queen.”

She tightened her fists, then took in a deep breath. “I see. Thank you for your hospitality.”

“I apologize, that was rude. Persephone—”

“It was my own fault,” she snapped. “Asking you, of all people, whose affairs behind your husband’s back are legendary!”

“So you repay rudeness with unkindness? Now I
know
we are sisters,” she said. Persephone wilted, mapping the hurt on Aphrodite’s face.

“I’m sorry,” she said, embarrassed.

“I began with an assumption about your marriage, you ended with an assumption about mine. Fitting.”

Persephone felt her throat closing up. “I’m sorry, but I’ve had quite enough of this place today,” she said, her eyes welling with tears. “Again, thank you for helping me earlier. I need to speak with my mother, obviously.”

“Wait, Persephone! Not yet!”