The Goddess Test Boxed Set: Goddess Interrupted\The Goddess Inheritance\The Goddess Legacy (86 page)

That in and of itself is a sign of how much he loves me, and I
force myself not to forget it.

* * *

I go to the beach every day at sunset to wait for him. I
make plans for what we'll do together when he returns, and on my bad days, I
consider returning to Olympus just to find out where he is. But even though Ares
isn't here, Eros is, and watching him grow makes me feel again.

“Eros! Not so fast!” I laugh as I chase my toddler down the
beach. The sun beats down on us, warming me from the inside out, and the gentle
waves lap at my feet. The only way today could be more perfect is if Ares would
come home.

Eros stops at a scattering of driftwood near the entrance to a
cave we've explored a dozen times before. Kneeling in the sand, he picks through
the crude rope and logs, and I crouch down beside him.

“What are you looking for?” I murmur. He ignores me, but
suddenly he beams and pulls something from the wreckage.

“Sell!” he declares, and he sets a white-and-coral spiral shell
in my palm. Out of all the shells we've found on the beach together—one for each
day Ares has been gone—this is the most beautiful. I turn it over in my hands,
admiring its perfection. I miss him. Badly. And though I'm usually good at
hiding it from Eros, seeing this triggers something in me. The love I have for
my son isn't the same kind of love I have for Ares, and I want that back. I
need
that back.

While I'm struggling not to tear up in front of him, Eros
toddles off again, this time toward the caves. My vision blurs, and I wipe my
eyes as I rise. “Eros, no, baby, not without me.”

He keeps going, naturally, and I follow him. He's immortal, and
nothing can hurt him. That doesn't mean I want him to get lost, though.

As I close in on him, however, I spot something in the sand.
Footsteps. Not Eros's small, uneven ones, but large enough for an adult. For a
man.

Pocketing the shell, I scoop Eros up and balance him on my hip.
He lets out a cry of protest, but I kiss his hair and follow the path toward the
cave. The footsteps soon turn to drag marks, as if whoever it was could no
longer hold his own weight. Did Ares return without telling me? But why would he
leave behind the remains of a raft, and why would he go this way instead of back
toward the waterfall?

No, whoever it is must be hurt, and no mortal battle could ever
injure Ares. It isn't him.

“Hello?” I call as I swallow my disappointment. No answer. I
poke my head inside the cave, smaller than the one we live in, and I have to
squint to make anything out in the sudden darkness. “Is anyone here?”

A rough cough. I hold Eros tighter, and with a wave of my hand,
a cheerful fire forms in the middle of the cave. Huddled in the nearest corner
is a young man dressed in rags. Everything about him is dark: his matted hair,
the stubble on his cheeks—even his skin is tanned to a leathery brown.

A horrible smell reaches me, and I wrinkle my nose. Blood. The
smell of violence and war. Without letting go of Eros, I approach the huddled
figure. Shadows dance on the walls of the cave, confusing his shape, but
eventually I make him out.

He's bent in ways a body isn't supposed to be. His legs are
mangled, and it's a miracle he was able to leave footprints at all. Part of his
chest is concave, as if he had been hit by a large rock, and his breaths are
labored. But at least he's breathing. At least he's alive.

“Eros,” I say, setting my son down. “I need you to do exactly
as I say and follow me home without wandering off. Do you promise?”

Eros nods solemnly, somehow aware of the gravity of the
situation despite how little he is. He latches onto my leg, and I wave my hands.
It's tricky, and the young man groans, but his broken body rises in the air.

I float him out of the cave, and after three seconds in the
sunlight, he passes out. From pain or the shock of being held up in the air
without any discernible source, I have no idea. Either way, at least I won't
have to dodge any questions.

Even though I know Ares would have a fit if he found out, I
bring the injured young man back to the grotto. He moans as I place him on the
pillows, and blood browned by time stains his hands. This isn't good. This
really, really,
really
isn't good.

I settle Eros in a corner with a basketful of flowers to chain
together. I need all the concentration I can get right now.

Apollo?

I push the thought into the sky as hard as I can. Sunset's
coming soon, which means so is Olympus as it hovers eternally between day and
dusk, and that makes this marginally easier. Unless he's off somewhere wandering
the world. Apollo isn't exactly a homebody.

I hold my breath. Not that I need to breathe anyway, but it's
the thought that counts. Ten seconds pass, then fifteen, then twenty. I'm about
to send it again when—

Aphrodite?
There's a tinge of
surprise coloring his thought.
What's going on? Are you all
right?

I sigh with relief.
I found a mortal, and
he's dying, and I don't know how to heal him.

Several more seconds pass.
Zeus is
watching me. If I go to you, he'll track you down.

I hesitate and glance around the home Ares and I have made. If
Apollo comes, it could mean giving up all of this. Everything we've built, every
perfect moment together—maybe even Eros. No telling if Daddy would let him stay
in Olympus. I might lose all of this for a single mortal life.

The young man in the corner lets out a soft, agonizing sob, and
my heart breaks. Screw it. If Daddy wants to come find me, let him. He will
never take my family away from me.

I don't care. He needs your help.
I
project an image of the island to him, along with an imprint of where it would
be from Olympus. The sunset must be close now.
Hurry.

While I wait for Apollo, I sit beside the young man and touch
his cheek—the only part of him that isn't bloody or bruised or both. His breaths
come in gasps, but he remains unconscious. From the pain, I think, but I don't
understand how he could possibly register the brutality done to his body and
still be alive.

As the forest rustles with its nighttime sounds, my brother
finally arrives. He kneels beside the stranger, shooing me away, and I sit back
on my heels and watch anxiously. It's been too long, I'm sure of it, but Apollo
doesn't hesitate. He holds his hands over him, and golden light glows in the
space between. I've never seen him heal someone before. I know he can do it, of
course, but for a mortal this far gone…was it even possible?

Eros toddles over to me and wraps his pudgy arms around my
neck. I pull him into a hug, burying my face in his hair. His curls are the
exact same shade as Apollo's. It's a silly thing to think about when a man's
life hangs in the balance, but it gives me some small measure of comfort.

At last Apollo pulls away. I don't know how long it's been, but
Eros is asleep in my arms, love radiating from him as if he knows how much I
need it right now. Maybe he does. My son is gifted in ways I'm just beginning to
understand, and I hold him tight. “Is he going to live?”

Apollo nods grimly. He's pale, as if he's poured every last bit
of himself into healing this stranger. “I've done what I can. He'll need some
time to heal.”

“He can stay here.” Even as I say it, I can hear the worry in
my own voice, but no mortal would dare to harm a goddess. And if he did try,
then I'd throw him into the ocean. Something about him, though—the way his face
relaxes now that he's free of pain, maybe—tells me he won't.

“Ares won't mind?” says Apollo, and I shrug.

“Ares isn't here.” I can have another secret.

Apollo touches my face. Even his eyes are drained of color. “I
miss you,” he says. “We're all rooting for you and Ares, you know.”

I smile faintly. I don't believe him. Artemis, Athena—even our
aunts look down on this sort of reckless love. But it isn't reckless if it's
real, and I'll take their scorn if it means I get to be happy. They can remain
in Olympus with Daddy, alone and miserable and full of cobwebs for the rest of
forever. “Stay here tonight,” I say.

He doesn't fight me, and soon enough he's snoring in another
corner. The fire dims to embers, but I don't move for the rest of the night. I'm
too afraid. Any moment, Daddy might find me; any moment, Ares might return. Any
moment, the stranger might open his eyes.

Any moment, my world might change forever. Unless it already
has.

I force myself to relax. I'm safe for now, and I have Eros.
Daddy can't take him away from me. He would never even try, knowing how badly it
would hurt me.

Everything will be okay. I have to believe it—for Eros, for
this stranger and for myself.

* * *

When Apollo leaves at sunset the next day, the stranger
is still asleep. While the nymphs watch over him, I gather enough water, herbs
and berries to keep him fed for a while—or at least I hope it'll be enough. I
don't know how much mortals eat.

For the first time since Ares left me, I don't go down to the
beach that day. The perfect shell Eros found joins the hundreds of others we've
collected in baskets that line the entrance of the grotto, but I barely think
about it as I remain by the stranger's side. One day won't hurt. And this mortal
needs me more than Ares needs my misery.

Apollo's handiwork is impressive. The young man's body is
straight now, and the worst of his wounds are healed. His skin is still bruised,
but at least his heart beats steadily. That's something.

Shortly after the sun sets, the stranger's breathing changes.
It grows faster, more labored, and his good hand gropes around for something
that isn't there.

“Hold still,” I say, touching his knuckles. “You'll hurt
yourself.”

At last he opens his puffy eyes. Every other part of him is
dark, but his irises are a pale gray, the color of stone. “Who…?” He stops and
licks his lips. Clearly it's painful to talk, and I know what he's asking
anyway. But I can't tell him. He'd never believe me.

“I'm a friend,” I say. “Who are you?”

He tries to sit up, and a rattle echoes from deep within his
chest. I don't know much about mortal health, but that sound can't be good.

“Lay back down,” I say, pushing his shoulders gently. He's in
no condition to fight me, and thankfully he doesn't try. “I have food and water
if you want it.”

He licks his lips again, and I take that as a yes. I pour a
trickle of water into his mouth, and though he coughs, he manages to swallow
most of it.

“Where…?” His voice isn't as rough now, but it's still hard to
make out what he's saying.

“You're on my island. You're safe here, I promise.”

“With you.” It isn't a question. Even though I'm a stranger to
him, he looks at me not as a threat, but like I'm some sort of savior. Maybe to
him I am. There's a certain sort of tenderness in the way he watches me, as if
he knows I'm the reason he's still alive even though he's barely conscious, and
it warms me from the inside out. I squeeze his hand affectionately. He
is
lucky. If Ares had been the one to find him, he
would have had him by the tip of a sword the moment he'd stumbled across his
broken body.

“Do you have a name?” I say.

Silence. The young man watches me with those pale eyes of his,
and I bite my lip. I'm used to everyone staring at me. I enjoy it. But something
about the way he looks at me—it's like he can see past the beauty, and it makes
me squirm.

“Rest,” I say. It's the most I can offer him. “I'll be here
when you wake up.”

His eyes flutter shut once more, and I'm almost relieved. I
don't know who he is or where he comes from, but those gray irises speak of
things I can't even imagine. There's a reason he survived—a reason the Fates
didn't cut the thread of his life. Whatever it is, I vow to make sure he finds
out.

* * *

For sixteen days, the stranger is silent.

I watch over him while Eros remains in the care of my most
trusted nymph, and in my head I call him Cyrus. It doesn't exactly do me much
good to name him; chances are it isn't his real name, after all, and I never
call him that aloud. But in my mind, Cyrus is more of a person, and it makes me
feel better about the risks I took to save him.

Daddy doesn't show up. Not on the first day, not on the second,
not half a lunar cycle later. I'm on guard at first, ready to make my case and
stomp my foot again if I have to. But either Daddy wasn't watching Apollo
closely, or for some reason he's decided not to chase after me. I hope it's the
first. The idea that Daddy doesn't care enough to try hurts too much.

Cyrus heals slower than I thought he would, but soon enough
he's sitting up. He eats and drinks everything I offer him, but he never asks
for more, and I constantly worry that he's not getting enough. Food's important
to the healing process for mortals, I know that, but how much is appropriate
gnaws at me. I give him an extra bowl of berries, and he eats that, too. But he
still heals too slowly.

His silence unnerves me, and I catch him watching me far too
often, but it's the love that radiates from him that baffles me. I've always
been able to sense love, but this—it isn't the kind of love I'm used to. It
isn't made of heat and desire, like Ares's. It's tender. It's gentle, as if he
wants to take care of me, even though I'm the one taking care of him. And even
though I'm with Ares, even though he could come home any day, I slowly start to
give in. I can't help it—it's one of my gifts, the inability to receive love
without returning it, but I think even if it wasn't, I would grow to care for
him deeply. He's kind, kinder than Ares has ever been, and his presence calms me
even when I'm certain Daddy's going to walk through the entrance to my grotto at
any moment.