Aphrodite's Touch Read online

  "And I what?" Tebris asked uncertainly.

  "Do you love Dameon?"

  "Dameon!" Cydippe clasped Tebris' wrist. "You love Dameon?"

  "I never said that," Tebris said, shaking her arm free.

  "You don't have to." Cydippe smiled. "I can see it in your face now. Oh, this is too perfect!"

  "Perfect? Have you gone mad?" Tebris sniffled and wiped at her eyes. "Nothing is perfect, except that you're perfectly horrid to tease me."

  "I'm not teasing," Cydippe said with a laugh. "It's perfect because Dameon has told me that he loves you."

  This comedy of Eros was almost more than Aglaia could bear at the moment. It was time to bring the princes in and she waved them over while Tebris and Cydippe hugged. She heard Cydippe whisper to Tebris exactly what Dameon had said.

  The young men, both wearing identical morose expressions, joined Aglaia away from the cousins. Dameon was the more handsome of the two. He had a long, thin face to go with his slender body. However, Oileus was not unattractive. His face was quite round and he was built heavier than his brother, but he was muscular rather than slender like Dameon. Both had thick manes of dark blonde hair and deep blue eyes.

  Now, if she could persuade Dameon and Oileus to freely admit their feelings for Tebris and Cydippe respectively, she could tell them of her plan, and they could carry on without any more help from her. Aglaia would then be free to leave. Although she had grown quite fond of the cousins, she didn't want another confrontation with Queen Eupompe. The queen was irrational at best, possibly dangerous, and if she suspected Aglaia of more plotting, she might actually follow through on her threat.

  Aglaia was only a minor goddess, her powers limited as a Charis. She didn't have the boundless resources reserved for the Olympians. While she could call for help from any immortal, if needed, she didn't want her charade as a mortal exposed if at all possible.

  "There seems to be a problem," Aglaia began, immediately garnering the princes' attention from the whispering cousins.

  "Is one of them ill? Or hurt?" Oileus asked, his brow wrinkled in concern.

  "Should I fetch someone?" Dameon offered and took a step toward the rest of the wedding party.

  "No, that won't be necessary," Aglaia assured him. "It seems there's been a mix-up in the wedding plans."

  "A mix-up?" Oileus rolled his eyes. "Queen Eupompe has had every detail planned for months. I'm afraid if I take one wrong step during the procession, she'll have me flayed alive."

  "Oileus wants me to ride in the wedding cart," Dameon said softly, "but the queen has insisted that Tebris' brother will do the honors."

  Under normal circumstances, the groom chose a good friend or relative who would accompany him and the bride in the cart during the wedding procession. Usually, the cart ride took the bride from her home to her husband's, to literally show the bride's transition from her old family to her new. Since Prince Oileus' home was far away across the sea, Eupompe must have planned a symbolic cart ride.

  "What kind of mix-up?" Oileus prompted.

  "How do you feel about your bride-to-be?" Aglaia asked.

  Oileus seemed at a loss for words for a moment and then shrugged. "Princess Tebris is pretty and nice," he finally said.

  "And how do you feel about her cousin, Cydippe?"

  Oileus' jaw worked, but no sounds emerged. His face turned bright red.

  "Do you love her?" Aglaia asked gently.

  Dameon made a choking sound, but Aglaia ignored him for the time being. Oileus' eyes nearly bulged from their sockets.

  "I-I—"

  "It's an easy enough question, brother. Do you love Cydippe?" Dameon demanded.

  "I-I—"

  "That's a yes, Lady Aglaia," Dameon translated. He then turned back to his brother. "By the gods, why did you agree to marry Princess Tebris if you love someone else?"

  Oileus was finally able to find his voice. "I didn't even know Cydippe or Tebris before we arrived on Lemnos! As you well know, our father arranged the marriage with Tebris' parents."

  Dameon sighed. "Yes, that's true."

  Aglaia looked at Dameon. "You were willing to allow the marriage to take place even though you love Tebris."

  Now it was Dameon's turn to redden.

  "You love Tebris?" Oileus nearly shouted and Aglaia had to remind him to keep his voice down. "Why didn't you tell me?"

  "It doesn't matter," Aglaia said quickly. The rest of the wedding party was beginning to stir. She had to hurry this along. "Tebris loves Dameon and Cydippe loves Oileus. Everyone loves the one he or she is supposed to love. I've already spoken to Queen Eupompe, but she won't be reasoned with."

  Both princes, who appeared to be in shock over learning the cousins returned their affections, nodded that they understood. Aglaia called the cousins over.

  "Oileus, if you really do love Cydippe, and Tebris, if you love Dameon, then I have a plan."

  "Do you?" Cydippe whispered, hardly breathing. She was looking at Oileus, so her question wasn't in response to Aglaia’s announcement.

  "Yes, I do," the prince said and reached for her hand.

  "None of that!" Aglaia gently slapped their hands apart. "Someone might see."

  "And you, Tebris?" Dameon asked huskily. "Do you love me?"

  "Oh, yes!" Tebris, too, was breathless.

  "Now, you mustn't say a word to anyone else," Aglaia began and proceeded to tell them exactly what to do.

  * * * * *

  The wedding party had disappeared down the path to the palace, and Aglaia started walking along the cliff’s edge, far enough away to be safe but close enough to see the swelling ocean. She had excused herself from going back with them because she needed to be alone a while. If the cousins and princes carried out her plan, all would be well.

  Queen Eupompe would be livid the day after the wedding, but Aglaia would be gone by then, back to Olympus, and the vindictive queen could do nothing to her. Aphrodite would be pleased that Aglaia had carried out a successful mission, and the four would be coupled with the one he or she loved. Not all romantic entanglements turned out so well, but Aglaia's heart was light that this one would have a happy ending.

  Aglaia perched on a boulder and watched the ocean for a time, thinking. Love wasn't easy. It made one do and say silly things sometimes, but the happiness on the faces of the four only proved that love was worth fighting for. Aglaia just hadn't found the right man yet.

  Himerus and Moros were satisfying lovers, but neither had been the matching half of her heart. When she found the man to make her breathless and trembling, as Dameon and Oileus did for Tebris and Cydippe, then she would know she had found true love. Any heartache would be worth it. Until then, passion would have to do.

  Just as she decided it was time to start back to reach the palace before dark, footsteps sounded from behind her. Someone must have been sent from the palace to ensure her safe return. She clambered down from the rock to find two tall men with scarred faces, neither of whom she recognized, rushing toward her.

  A familiar voice called out, "Croco, don't let her get away!"

  Queen Eupompe had decided to do something after all. Panicking, Aglaia wished she could aetherize away, but she didn't want them to know she was anything more than a mortal. And she didn't have time to concentrate. The men had almost reached her. Aglaia turned to flee.

  The larger of the two, with shoulders twice the breadth of an average man and hands as big as slabs of meat, moved more swiftly than she would have thought possible. He caught her around the waist, lifting her off her feet. She struggled against him, beating with her fists and flailing with her heels, but he made no sound as he carried her back to Queen Eupompe.

  "What are you doing?" Aglaia gasped as Croco set her on her feet, but didn't let her go. He held fast to one arm, his meaty fingers digging into her flesh. She reached up to claw at his face with her free hand. Before she could connect, Phlius, as tall as Croco but leaner and wirier, latched onto her other arm so hard that pain
seared through to her fingertips.

  "Tie her up," the queen ordered.

  "No!" Aglaia shouted and tried to pull away. By mortal hand or divine, with as little as one silken thread, binding was one means of preventing an immortal from aetherizing. The physical bond interfered with the charge of energy summoned around the body to make the change.

  Even under the best of circumstances, Aglaia had trouble aetherizing. Before she could begin to clear her mind and concentrate on summoning the energy, Phlius dropped a rope around her and wound it tight, the strands biting into her flesh. When he had knotted the ends securely, the rope crisscrossed her arms and torso from shoulder to wrist.

  Aglaia groaned, but met the queen's eyes. "You don't know who I am—"

  "You're right," the queen sneered. "I don't know you and I don't care who you think you are. You are nothing to me, but you've insinuated your way into my daughter's life thinking you know what's best for her when you've barely just met her. You have interfered with my plans enough. You thought I wouldn't notice how you spoke with my daughter and niece and the princes earlier."

  "You have no idea what you're doing," Aglaia warned. The queen nodded and Phlius stuffed a dirty rag into her mouth, effectively closing off her last chance to help herself. She could only summon another immortal by speaking aloud.

  "I don't have the time or the inclination to listen to your drivel, you insignificant little nobody," Queen Eupompe said disdainfully. "You have done enough damage, and I won't give you the chance to do more. Everyone knows you stayed behind to take a walk along the cliffs, and everyone will be concerned when you don't return. I'll send out a search party, naturally. Prince Oileus and his nothing brother will join in the search, and they'll be shocked to find a piece of your clothing caught on a rock."

  The queen reached for Aglaia's hem and tore a piece free. Aglaia's eyes widened and she struggled against her captors, but the two held her fast. Surely, Eupompe was only threatening her again, using Croco and Phlius to show Aglaia that she was not to be taken lightly.

  The queen motioned toward the pile of boulders and Croco and Phlius dragged Aglaia to the top, standing her on the brink of the precipice. Queen Eupompe followed them and wedged the ragged piece of cloth between the edges of two sharp rocks.

  "You will be mourned when they realize you slipped and fell to the rocks below and your body has washed out to sea," the queen murmured near Aglaia's ear. "I will shed tears for you, of course, so that no one knows how delighted I am to be rid of you and your meddling once and for all. My daughter will be grief-stricken and want to postpone the wedding, but I will assure her that you would want her to carry forth with the most important day of her life. You will be missed for a brief time, but life will resume without you."

  The queen couldn't actually mean to toss her over the cliff! She had carried the threat as far as it could go and would command Croco and Phlius to release her at any moment. If the queen's intention was to frighten her, then Aglaia would act frightened and—

  "Farewell, Lady Aglaia."

  Suddenly, Croco's and Phlius' brutal hands left her body, and Aglaia, catapulted over the edge, was falling, falling. Instinctively, she screamed, but the muffled sound was cut short when she hit the rocks below and her breath was knocked from her body. Pain surged through her and her lower limbs bounced and turned unnaturally. Her torso folded in half then bent backwards and incredible pain flared hotter and sharper. More pain than she thought anyone could ever bear.

  Unable to help herself, she slid down. Soothing cold water covered her completely, marginally relieving the searing pain that wracked her body. She was a goddess and immortal. She couldn't die, but she could be battered and broken. And she could hurt.

  Aglaia floated, the bright flames of the sinking sun reflecting brilliantly off the water the last thing she saw before she mercifully passed out at last.

  II

  Hephaestus sat atop a boulder at the water's edge and watched the sun slip toward the sea while the breeze dried his long black hair. This was his favorite part of the day, sitting in solitude after his evening swim. He savored the smell of salt spray, the blazing colors of the setting sun, and the quiet.

  After a time, he gathered the wavy locks in front and drew them tight to the back of his head, securing them with a leather thong. The rest he left to hang loose down his back as usual.

  He scowled as he reached for the modified bronze greave leaning against the boulder and stood it in the sand before him. Drawing a deep breath, he seized his crooked foot and twisted it as far forward as his mighty strength could force it, then pushed his leg into the greave and snapped shut the closures. Breathing heavily, he leaned back against the boulder as the pain burned its way through his ankle and up his leg.

  The throbbing would diminish in awhile although a niggling ache always remained as long as he wore the specially made greave. Forging armor had given him the idea of designing a leg brace from the shin guards that soldiers wore for protection. He had lengthened the basic design so that the greave also encased his foot, straightening its deformity and allowing him to walk without dragging the leg behind. With the greave clamped to his leg, he had a noticeable limp, but it was minor compared to his awkward gait without it.

  By the time he heaved himself off the boulder, the sun was halfway in the sea. He started up the stretch of sand, but just as he turned to follow the path to the left leading to his caverns, a movement on the right caught his eye. When he looked, he saw nothing and started to turn away when another gust of wind caused something pale to flutter from behind a large rock.

  Debris washed up from the sea, he decided, and turned to the left. He shook his head. What would be the point of walking around the rocks only to find a scrap of sailcloth flapping in the breeze? Still, it had looked like a more delicate fabric than sailcloth. Sighing, he swung his heavy greave-clad leg to the right and carefully stepped among the assorted rocks scattered along the shoreline.

  Behind one of the bigger rocks, a female body lay prone with limbs sprawled in unnatural ways. A light colored chiton was half torn away and wrapped tightly around her thighs and the lush curves of her hips. The ebbing waters lapped at her feet then receded to reveal that one of her ankles was discolored and grossly swollen.

  Her head was turned away from him, wrapped with long, tangling strands of wet-dark red hair. He limped closer and knelt beside her. Reverently, he reached out and lifted a dripping curl. This close he could see her skin was almost completely covered in a mosaic of bruises, cuts, and scrapes. Long, deep welts overlapped on her arms.

  As much time as he spent on Lemnos, this was the first time the sea had expelled a dead body upon his shore. Dead. She had to be dead. No mortal body could have taken such a beating from the sea and survived. He wanted to hold her and breathe life back into her, but he didn't have the power. He could forge creatures of gold or bronze and bestow them with artificial intelligence and life, but he couldn't bring back the dead.

  The only thing he could do for her was to build a funeral pyre and burn her body properly so her shade, her spirit, would find eternal rest. Gently, he laid the curl on the sand. First, he would straighten her limbs and clothing and carry her farther up the sand away from the breaking water. With as easy a touch as he could manage, he rolled her onto her back.

  A shallow breath made her breast rise then fall.

  "Aglaia!" The name burst from his lips.

  Hephaestus had only seen her a few times, but he instantly recognized the goddess of grace, a Charis and his former wife's personal messenger. Aphrodite had carried out her duties in her own palace on Olympus, including her contact with the Charites and any errands she might have for them. Hephaestus had rarely ventured there. He often wondered why she'd carried on her affair with Ares in his house. So they would be caught and he would have the perfect excuse to rid himself of her?

  This certainly wasn't the time to ruminate upon old insults. He shook himself and began to straighten h
er limbs, hoping he didn't hurt her further while doing so. Her pale skin was colder than the depths of the sea, and she didn't make a sound as he moved her arms and legs into more comfortable positions. Then he drew the torn chiton up to cover her ample breasts.

  He gathered her into his arms and lifted her from the sand, shivering from the close contact of her cold, wet body. He had to get her inside where it was warm. He hobbled around the rocks and down the path to the entrance to his caverns.

  As soon as he was inside the small first cave that he called the vestibule, he shouted, "Neda!"

  He had crafted twelve maids of forged gold to serve him, and he had named them all Neda to avoid having to remember so many different names and the confusion that was sure to ensue because they all looked identical. Three of the serving maids appeared immediately at his urgent call. He quickly explained what had happened and what was needed, and they hurried away in three separate directions to carry out his orders.

  Hephaestus left the vestibule by one of the long passageways that led to his smithy. Torches ensconced in the walls lighted his way. The fire in his forge was burning hot, and she would need the heat to warm her up.

  A couch was set against the cave wall, opposite from his forge. He laid her on the soft cushions and rubbed her wrists while saying her name over and over. Although he was engulfed in the warmth of the room as soon as he stepped in, her skin remained cold, and she didn't respond to the sound of his voice at all.

  One of the Nedas ran in and informed him everything had been readied as he had instructed. The heat from the forge didn't seem to be helping, so he lifted Aglaia again and traversed another long passageway down into the bathing room.

  A natural depression in the rock served as a basin large enough in which to bathe. He had found a hot springs at a higher level than this small cave and tapped into it with bronze fittings he had designed and forged. Neda had opened the fitting to fill the basin and steamy water still poured from the spout.