Looking around the small wicked room, she could not help but think that maybe the captive Druid was right. “So I should throw myself at Cernunnos’ feet and plead for his mercy?” Alena asked softly, knowing that she would not receive either of those, she would only receive a good deal of pain, humiliation, and eventually death. “I’ll take my chances with Ares.”
And hope that I’m right.
“You fool! Look around you!” the Druid shouted, not knowing if he should tell Cernunnos’ little bitch about the Curse Adrian laid on Ares just before he died. Deciding it best to remain silent on the subject, Martin, the captive Druid, only ventured so far as he let his eyes wander over to the object that earlier caused the Fey to shudder; The Pear of Anguish. “He’s a monster in a model’s body,” Martin quipped. “He will obliterate you. If you’re lucky, before that happens you’ll be able to escape, you’re good at that. You’ll have no choice but to run to Cernunnos and beg his forgiveness before Ares kills you.”
Like he did all those other women. Ares was very passionate and Alena could easily see how he could lose control of himself in bed. He would never put her down here. Never. “He loves me.”
“Love?” Martin openly scoffed and then laughed. “What does the God of War know about Love? All he knows is destruction and death, you pitiful little woman.”
2
Zeus voiced the same question that was running through the minds of Alena and Ares: “Where did Cernunnos get the Chains?” he demanded to know as he stood up and looked each of his Family members in the eye. “One of you better tell me now.” The last Zeus knew those Chains were locked away in his Dungeon and that was a thousand years ago—probably more, it was not often that he got down to the Dungeon anymore. “Wife?” Hera was the one with the easiest access to the Dungeon and so she seemed the logical first choice.
Hera stood up and held a hand to her heart as though a dagger had struck her. “Me? Never, my Husband.” The Goddess of the Gods had a very tumultuous relationship with The God of Gods and they’d bickered and backstabbed each other endlessly in their time together, but Hera wasn’t apt to stab Ares in the back. After all, he was her favorite Son. “Why would I want to harm Ares?”
That was a good and logical question; Zeus reasoned there was little answer that would be sufficient. “Someone here tried to stack the odds in Cernunnos’ favor.” The question was, how long ago? Did the saboteur know that Cernunnos was sending his men tonight and so handed over a little gift to help the Great Horned God? Or had they done so long ago? In anticipation of Cernunnos coming up against Ares one day? Say, in relation to the death of Artemis and the vengeance for which it screamed? If that was the case, then it was possible someone here also helped set up Artemis. Someone who knew Artemis was seeing Cernunnos, possibly even knew she had fallen in love with him. “Was it you?” Zeus pointed at Aphrodite with a strong and accusing finger.
The Goddess of Love had just lost several things: her crown, her dignity, and what had unadmittedly been the love of her life until a few moments ago. She was in no mood to suffer the accusation of having a hand in this. She may be vain. She may be cruel at times. But she was not a traitor. “The last time I saw those Chains, they were on Ares’ wrists and that was, what, four thousand years ago? I am just as surprised as anyone to see them again. I thought you were in charge of them, brother.” The last sentence was gently but purposefully lobbed to the God of Gods.
“Apollo?” Zeus asked in a booming commanding voice without taking his eyes off Aphrodite. She was a very skilled liar and he was looking for any minute sign, any little tell, that she was being less than forthright with him. None came.
“Not me,” Apollo answered quickly. “I hate him. I’d pay to see him dead but not at our collective expense.” Ares was an unabashed asshole but he had his uses just as anyone did. So long as the old boy stayed on his island then Apollo was not opposed to the idea of letting him live until he was needed. Apollo always had the inkling that if Ares did not kill Artemis, they would need him again one day to help them take their revenge. That was something that Apollo wanted more than he enjoyed breathing. No matter what Ares said—or how right he had been—Apollo did love his twin sister. Maybe he loved her a little too much and in a fashion that was far from Brotherly, but what was wrong with that? They were Olympians after all, such banal rules may apply to Mortals but they did not apply to Them.
“Eros?”
The fluffy little God of Love knew what was coming and offered a defense. “Me? Clearly this has something to do with Artemis, not with my Wife.” Eros stopped there but all eyes had turned to him and now were gazing quizzically upon him. He stood. “What I mean is that, why would I help Cernunnos? I loved Artemis as well. Like everyone else I want to see her killer brought to Justice.” Holding the flats of his hand against his bare bronze chest, Eros fluttered his wings and gave a little gracious bow. “Besides, as my Mother said, the Chains were in your possession, Grandfather, and I would never steal from you.”
The silence hung thick in the Great Council Chamber and seemed as deep as the crease crossing Zeus’ brow. The king of the Seas thought he might lighten to mood a bit. “She was pretty good, huh? I mean, you know, for a Celt.”
“Good?” Athena asked. “She was fantastic.”
“Yes,” Hera cooed as she gazed at Aphrodite. “I can see even more clearly now just why Ares loves her so much. She is a good match for him. It took him a very long time but he has chosen well.”
“No one asked you,” Aphrodite said through gritted teeth. “This won’t last; his little infatuation with her will end…badly.” She wasn’t sure about that last part but the odds were in her favor. If worse came to worst, then the ridiculous little Fey would only live the next two hundred years or so. What was that to an Olympian? Nothing. The blink of an eye and then the bothersome little Celt would be gone. By then Ares would have returned to Olympus and Aphrodite. As Alena grew older, as she withered and faded, Aphrodite would remain beautiful, vibrant, voluptuous, and she would have Ares again before Alena breathed her last breath.
“When it does end, it had better do so naturally,” Hera countered swiftly.
More bickering, this little row was apt to turn into an all-out catfight at any moment. Hera hated Aphrodite and Aphrodite felt the same about Hera. The Goddess of Gods felt Aphrodite never lived up to her title of the Goddess of Love, in fact she thought a more appropriate title for Aphrodite was The Goddess of Whores. It only made sense; Aphrodite was the only one among them who, in the Old Days, had Temples erected in her honor where the attending whores—er, priestesses—would, for a price, screw whatever walked through the door. That wasn’t love. It was lust. It was prostitution and Hera, The Goddess of Women, looked down on such unsavory things as they debased women to the lowest possible level. It relegated them to being nothing more than receptacles for a man’s seed when he could not get a woman of his own because females with pride and self-esteem considered him unworthy.
For many thousands of years, Hera taunted Aphrodite with that phrase, The Goddess of Whores. Aphrodite seethed and not necessarily in silence. Aphrodite often returned the favor by calling Hera the Goddess of Frigidity. An old prude who wouldn’t know good hot sex if it walked up and bit her on her bony ass. When Aphrodite took up with Ares, Hera was fit to be tied. He was her Favorite Son and she could not stand the mere thought of him anywhere near that slut.
Zeus saw as well as felt the storm coming and he did not have enough patience left to deal with it. “Poseidon, why don’t you clean up that mess on the beach?” Zeus suggested. “Wife, let us go down and see how our Son—and his woman—are doing.” Zeus was not about to welcome Alena—a Celt—into the bosom of the Olympians with open arms, but she had stayed at Ares’ side and she had fought valiantly. She would be useful to them in obtaining their goal. When that was met, Zeus could dispose of Alena himself. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time the God of Gods took it upon himself to end a relationship.
“Are you sure about this, my Husband?” Hera asked softly as she reached out and took his arm. “You so rarely visit the Mortal World anymore. I can’t remember the last time you left Olympus.” Hera rarely visited the Mortal World any longer either, as with the rest of the Olympians she had become secure in her smaller space. Her Comfort Zone. The Mortal World no longer needed them or even wanted them, and sadly the feeling had become mutual over the years.
“I’m sure. The rest of you, try not to kill each other while we’re gone, hmm? I know it’s difficult, but just try.”
3
After leaving the horrid prison and torture chamber with a heavy heart and heaving stomach, Alena intended to go back up to the bedroom but realized she couldn’t face Ares just yet. There were bandages down here and the hot spring. The way she felt right now, physically as well as mentally, she could use at least a short soak in a very hot tub. She’d just keep her back to the weight set glaring at her from the corner. With the Druid safe in his prison guarded by Cerberus, she stopped at the hot spring and disrobed, glad to take off the ripped bloodstained clothing. She gathered bandages hoping, when he felt better, Ares would be able to reset her shoulder still hanging limp at her side. Leaning heavily on the Staff, she slowly walked down the steps into the water. Sitting in the water, thinking of the things she had seen and how much her heart demanded that she love him, love all of him.
She couldn’t. How could she love a man—a God—who would take great pleasure in doing such horrible things? And he did, she was sure of it. Ares did not just find these things necessary to gain information, he took great delight in them.
A man—or a God—like that could not possibly have a heart with which to love.
Alena began to weep.
4
“What’s your next move?”
“Good grief Father, you don’t mind if I get a little rest and something to eat, do you? After all I’m only a God,” Ares returned. The God of War had been shocked to see his Parents walk into his bedroom. Zeus and Hera had been equally shocked by the site of the Golden Hind stretched out by the fire in Ares’ throne room and they took great pains to avoid her. Hera hadn’t visited Ares’ island since well before his exile and Ares could not recall Zeus gracing the island with his divine presence. “This battle wasn’t good enough? I didn’t do enough?”
“You and your little band did very well,” Zeus encouraged. “Where is our star warrior?” He looked around the room. He had been dismayed not to see Alena at Ares’ side but instead several of his women were tending him.
“She’ll be back; she took the Druid down to the prison.”
Hera shooed the women away from him when she entered the room. It had been a very long time since she had the opportunity to mother anyone and she didn’t want to let this one slip by. She sat next to him on his bed and swabbed his brow with the cold cloth. “Do you think that’s wise?” Alena was brave, she was strong of heart and fierce in battle, but Ares’ prison was another story. Hera didn’t think Alena much cared for War once the battle was over. Ares had to know that.
“I couldn’t stop her, Mother.” Ares let out a moan. Breathing returned to normal and his heart rate seemed to be chugging along nicely, speech was good, and he could move his hands at will. The feeling of looking up at the world from a deep hole faded until he felt he was only lying in a small crack. “What was that? What did that Wizard do to me?”
Zeus stepped up to the plate. “Get out of the way, woman,” he said brusquely and gave Hera’s feet a little swat with his staff. “Go get our Son something to eat, bring him Nectar. How’s your supply of Ambrosia?”
“Nearly nonexistent,” Ares complained. While he could ferment his own Nectar, Ambrosia was only found on Olympus and he had been forced to ration a small supply of it since his exile.
“Get him some. Go, don’t just stand there, make yourself useful, Wife.”
Hera began to protest but then closed her mouth. Zeus may want to speak to Ares about something privately, but he did not have to be so rude about it. Giving him a heated stare, she disappeared from the bedroom.
“Let me have a look at you, my Son,” Zeus said with a kind smile as he reached for the thick hides on the bed to uncover Ares, but Ares grabbed his hand.
“What do you want, Father? Let’s cut the bullshit now that Mother’s gone. What is it?”
“Hmm? Oh, nothing, nothing,” Zeus mumbled cheerily. “I know we’ve had our differences, Ares, but I’ve always respected you. No, no, I have,” he protested when he saw the look in Ares’ eyes and thought he was about to be ridiculed. “I just want to take care of my star warrior, have to keep you in top condition.” Again, he tried to pull down the hide but Ares would not let go. “I see your strength is returning.”
“I thought Alena was the star today.”
“Are you going to let me look at you or not?”
Ares did want to know what happened to him. “Fine.” He let go of Zeus’ hand and lay there while the Old Man ran his hands in the air just above Ares’ body from head to toe.
Zeus was very pleased at what he found. The spell was strong but it would take a day or two, or even three to fully kick in. That was plenty of time for Ares and Alena to take down Cernunnos. Once that was done, if Ares should rip that little Celtic Fey Whore to shreds with his bare hands, well, it was no sweat off Zeus’ back. Two birds with one stone. He would get his vengeance on Cernunnos and he would not have to suffer the presence of the defiant Fey for long. Besides, it was not as though he could break the spell, there wasn’t even sense in trying. Cernunnos was powerful and he had instilled a good deal of that power in his right hand man, Adrian. If Cernunnos would not dispel the spell, there was nothing anyone could do and it would run its slated course.
Or so he thought.
However, he could remove the bruising and discoloration on Ares’ chest and he could take away the pain he must be feeling. That would buy him favor, so he did. With his hands hovering in the air just over Ares’ flesh Zeus let out a gentle blue stream of healing energy that settled into Ares’ chest and turned his flesh to its normal color. “You’re going to be just fine, my Son. Back to your old self in no time,” Zeus assured, glad that he had been able to diagnose the problem before Hera who now would not even look for one. “It was just an energy bolt; I bet you’re feeling better already. Sit up.”
“Where did those come from?” Ares pointed at the Chains sitting on his nightstand. “Last I knew they were in your dungeon. How do you suppose Cernunnos got a hold of them?” There was no mistaking the accusation in Ares’ deep voice.
“You think it’s me who’s plotting against you?” Zeus huffed. “I have already told the others, I have no idea how he got them. I don’t even know how he knew they were there. Even I had forgotten,” Zeus asserted.
“I don’t believe you,” Ares snapped. “But, say for a moment, I do,” Ares led. “Then who stole them from you, Father? Which of us has the balls to try to steal from you? Even I would not do that. Who would side with Cernunnos and against you?”
That seemed to be the Question of the Hour but no one, not even Zeus, had an answer. “I don’t know but I am working on finding out and when I do, trust me, whoever it is will be severely deal with.”
“Losing your touch, Pops? Hmmm? Can’t keep control of them anymore?” Ares’ cold dark eyes narrowed on his Father.
“I still reign on Olympus, don’t forget it, Ares,” Zeus warned.
An icy grin made the corners of Ares’ mouth turn upward. “Whatever you say, Father,” Ares agreed with a snort.
5
After cleansing her wounds and regaining what was left of her composure, Alena wrapped a towel around her body as she climbed out of the warm water. She wasn’t expecting company but as she dragged herself into the throne room she saw Hera standing there holding a silver tray laden with food and drink. “Great Mother,” Alena whispered in surprise and struggled to lower herself to her knees.
“I don’t mean to be rude, Great Mother, but what are you doing here?”
“We came to see our Son.” Hera put the tray down on the table. “Let me help you, Alena.” Hera had seen Alena go down, but she had not been aware the Fey had been struck with a bullet. Who would ever believe she had a bullet wound when she whipped that sword around and drove it through the Druid’s body? “You don’t have to suffer, not after the way you proved yourself today.”
Not having to suffer. That was a novel idea. Alena stood there with just her towel protecting her and watched Hera approach with a warm smile on her aged but beautiful face. Hera’s hands began to glow a light blue and then the light radiated outward from her hands, her arms, all the way up to her shoulders. Alena stayed very still as the Goddess of the Gods reached out to her. Hera did not touch her but Alena felt the penetrating warmth of the energy flowing from her hands and into her own body. Breath hitched in her throat when she felt her shoulder begin to mend. The bone knitted itself back together along with the muscle and then it rose back into place. The flesh, soft and flawless once more. “Thank you.”
“I’m not done,” Hera cooed, “your back could use some help.” Hera could not see Alena’s back but she could see the way the woman stooped over so deeply. She made her way around Alena and sucked in breath at the sight before her eyes. Alena’s entire back was one huge black bruise. “What have you done, child?” She ran her hand along Alena’s upper back. “All of your muscles are torn.”
“I had to push the boulder.”
“The one in front of the entrance?” Hera asked in disbelief.
“Yes. I used a little magick, I don’t have much, but it was enough.”
“So I see,” Hera agreed. “I am very proud of you, I know I have no right to be but I am.”
The Heart of War Page 33