Page 40 of The Night Belongs To Lovers

“I know what you did at Antium, Olympius,” Coriolanus said plainly, as his Maker asked of him.

“Antium?”

“Do not play games with me, Olympius. I know you murdered my mother and Aufidius, disregarding my choice to allow them to live with their suffering.”

“I did no such thing!” Olympius huffed. “What lies those Olympian bastards fed you! And for you to believe them so easily pains me deeply. Did I not make you strong enough to withstand their sinister magics?”

“I am no weakling, Olympius! To make me think I am bewitched solely to evade ownership of your choices and misdeeds is the act of a villain. Perhaps—perhaps I do not know you as well as I thought.” His last statement started as a condemnation but swiftly turned melancholic. Coriolanus never expected or desired to speak these words.

“Know me?! How dare you!”

As they hovered high up in the night sky, feeling the cold, brisk wind against their immortal flesh, the two gods engaged in a heated argument that lasted for some time. The air was filled with accusations, criticisms, and denials as Olympius and Coriolanus hurled pointed wordsat each other.

Olympius seethed with anger at Coriolanus for abandoning their shared goals to curry favour with Olympus, telling lies to justify his betrayal. He was also incensed at the warrior-god for believing the lies that painted him as a villain.

Coriolanus railed at Olympius for denying his role in the murders at Antium and for accepting as truth that he supplicated to Olympus, either by choice or by a weakness of spirit, leaving him susceptible to bewitchment, spurning his loyalty to his Maker, his love.

At a certain point, the heated words became ineffective in convincing either party of the other’s innocence.

“Enough of this!” Coriolanus declared bluntly. “If you refuse to believe my words and I cannot disbelieve what my godly eyes have seen, search my thoughts, Maker. There, within my mind, you will find only the truth.”

Having been given permission, Olympius entered his beloved’s mind, silently cursing himself for not thinking of this action earlier. He made his way through the winding pathways of Coriolanus’ thoughts, retracing the steps of the past few hours.

However, as he searched for answers, the god stumbled upon an unexpected gap. Coriolanus’ recollection of his altercation with Hermes was crystal clear. But then the memories abruptly ceased, leaving only emptiness until the image of the warrior-god standing among the Olympians before Apollo’s fall appeared.

Exiting Coriolanus’ mind, Olympius spoke his displeasure. “What truth was I supposed to find in there? Either you havediscovered some way to conceal your treacherous actions from even my power, or the gods have removed memories. You have provided no evidence of your innocence.”

With a composed demeanour, the warrior-god softly responded, “I am no liar, Olympius. Is my word no longer sufficient? Can you not look within yourself, to your core, and know that I could never betray you.”

Coriolanus spoke with a heavy heart, his words filled with sadness and pain. He was tired of the endless fighting and wanted to put it all behind them. He pleaded with Olympius to listen to him and believe his assertion of innocence and devotion. He emphasized that their souls were intertwined, and this conflict was misguided and inconsequential to their love.

“If the Olympians have done something to my mind, or I was knocked unconscious by Mercu—Hermes, it does not change that, on my word, I have never betrayed your trust. Please, I need you to believe me.

“And though my eyes saw you in the mind of a dying Aufidius, killing my mother and fatally brutalizing him, I will accept that perhaps I misperceived those images. In the end, it does not matter. I will not have their deaths, no matter how they occurred, or those damned Olympians ruin what is between us.I love you.Trust in that, if nothing else.”

Olympius attempted to speak, but no words came out of his mouth. He was conflicted between his anger and his love for Coriolanus. The god felt stuck and frozen, with his heart fightingagainst his pride and his—fear. Yes, he did fear something after all. Olympius realized he was scared of forgiveness, of giving wholly into trust, even though he claimed to love Coriolanus unconditionally. He knew his recent actions did not reflect that.

And it was true that he did love his warrior-god above all else—was it not?

Olympius wondered if he could dismiss the assumptions, possible misjudgments, and the Olympians’ interference. He believed that Coriolanus loved him; he felt their innate connection every time they drank from each other, but love did not always equal trust. And their time together so far was short—at least for immortals.

He once trusted Coeus, and that mistake had nearly destroyed him.

“Your blood holds the key to the truth!” Olympius spoke in a firm, commanding tone, his eyes fixed intently on Coriolanus’ neck. “Any doubt I have concerning your loyalty, one taste of it will exonerate or damn you. I will know if the Olympians have corrupted you, beloved, if their power has left its mark on you.

“Nothing can alter our immortal blood’s essence—its magic is ancient and immutable. No god is mighty enough to destroy or manipulate the knowledge it holds. To prove your trustworthiness—give me your blood!”

Coriolanus balked, stunned by the demand, for the stern tone inferred no request.“No, Olympius. I have given you access to my mind, and you have my heart, but to demand my blood! It is not yours to take, but mine to give—and I say nay.

“Believe my words, the look of love upon my face, or do not. I am not your child to order about. I am your equal, or I am nothing to you. Think upon that.”

With that said, the warrior-god turned to leave, to fly off into the night for a momentary reprieve from all this ugliness—but he quickly found he could not move.

Olympius audaciously used his godly power to hold Coriolanus in place, binding him as if by invisible chains.

“Release me, Olympius!”

With a stoic expression, the older god declared, “No, beloved, I will not let it end like this. Your mind is muddled. I see now that you are a broken god to refuse me your ichor, the very magic I gave you as your Maker.

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