Page 65 of The Ruin of Eros

The earth seems to heave beneath me as I run along the corridor; the torches rattle in their sconces and the flames flicker madly. It’s only when I reach the courtyard that I think of Aletheia—did I leave her inside the palace walls to die? And once I think of her, I think of the gate. She has the key, and it is locked. I will perish in here after all.

But when I throw open the door to the stable-yard, the hugegate stands open. Aletheia must have already fled.

A clamor from the stables stops me from racing out into the darkness. Whinnying, stamping; desperate noises. The horses are still tied up in their stalls. A chunk of plaster smashes to the ground beside me, and I race across the yard and into the stable. I start with the farthest stall first, scrambling to loosen the ties on the chestnut mare as her eyes roll wild with frenzy. No sooner have I finished than she bolts away into the night. I set the next two free, then steady my breath as I enter the final stall. The black stallion watches me with big dark eyes. I try not to feel the fear, but my body remembers all too well. If he attacks me now, no one will come to rescue me. These walls will fall on me in the darkness.

“Will you trust me?” I say aloud. “I’m here to get you out.”

The stallion snickers softly, his breath a warm cloud.

There’s no more time to waste.

The knots are tighter, or else my fingers are shaking harder: I can’t seem to loosen them. I let out a howl of frustration. The dust kicks up from the ground, getting in my eyes. I tear at the knots, seeing images of the abandoned palace whose rooms seemed to be crumbling even as I ran through them; and the Hearthstone in the great-room, its black surface sheared in two as though some great axe had severed it.

All the things I saw as I ran away, and left him behind.

What have I done?He said none of this could kill him. And yet he seemed weakened. Faded. Trapped.

I shake my head: a mortal cannot kill a god. But this place will kill me fast, if I don’t run.

The knots give way, and finally the stallion’s free. But instead of running like the others, he doesn’t move.

“Go,” I shout. Tears of frustration well in my eyes. “Run, you stupid creature!” I shout. “I can’t save you if you won’t save yourself!”

But he’s not running. He’s…

Waiting.

For me? His eyes are on mine, wide and black and urgent. And I can read exactly what he’s thinking.

Stupid creature.I can’t save you if you won’t save yourself.

I take a breath, grab a hold of his mane, and hoist myself up. And this time, he lets me.

He takes off, faster than I knew a horse could run. My stomach roils, my hands break out in sweat. I try to bury myself deeper in his mane, grip harder. I’m no great horsewoman, and I’ve never ridden a beast like this one. We burst through the open gate and into a dark, mountainous place. Are we in the mortal realm? I want to look, and yet I am afraid to. But dawn is coming in: I see its rays in the distance. We’re on a sloping hillside, the silhouette of vines and olive trees against a purple sky. The shapes are dark, yet…not unfamiliar. I suppose we could be anywhere, and yet it feels like a place I know. The horse pounds forward over earth and stone.

I don’t know how to begin to think about what has happened.

Eros.

Aphrodite.

I touch the medallion around my neck. I don’t understand what just happened, but I fear something in me will break if I let myself think about it. Right now, I must do as the horse is doing: one foot in front of the other, onward.

But I can’t help it. I have to look back.

I turn precariously in my seat—and suddenly I understand. I know where I am. I know what I’m looking at. The vines and olive trees, the sloping hillside. I know exactly why it all feels so familiar. I remember what he told me, my first night:

The mortal realm overlaps this one, like footprints in the sand.

As the stallion tears down a chalk-white road in the hillside, I stare back at Sikyon’s temple. The Temple of Eros. All along, I was this close—and yet, a world away.

A realm away.

How the magic works, I cannot say. Sikyon’s temple was built with simple stone, by mortal hands, and yet the place I have just come from was no mortal place. The temple, I suppose, is a threshold of sorts.

Wasa threshold of sorts.

The path jolts beneath us, stony and uneven. But though my hands are balled in the horse’s mane to keep me upright, I barely feel it. I can’t take my eyes from the crumbling temple behind us. Soon it will be in ruins.

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