Page 91 of The Ruin of Eros

A question I, too, have asked.

“Perhaps your face is not the curse you think it is—perhaps it never was.” It seems like something Aphrodite would lie about: a jealous mother trying to keep her son close, preventing him from consorting with the mortal world.

He shakes his head.

“But…but how came you to be here? You could not possibly—”

He sits up straighter.

“Unless you are not Psyche all, and just some trickery of my brother’s.”

“But—of course I am Psyche.” He thinks I’m an illusion of some kind; a trick? I think fast, and pull the Shroud from beneath my robe. “You alone know I wear this. If I were just an illusion crafted to deceive you, whoever crafted it could not haveknown of this.”

He breathes more easily, but as he stares at me the wonder in his eyes only grows.

“But…how came you to be here? I know this mountain, and it is not hospitable to humans.”

His understatement almost makes me laugh.

“I went to Delphi,” I say. “The oracle told me what had befallen you, and I came to find you—though I admit, I came close to not succeeding.”

His eyes—those glorious eyes—continue to study me. And then the look on his face gives way to pain.

“She should never have advised you to come here. You have done more than I dreamed a mortal could do. And yet…you cannot free me from here, Psyche. You must leave now, while you still can.”

“Leavehere? After all this?” To turn around and go back, now! Surelyheis the one who is mad.

He just shakes his head.

“I cannot get you out of this place. But there must be some exit you can take, and you must seek it, quickly, before…”

“I’m not leaving without you!”

He bangs his fists on the stone chair; the chains rattle.

“Psyche, do you see these shackles? Who do you think made them?” He glares. “Hephaestus is blacksmith of the gods, Psyche! No one can free me from them, still less a mortal! And one or other of my brothers will be coming soon, to check on me: I cannot risk them finding you here.”

I kneel before his chair, and draw the dagger from its sheath. Perhaps thereissuch a thing as Fate. For how else would such a knife lie at my belt?

“There is something in my possession,” I say, “which may cut even the steel of Hephaestus.”

Eros just stares at me. His face twists when he looks at thedagger, as though the sight of it causes him some pain.

“It is cursed—my ears ring with the sound of it.”

I hear nothing, but he winces as though some high whine has pierced the air.

“I will be sure,” I say, “not to let it harm you.”

But he simply stares.

“Psyche, whatisit?”

“If it is what I think it is…” I force myself to meet his eyes. “Then, adamantine.”

His lips draw back, his face turns pale. For a moment he is silent.

“Adamantine?” He shakes his head. “Youpossess a blade of adamantine? It cannot be. No more than three such are known to exist—andyouhave one?”

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