Page 93 of The Ruin of Eros

I move down to the shackle on his leg, and though even the merest touch against his skin seems to scald him, he is careful not to flinch. I cut through this one just as easily as the first, and more smoothly now. We both watch the metal fall away.

“It is incredible.” He pauses. “And yet, not the most incredible thing to have happened to me today.” His voice carries the meaning of his words, and I know his eyes are on my face. I don’t look up. I can’t. When we are free, I tell myself, and gone from here:thenI will gaze and gaze upon him. But it is sohard not to look at him. And the scent of him! I had forgotten. Instead of a dank cave, we seem to linger in a forest, where the wind carries the rich scent of cypress and cedar, of sandalwood and myrrh.

I’m leaning in to start on his leg-shackles when I freeze.

“What was that?” I whisper.

But one look at his face tells me all I need to know.

Someone is coming.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

“Hide yourself.” He looks at me. “Now.And no matter what, do not come out—no matter what you hear. My brother must not know you are here.” He’s pulling at the chains, moving them back into place.

“No!” I say. “We have time, if I hurry. I’ll cut the other ones. Then you’ll be free. You can fight him.”

He winces, and his eyes meet mine.

“I am not the god I was, Psyche. Before, I could have matched either of my brothers in a duel, but now…” I hear the pain in his voice, the pain of acknowledging weakness.

“But your brothers do not have this,” I say, holding up the dagger.

If I thought I had seen Eros angry before now, I was mistaken. Now I see what anger really looks like on him.

“You want me to arm myself with adamantine? I will not end immortal life, Psyche—less still, my own brother’s!” He swallows, mastering himself again. “We must wait till he has gone. If you arrange the shackles as before, he will not notice they are broken. And then you must hide, and fast.”

“But…”

“There is no other way!”

I want to argue, but instead I push the shackles back around his ankles, quickly arranging them as they were. In the dark, unless you were looking closely, you would never know. And then, even though turning away from him feels like a lead weight in my chest, I move quickly to a nearby boulder that’s high enough and wide enough to shield me. I run toward it andhuddle behind it, sheathing the dagger to hide its light.

What did he mean, that I must stay hiddenno matter what I hear?

A chill of foreboding goes through me.

I know a little of his brothers. Deimos and Phobos: the twins. My countrymen paint their faces on our shields when we go to war, to horrify the enemy. These are gods who turn brave men into cowering children—at least, that is what is said. They, too, are the sons of Aphrodite and Ares, but the twins were raised by their father only. There is no love in them at all, only battle and terror.

Footsteps echo in the tunnel above us, very close now. And then I hear the sweep of wings, and I peer around the boulder to see a figure descending smoothly from the drop I fell down earlier. This other gods is tall like Eros, and golden-skinned as well; he shimmers, too, with the aura of a god. But instead of Eros’s black wings, this one’s are white as a dove’s. He moves swiftly through the room, and alights before Eros’s chair. His immense wings fold in and my heart hammers in my chest. I hope he cannot hear my quick breath. I have not seen his face; perhaps I do not wish to.

“You have done something, Eros.” The sound of his voice is like the clashing of knives. “The river runs with theketos’s blood.”

Aketos—so that’s what the creature was. I should have known my presence on this mountain could not be hidden long—not when I have left such a trail of destruction. But Eros seems surprised. After all, he knows nothing of how I got here; of what I had to do. Though perhaps now he’s starting to guess.

“I have done nothing to your creature.” His voice is steady. “How could I have? I am in chains, brother, as you well see.”

“And yet you are troublesome still,” the other god sneers. “Have you no sense at all in that pretty head of yours?” Hereaches out a hand as though to caress his brother’s curls, but instead gives a sharp push, so that Eros’s head snaps back on his neck. I set my jaw; I must not make a sound.

“I already know you do not. Betraying our mother over some little mortal girl!” His white wings stir, like a dog bristling with anger. “But I do not think it was an accident that the beast had arrows ofyourmaking buried in it. Who have you commandeered to help you? Some other fool god? Some mortal idiot who believes he is heir to Herakles? Whoever it is, the Olympians will punish them when they find them. We do not like the guardian of our river to be treated so.”

“That’s as may be.” Eros’s voice betrays no emotion. It’s the voice I remember from before: the voice that tells me he’s steeled himself to keep every feeling at bay. But I know him well enough now to detect the anger he’s trying to hide.

“Think what you wish, but I know nothing of the monster’s fate.” He looks up at his brother. “Why so suspicious, Deimos?”

Deimos. So that is the brother who stands before him.

“You know nothing of it, you say? We shall see.”

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