Page 22 of Love and Death
My mind races, but I am careful to keep my steps even and my shoulders squared as Deimos’ gaze continues to bore into the back of my head. There is little doubt in my mind that, despite him allowing me to leave, he will do everything in his power to find out what I am up to.
My pace quickens as soon as I am out of Deimos’ line of sight. I need to put as much distance between myself and the palace before he can have me followed.
As I make my way down into the sprawling city, I note the uneasy quiet that has settled over the typically bustling streets, and a tangible sense of foreboding seeps into my bones.
Armed men, of flesh and stone alike, patrol nearly every corner and alleyway as they eye the gods’ palace gates and windows warily.
What else do they know that I do not?
Now that I think of it, the very fact that Deimos dared question me, let alone challenge me again, should have set me more on edge than it did.
I do not fear him, but a self-aggrandizing god is not to be taken lightly,especiallyif he believes Hades is sanctioning his actions.
Turning down a narrow alley, I make my way slowly through the branching passageways. I am careful tochoose my path forward as haphazardly as possible, often doubling back on myself as I check for any signs that I am being followed.
When the better part of an hour has passed, and there is still no sign that anyone has caught on to my movements, I finally start making my way toward Eros’ palace.
I am still on high alert by the time I squeeze myself into a shadowed, overgrown nook not far from the palace gates. Closing my eyes, I quiet myself until there is nothing left but the sounds of the city.
A leaf rustles, a soft breeze brushing it against another. A bird and her young twitter as she hops around the nest. A beetle scuttles across stone in its hurry to escape the open street.
But not a single footstep. Not a voice to be heard beyond those of the guards several streets away.
Once I am certain the coast is clear, I open my eyes and dart across the alley to duck behind the high walls of the pale god’s temporary home. For once, I do not fault the man for his lack of guards and locked doors.
Stealing my way through the courtyard, I push the main doors open and slip inside, closing them as gently as possible behind me. Allowing myself a small sigh of relief, I turn to begin my search.
My ears prick against the silence, the halls far too quiet for the likes of Eros and altogether uncomfortable for me. I move forward as stealthily as possible, my brow furrowing the deeper I go and the less I find.
If I did not know better, I would think this place had been long abandoned.
Just when I am about to give up my search, my ear twitches, catching the faint sound of muffled voices coming from somewhere off to my right. Changing direction, I sneak toward the voices, hardly daring to breathe as I carefully track the muffled sounds through the palace halls.
Still, I nearly lose them between several long pauses, but gradually, the whispers grow louder and louder until I find myself squeezing through a gap that leads into a well-hidden garden.
The lush greenery crushes in around me, distorting the voices in my ears and explaining why it was so hard to track them down. Even now, as close as I am, I find myself unable to make out who is speaking, let alone what is being said.
I debate whether or not to take whoever it is by surprise, but ultimately decide against it. The last thing I need is more hostility right now.
“Eros,” I call out, “is that you? Where is everyone?”
The voices fall silent for a long moment before a heavy curtain of rustling vines is drawn to reveal a young man and woman in a small clearing just beyond.
“Cerberus,” the woman gasps, her soft green eyes widening in shock, “to what do we owe the pleasure of your company?”
“I am looking for Eros,” I answer, ducking into the clearing to join them. “Where is he?”
She frowns slightly, glancing nervously up at the man beside her before turning back at me.
“Howdareyou step foot in this palace,” the man says before she has a chance to answer me, steppingprotectively between us. “After everything that has happened. After the king,your master, stole my wife from me. You must have a death wish to venture here without invitation. I swear, on all that I am, that I will not allow you or anyone else to take her from me again. Not as long as I still draw breath.”
“Calm down, I am not here for your wife,” I say, lifting my hands up in front of me, “nor do I approve of what was done to her and the other women. I simply need help finding—”
“You do not approve,” the man caws. “That is rich. And yet, you did what? Stood by and watched … As you have always done, and now you would seek our aid?”
I am taken aback by the vitriol in his tone, but I do not deny the truth of his words. I know that I deserve nothing less than the hate I see in his eyes. A hate that I have grown far too used to ignoring over the centuries.
A hate that I have had no choice but to disregard.
