Immortal Heat (5 page)

 Hephaestus didn't know what to think of her. She had treated him no differently than she would any of the other immortals. And few of them had ever treated him with anything other than contempt or scorn or...indifference, which was somehow worse.

 When he was very young, he had tried to ingratiate himself with the others every way he knew how, to be accepted and liked. He fetched and carried and did for them as if he were a slave instead of a god. He had even lowered himself to act the buffoon, tripping and falling on purpose, to make them laugh. Yet nothing he did caused any of them to see him as anything other than a cripple.

 How can a divine being be less than perfect?He saw the question in their eyes whenever they chanced to look at him instead of through him. To Hephaestus, the unspoken question challenged his right to be an Olympian. And he had no answer.

 Aglaia. A goddess of grace. He felt himself stir just gazing upon her. She looked as if she had been carved from alabaster, and her dark red hair spread out in disarray like a raging fire. Even in sleep, she personified the meaning of her name,
splendor
.

 Hephaestus shifted position, aroused by the sight and thought of her. Finally, he stood and quietly approached the bed, looking down at her. The edge of the covering was at her hips, and he slowly drew it up, the back of his hand lightly skimming her arm. When he withdrew, his fingers felt afire from the touch of her soft skin. He was tempted to kiss her awake and see how she responded. He wanted to wrap himself in her voluptuous curves and lose all sense of time and reason. He wanted—

 No, he didn't want
Aglaia
, he told himself sternly. He wanted...nothing more than what he had. His forge, his caverns, his solitude. He wanted or needed nothing more. Nothing more! Hephaestus quickly turned and strode from the room.

 The three-legged stool scuttled back to its corner.

 * * * * *

 Aglaia sat with her back straight while Neda brushed her long hair until every snarl and tangle was loose and it flowed down her back and over her shoulders in dark red waves.

 "Thank you, Neda," she said after Neda had woven it into one thick braid down her back.

 Neda inclined her head and left.

 Aglaia was restless. After consuming the nectar and ambrosia, she felt much better. No bruises marked her skin and no soreness afflicted her muscles. She felt as good as ever...except for her right ankle. She threw back the coverings.

 Hephaestus had smeared it with an unguent and wrapped it in white linen, elevating her foot on a pillow. The swelling and discoloration had lessened from what she could see of the skin around the bandage. She wondered if she could walk on it and if she should try. Perhaps she should wait for Neda or Hephaestus in case she couldn't.

 No, she didn't need anyone's help. She was a goddess of grace. Surely, she was graceful enough to take a few steps without anyone's help. She swung her good leg off the bed.

 The sleeping tunic she wore rode up well past her knees, and she wondered what had happened to her chiton. Considering how badly she was battered, the flimsy material had probably fared no better than her body. Had Hephaestus changed her clothing? The thought embarrassed and thrilled her at the same time. More than likely, he had given the task over to one of the Nedas.

 Aglaia sighed and carefully slid her leg across the bed. Just as she eased her foot to the cold stone floor, Hephaestus walked in.

 "What do you think you're doing?"

 The images of his large, calloused hands on her body had not faded, had in fact become broader and more detailed. Aglaia's cheeks went warm, and she self-consciously tugged at the hem of her tunic.

 "I thought I'd try to take a few steps," she said, even as he crossed the room, swept her up, and planted her in the center of the bed again. "I'm tired of being in bed."

 He propped her leg on the pillow.

 "Tomorrow," he promised and set a small bowl and fresh bandages on the flat rock beside the bed. "Right now, I'm going to change the dressing."

 Aglaia yanked at the tunic, which had ridden up even further. She finally managed to release the material from underneath her and straightened the hem to well below her knees. Hephaestus was unwrapping her ankle and seemed oblivious to the length of leg that had been shown. Aglaia frowned. Not that she
wanted
him to notice her in that way, but an appreciative glance would have been nice.

 Hephaestus rubbed the unguent into her skin with a gentle touch. When he finished, he wrapped her ankle in the fresh bandage and spread the coverings over her. Her face was still turned down in a frown, and she crossed her arms.

 "I'll have Neda bring you nectar and ambrosia," he said.

 Aglaia wrinkled her nose. "I'm tired of nectar and ambrosia."

 The immortals had to consume the divine food occasionally to replenish their strength and sustain their immortality, but more frequent consumption would cause no harm. However, the food and drink were rich and filling and that which Aglaia had consumed the day before was enough. She would rather have mortal food. Although she didn't have to eat at all if she didn't want to, there was something decidedly decadent about mortal food, even the plainest fare.

 "It will help you to heal more quickly," Hephaestus said as he cleaned up.

 "All right," Aglaia said crossly. "One more serving, but that's all."

 Hephaestus left to discard the soiled bandage and returned with Neda, who carried a tray. This Neda wore her hair in long ringlets with smaller curls framing her face. She set the tray on the flattened boulder, then stood motionless to one side. Hephaestus once again sat on the edge of the bed and held the goblet to her lips.

 She almost snapped at him that she could feed herself, but instead she laid her fingers around his to steady the cup. Her hands were soft and fair in comparison to his dark bronzed, work-roughened skin. Her eyes met his over the rim and she tried to see into the bottomless black eyes. She drained the last of the nectar, but he cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably as if he'd rather be somewhere else. Reluctantly, she let him go.

 When she had finished the ambrosia and he had risen as if to leave, she stretched out her arms toward him.

 "I want to get up now," Aglaia said. He glowered down at her and she glared up at him. "I'm tired of being confined to this bed and this room. I don't even know what time of day it is!"

 "It's midday. Tomorrow, you can try to walk." Hephaestus headed for the doorway. "I have some things to take care of. Call for Neda if you want for anything."

 "Wait!" she called after him, but he didn't heed her plea. She threw a pillow as hard as she could toward the door.

 Soon Neda, this one with her hair in one thick braid over her shoulder and a scattering of loose curls around her face, came in. She retrieved the pillow and set it on the bed without comment. Anticipating Aglaia's need to do something to keep herself busy, Neda had brought a basket of needlework. Aglaia was good at embroidery and ordinarily enjoyed the quiet, soothing rhythm of pushing a needle through cloth, but she had been abed too long, and the intricate stitching increased her anxiety. She made too many mistakes.

 At long last, Aglaia threw the sewing down and swept the coverings aside. Neda had left some time ago, and Aglaia was certain it must be late afternoon. Hephaestus would probably check on her before retiring as he had done the night before.

 Aglaia had pretended sleep, but she had been all too aware of his presence and every breath he took. Her skin had tingled at his light touch when he drew the coverings over her. She had almost reached for him then, pulling him to her for a kiss, but she had been afraid. Not of him but of rejection. In the end, he had stalked from the room and she had let him go.

 Rousing herself from the remembrance, Aglaia eased her leg to the floor. The nectar and ambrosia having done their work, the pain was even less than earlier, but still enough to make her pause.

 Aglaia took a deep breath and pushed herself to a standing position, most of her weight on her good leg. Dizziness swept over her, and she held onto the boulder nearest the bed to keep from falling. When she was sure she had her balance, she hopped a few steps and laid her hands flat against the wall for support.

 A scraping noise sounded behind her and fearing Hephaestus' return, she turned her head. But it was only a tripod crossing the room toward her. It stopped a few paces away as if waiting for her to be seated.

 "My, aren't you clever!" Aglaia said affectionately as if she were speaking to a pet. "But I don't think you can carry me as far as I want to go. Besides I need the exercise."

 The tripod waited patiently.

 She needed something to lean on, like a stick or staff. Squinting into the darker area, she finally spied what she wanted. Then she looked down at the tripod.

 "All right, let's see if you can take me over there," she said and pointed to where she wanted to go. When she sat, she held her feet off the floor and gripped the edges of the seat. The tripod moved slowly, lurching a bit, but it got her safely to the dark corner. Aglaia rose and, standing on one foot, patted the seat. "How wonderful! You did it. Thank you."

 The tripod didn't respond.

 Aglaia turned and reached for one of the walking staffs that stood in the corner. They belonged to Hephaestus and she had seen him use them on his rare trips to Mount Olympus. Why he would bother with a staff when he had the more practical greave, she didn't know.

 She chose one and tried to set the forked end under her arm, but it was too tall for her. Of course, the staff was made for Hephaestus and he was much taller than she. So she looped her elbow over the deepest part of the fork and grasped the staff just below the fork with her other hand. Not as easy as she had thought, but it would suffice.

 Tentatively, she put a little weight on her injured foot and took a shambling step. Her ankle burned and she bit her lip to keep from crying aloud. Perhaps she should have listened to Hephaestus after all, but she had come this far and she intended to see it through. She was sick of the sight of this little cave.

 Slowly, she tried a few more steps, and by the time she reached the doorway, she had devised a way to use the staff with minimal effort and pain. Then she noticed the tripod had followed her, and she looked down at it.

 "All right, you may come along. I'll probably need to rest along the way."

 The well-lit passageway went only a short distance until another tunnel led off to the right. It was also lighted by torches in the wall. Aglaia decided she couldn't get lost if she always turned to the right, then always turned to the left on her way back. She certainly couldn't trust her sense of direction because she had none. An unaccounted for failing to be found in a Charis.

 Aglaia took the passageway to the right and the little tripod kept up with her a few paces behind. She had begun to think the passageway would never end when another branch appeared to the right. She was tiring, but she was also exhilarated to be out of that stuffy little cave even if all she saw were endless, monotonous tunnels. She sat on the little tripod to rest.

 "I'm glad you came along. I'd have nowhere to rest if you weren't here." But the sound of her voice echoed eerily around her and she said nothing more.

 When she had caught her breath, she decided she would explore this passageway a little. Then she would return to the bedchamber. There really wasn't much to see and she didn't want to overdo.

 Instead of another passageway, it was the narrow opening of a dark cave. One torch lit the entry and she had the sense that the cave wasn't much larger than the bedchamber she'd left behind. It took a few moments for her eyes to adjust to the dimness and when they did, a large pair of bronze-clad feet at the edge of the darkness startled her.

 "Who's there?" she asked loudly.

 Silence was her response.

 "I didn't mean to intrude. I thought this was another passageway."

 Still no answer.

 Balancing on the staff, she lifted the torch from the wall and hopped a few steps closer. The circle of light slowly revealed the legs, torso, and helmed head of a man half again as tall as Hephaestus made entirely of bronze! After the Nedas, she shouldn't be surprised, but he looked more like a suit of armor forged together in the shape of a man, unlike the serving maids who could pass for women. The bronze was badly tarnished in patches, and Aglaia could see nothing but blackness between the faceplates.

 "Talos?" she wondered in a whisper.

 Aglaia had heard of the magnificent creation of Hephaestus. Zeus had given Talos to be the guard of Crete. When Jason and the Argonauts had landed at Crete on their return voyage, Medea had somehow gained the advantage of the bronze man and pulled a nail from his ankle, allowing the ichor to pour out and thus killing Talos. It seemed only right that Hephaestus would rescue and revive his creation.

 She smiled up at him. "I'm sorry I disturbed you. I'll go now."

 Aglaia turned awkwardly and started back toward the doorway. She heard the sound of creaking metal just before she was lifted off her feet and found herself cradled in the arms of Talos. He strode a few steps then halted at the entryway. The tripod was beside itself with anxiety, moving back and forth in front of Talos as if trying to stop it. Aglaia almost laughed. If the stool had been a dog, it would have been snapping at Talos' heels.