“I know it was the girl. I can smell the stink of her hands.” Her face crumpled as his exploded flesh came into view. Rock rolled through her half-flesh cheek. “You weren’t supposed to let her touch you. You said you’d be safe.”

“I got carried away.”

“Carried away doing what?”

“Killing.”

Hera made an exasperated sound in her nose, but she didn’t scold him. Instead she wrapped an arm around him and squeezed. Not a word about his being careless or stupid. She knew what he was, and how he was when he killed. He was the god of war. Her terrible son.

Looking at his wounds, Hera gritted her teeth, and the granite of her lower molars scraped against the regular enamel of her uppers. Ares would have rather taken another knife to the gut than listened to that sound. The motion made the rocks and cracks in her face tremble.

“Come and sit.” She motioned toward a pair of brocade-covered chairs.

“But the blood.”

“I’ve got other chairs. Two thousand years of collecting mortal finery. We’ll never want for new rugs, or art for the walls, or fine clothes. But you’ll want for blood, if you don’t sit down and slow your heart. I’ll bring some food.”

Ares sat in one of the chairs, and his blood sank hotly into the fabric. Hera set down a tray piled high with fruit and cheeses and some sliced cured ham.

“When this war is over,” she said, spreading cheese on crusty bread, domestic as he’d ever seen her, “Olympus will return in gold. No more caves. It’ll be a palace again. And we’ll come out from underground. Except for Hades, I suppose. But he likes it that way.” She turned her cheek, and for a second only her beautiful side showed. Ageless. Light blond hair and cream skin. Second only to Aphrodite. Then she turned back, a monster cobbled together out of drying clay.

“Will they heal you more now?” he asked. “Since we’ve tried to do as they asked? Will they heal me?”

“The Moirae do as they will. Don’t presume to guess. You know better.” She thumped her stone fist against the tabletop. “But perhaps they will. Tell me about your wayward half sister. About the damage you did. Tell me where Achilles is.”

Ares hesitated. When the Moirae realized he had failed, would they crumble his mother to dust before his eyes?

“I stabbed Athena,” he said. “A few times. Nearly cut her leg off. She’s still—” A force, he almost said. Still the goddess of battle. Still more than a match for me. But Hera looked as eager as Aphrodite’s puppy, and he didn’t have the heart to disappoint her. “She’s just as much of a bitch as I remember.”

Hera laughed. “Some things are hard to forget. And what of Achilles?” She ground her teeth again and moved her heavy stone hip to rest more comfortably.

“Let me tell them myself,” he said. “I want to see them.”

Hera blinked, like his words made no sense. “But they haven’t asked for you.”

“I’m asking for them.”

“You can’t … do…” she trailed off and looked everywhere but into his eyes. She stood, with effort, dragging her stone parts. She had to be in constant pain, and the Moirae didn’t fix it. Why? As punishment? Or was the job too much for them? Ares had to know for sure. What they were. What they could do. He would see it for himself before he bent his head to their whims.

“I’ll settle for one of them,” he said. “Take me to Clotho. I want to see if her hair is really as red as they say. I want to know if the Moirae of life and birth remembers mine.”

“One of them,” Hera said, and made a mad sound. “One of them. Of course they remember your birth. As I do. The god of war. You bit through your own umbilical cord. I was so proud of you.”

“Don’t try to charm me,” he said. “And don’t change the subject.”

She made a fist and her nails dug into her palm until they drew blood. When she spoke, her voice was hesitant, and careful.

“Ares. I want you to listen. I want you to try and understand. Can you do that?”

“I should think so,” he said.

“I wasn’t…” she started, and stopped. “I was never truly a mother. I was your mother, but you were a god.” She rubbed her fingers over her stone fist. “What did I know about fear? Or about worry? I never had to watch you bleed and wonder if it would heal. I never had to understand that you could die.” She pressed her hand to his cheek. “But I know that now.”