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Well, followings can be rebuilt.

I watch the couple as they shuffle to their feet.

“What you say is true. This godismerciful: for the benefit of mortals he hides his glory, though it would please him more to walk in the light as you do.” I clear my throat; I don’t dare look at Eros. I don’t know that he will approve of what I’m doing.

“If you haven’t heard the rumor, no doubt you will soon: that Aphrodite, his divine mother, no longer wishes our people to worship him. But let me ask you this—has Aphrodite ever walked among you? Does she break bread with her followers? Does she visit them and share their table? Aphrodite,” I continue, “believes mortals are here only to serve her, and have no value of their own. That is how most of your gods think. They do not trouble themselves to descend from Olympus to know you. But my husband is different. He does not disdain the mortal race. Remember this, when you next visit your temples. Tell your friends that the god Eros walks among you, and consider who isdeserving of your prayers.”

Their faces are ashen by now. I suspect they have heard of Aphrodite’s demands already. They’re wondering exactly how hard she’ll punish them if they leave offerings at a temple that’s forbidden.

“Your acts need not be public for all to see,” I say. “Grand offerings at the temple are just one form of prayer. Even Aphrodite cannot see the silent offerings made in the heart. These too count.”

The silence seems to pulse while I wait for someone else to move or speak. Though all I see of Eros is his dark hood, I know every motion of his now, and I know that beneath the hood he’s staring at me. Surprised? Amused?

Concerned?

“We shall do so,” the woman says finally, and bows. Then she hesitates, and looks at me.

“And will you tell us your name, goddess, so we may do the same for you?”

Now I’m the speechless one.

“Oh.” I clear my throat. “No, I…”

“She is Psyche, my wife and consort,” Eros speaks. “Whatever you offer in my name, you may offer to us both.”

As one, the grey-haired couple bow, and I’m the one left staring.

*

Outside, as I’m untying Ajax from the post, I see Eros press his hand against the barn wall. It’s a deliberate gesture, the kind a man might make to test the stone’s warmth. I glance curiously at him, then go to the barn wall and peer inside a crack. Now where before it housed only bales of hay, it is full of grain, and barrels of wine.

“Youarea merciful god,” I say, and take his hand in mine.

He gives me one of his impenetrable looks, and lifts me high onto Ajax’s back. Then he swings himself up behind me and grips the reins. Ajax breaks into a trot, then a canter, and soon a gallop. Behind me, Eros’s warm body barely shifts with the motion. I lean against him, then feel his hand brush my jaw; he runs a finger slowly down my neck.

“I am merciful,” he says. “To those who deserve it. And for those who injure what I most treasure: Psyche, you will learn, I am something else altogether.”

Ajax’s sleek black mane thrusts ahead. The village is far behind us.

We gallop through the last, soft hours of the night, through fields and woods, until the sea is in view at last.

And we wait on the clifftop, Eros and Ajax and I. We watch the light creep pink across the horizon. We smell dawn on the air.

There, out over the water, our sun is rising.