Hades focused on the softness of the bed beneath him, the cold caress of the sheets against his skin, and the warmth of Persephone against his chest.
He counted her breaths and her sighs and each time she moved.
The labyrinth was the first time in a long while he’d been deprived of any luxury, and he wondered if being trapped in its dark depths was the Fates’ way of saying he’d grown too bold—that he deserved to fear an end to his blessings.
Except that he had never stopped fearing for Persephone.
Even now as they lay in the quiet of their room, blanketed by peace and solitude, he knew that beyond these walls, turmoil was brewing. He could feel it beneath his skin. The souls whose threads marred his body were restless.
It was a dreadful omen, but he knew from where it stemmed—from the magic of an old and angry god.
His father, Cronos.
Since the moment Theseus had told him the God of Time was freed from Tartarus, Hades had felt an unimaginable sense of dread, and now that he was home, that feeling had only grown worse.
He knew his father would come for him. He would come for Zeus and Poseidon too.
But before that, he would go after their mother.
Hades rose from bed and dressed, and with a final look at Persephone’s sleeping form, he called up his magic and vanished.
Hades manifested at the Edge of the World. It was an open-air circular temple made of white marble columns. It was so tall, it touched the clouds, which billowed like blue and silver waves in the night. From here, one could look upon the Divine and witness Atlas straining beneath the weight of the Earth or Nyx casting her veil over the world, tangled within Erebus’s dark embrace.
It was the temple of divine direction, and it was here where Rhea sat staring off toward the east.
From where he stood, she was only a shadow, the edges of her body illuminated by starlight, but as his eyes adjusted, he could see that she wore robes the color of the sunset, cast in orange and red hues. Her long, black hair cascaded down her back like the fringes of night, and a turret crown gleamed like the rising sun atop her head. On either side of her lay her two loyal lions.
It would have been a breathtaking scene had it not been for the fact that the lions were dead and a river of blood was running from them and Rhea, over the mosaic floor, to his feet.
He was too late.
As he approached, he could hear her ragged breathing. His heart beat in tandem, breaking with every step. He rounded on her and saw a great spear embedded in her breast. She turned her head and looked at him, and he recognized the shadow in her eyes.
It was death.
“Have you come to take me away, my son?”
“It seems I must,” he said. Hades knelt beside his mother. “When did he come?”
He did not wish to say Cronos’s name for fear that his father might hear.
“I do not know,” she said. “Time is different when he is near.” She turned her head away and looked east again. “I knew when he had entered the world again.” She spoke in a whisper. “I could feel it in my heart.”
“Why did you not hide?”
She smiled a little. She smiled like him.
“Perhaps…this is what I deserve,” she said.
“For what?” Hades demanded.
“For not protecting you,” she said. “For saving the one child who would become nothing more than a cruel and wicked king.”
He wanted to say something, to ease her guilt, but he had to admit that he had wondered often why she had chosen to save Zeus when she could have tricked Cronos from the start.
“I am here to watch the dawn,” she said. “Do you think Eos will open her gilded doors for me?”
“If she does not, I will knock on them for you,” he said, following her gaze to the gates behind which the morning sun was trapped, its crimson rays reaching beyond their great height, bleeding into the night. “Are you afraid?” Hades asked as the light grew more golden minute by minute.
“Yes,” she said, and he took her hand. “Will I remember you?”
“In time,” he said.
She turned her earthly gaze back to him. “Do you promise?”
“I promise,” he said.
She made a small sound, like a satisfied sigh, and golden light warmed her face. Just then, Eos cast open her great doors and stood in saffron-colored robes, wreathed in the blinding rays of the dawn.
And in that brilliant light, Hades held his mother’s hand until she was cold.
Later, after Hades had brought Rhea to the Underworld, he stood on the balcony at the front of his palace, ignoring the stabbing pain in his side. It was radiating like heat across his stomach. He knew that wasn’t a good sign and he’d have to tell Hecate soon, but for now, he watched his realm slowly brighten beneath his muted sun.
Normally, he would watch his world wake, but it seemed it had never slept—not the souls who hammered steel in Asphodel or Cerberus, who patrolled the borders of the Underworld.
He knew they were restless because they were afraid.
Theseus had brought battle upon them in a life where they were only supposed to know peace. Hades felt angry that his people had suffered, guilty that he had not been here to prevent the chaos Theseus had unleashed.
None of this would have happened if you had been here, he thought bitterly, but those words felt wrong. Mostly, they minimized what Persephone had gone through to protect their realm, and the last thing he wanted was for her to think she had not done enough—that she had not been enough.
“What are you doing out here?”
He stiffened, straightening at the sound of Persephone’s voice. He turned to see her standing just inside the threshold of the balcony doors. She looked beautiful and sleepy, illuminated by the morning glow of the Underworld and wearing nothing but black silk.
He felt like an idiot for not returning to her side.
“Just…observing,” he said in answer to her question.
She paled, and her eyes shifted from him to the dark horizon where the mountains of Tartarus gleamed like black glass.
“That is Iapetus,” she said, though he already knew.
She took a breath and shivered violently, which only deepened his anger and his guilt. He wished he had been here to protect her from this horror.
She left the threshold and came to stand beside him, her eyes locked on the monstrous mountain.
“I tried to hold him with my magic alone, but it was not as strong as yours,” she said.
“There is no difference in our magic, Persephone.”
As soon as he said the words, he realized how frustrated he sounded. It had not been his intention to reprimand her. It had to be overwhelming, to have only just grown comfortable with her own power and suddenly have access to his, but one was not more than the other.
He tried again, gentler this time.
“Some things work, and others don’t. It is that simple.”
She glanced at him and then away toward Tartarus, tapping her fingers against the stone railing, anxious.
“I thought maybe you could change it back…to the way it was before,” she said, almost as if she were suggesting a new addition to the castle or a plot in the garden.
“Why would I change it?” he asked.
The thought had not even occurred to him.
“Because of what it represents,” she said.
He frowned, brows lowering. “What do you think it represents?”
“Terror,” she said.
“Is that because you were afraid you couldn’t contain him?” he asked.
Her jaw tightened, and she did not speak.
He stepped up behind her, grinding his teeth against the pain that radiated down his leg as he caged her against the balcony. She felt rigid against him, and he willed her to relax to no avail.
“You have not seen how the souls look upon them,” she said, hands fisting beneath his. “As if they do not trust they will hold.”
“It isn’t unusual to fear something happening again, Persephone. It is not your magic they doubt.”
He could feel her shudder against him as she took a breath.
“So the mountains will hold?”
“Yes,” he whispered, his lips brushing her ear. “But if they are too much for you, I will change them.”
She was quiet, and after a moment, she turned in his arms, tilting her head back to hold his gaze, and his eyes fell to her mouth. She was so beautiful and so haunted, all he wanted to do was bring her comfort. He leaned forward, brushing his lips against hers, and though the kiss was gentle, they held each other tighter.
“I’m sorry,” he said when he pulled away, smoothing his thumb over her jaw. “I did not mean for you to wake alone.”
She watched him, eyes seeking something in his expression, and he grew anxious, thinking she was not finding what she was looking for.
“I know you left the Underworld,” she said. “Where did you go?”
He tried not to look surprised, but he could safely say he had not expected her to ask or to know that he had left at all, and while she likely knew that, she did not seem angry, only curious and concerned.
His gaze fell as he sought her hands, which were twisted into his robes.
“I went to say goodbye to my mother.”
Persephone’s brows lowered. “What do you mean goodbye?”
He could tell by the way she asked that she knew what he meant, so he said nothing.
“Oh, Hades,” she said and took his face between her hands before sliding her arms around his neck and pulling him to her. ‘“I’m so sorry,” she whispered into his neck.
He wrapped his arms around her and swallowed hard, trying to loosen the sharp knot in his throat, fighting each wave of emotion as it welled in his chest. The irony that he would mourn his mother was not lost on him. It was indeed some sort of divine vengeance given that he had been so cold toward Persephone when Lexa died.
“I don’t see why death matters,” he’d told her. “You come to the Underworld every day. You would have seen Lexa again.”
“Because it’s not the same,” she’d said, and at the time, he hadn’t understood, but suddenly he did. It didn’t matter that he could see her here—in another life. It was the simple fact that she had died out there. It was that she had been alone when Cronos had come for her. That he had killed her prized lions before he’d slammed his spear into her chest. It was that all she’d wanted was to see the sun rise a final time. It was that he would never forget looking upon her face as the veil of death descended to see a single tear on her cheek.
It was not the same because nothing would stop him from remembering everything that had preceded her existence within his realm.
“He killed her,” Hades said.
Persephone drew back. “Who?”
“Cronos,” he said and looked away, staring off toward Tartarus, and while Persephone had feared that her mountains would not hold Iapetus, she had forgotten that his had failed to contain his father. “I think I am next.”
“Don’t say that,” she said.
He didn’t want to scare her. It was just the truth.
“How do we stop him?” she asked.
“I don’t know.”
He had been thinking about it since Theseus had taunted him with the news of his father’s release in the labyrinth. They had succeeded before because the Olympians had been united against the Titans and because Zeus had his lightning bolt, Poseidon, his trident, and Hades, the Helm of Darkness.
Now, the Olympians were divided. Some did not even have magic, and the Helm of Darkness was in Theseus’s possession.
Not that Cronos would fall for those tactics again. They would have to think of something different and soon, but he also knew that he could not face his father with this wound. If he was being honest, it hurt, worse even than it had the day before, and he knew it would get to the point where he could not ignore it any longer. It was impacting his ability to plan.
Persephone turned on her heels.
“Persephone?” he called.
She did not stop.
“Persephone, where are you going?” he asked, catching up with her in the hall. She did not slow her quick stride.
“To get ready,” she said.
“For?”
“If we are going to defeat Cronos, we need the Golden Fleece,” she said.
“And do you have a plan to retrieve it?” he asked, though he did not disagree with her. He would need to be at full strength if he was going to face his father in battle.
“I already told you my plan,” she said.
He paused for a moment at the top of the steps while she continued down, practically sailing.
Already told me?
It took him a moment to recall their brief conversation from yesterday. Gods, he hated how much his wound was affecting him. He closed his eyes for a moment, and then he remembered—Zeus had offered his shield in exchange for her.
He teleported to the base of the steps, just as she reached the bottom.
“Get out of my way, Hades,” she said as she tried to sidestep him, but he planted his hands on her waist. “We don’t have time for this!”
“You will not trade yourself for the Golden Fleece!” Hades snapped.
“I’m not going to trade myself,” she said, glaring up at him. “I’m going to bargain.”
“Not with your fucking life.”
Suddenly, they were interrupted by a loud crunch, and when he looked over his shoulder, he found Hermes standing in the middle of the hallway, hugging a large bowl of popcorn, wearing only a pair of small floral boxers and a sheer pink robe lined with feathers.
“Is that…my robe?” Persephone asked.
Hermes was reaching back into the bowl as he looked down at his ensemble.
“Oh yeah,” he said. “I borrowed it. I didn’t think you’d mind.”
“When?” Persephone asked, a demanding edge to her voice.
“When I got here.”
“And when did you get here, Hermes?” Hades asked, impatience threading through his voice.
Hermes tilted his head, stroking his chin as he thought—or pretended to at least. “You know, I can’t really remember. Since I lost my powers, everything is just so.…fuzzy.” He paused, and then his face brightened. “Like this robe.” He lifted a feathery sleeve.
“You slept here?” Hades asked.
“Sure did,” Hermes said as he scratched his lower back and then stretched loudly, one arm lifting into the air as the other clutched the bucket of popcorn. “And let me just say, you really need to wash the sheets in your guest rooms and invest in Wi-Fi. I couldn’t even watch the finale of Titans After Dark.”
“I am not interested in making your stay more comfortable.”
Hermes’s mouth fell open as he scoffed. “But I am a guest!”
“There are no guests in the Underworld, Hermes. Only unwanted visitors.”
Hades tried to turn back to Persephone, but Hermes continued.
“Now that’s just rude,” he said. “Do you know how hard it was to get here? I had to climb down a mountain, and I hate walking. I was exhausted, and then when I finally made it to your ugly palace and found a room, all I wanted to do was sleep, except I couldn’t because as soon as I lay down on your dusty bed, I heard you.” Hermes turned his face toward the ceiling, arched his back, and threw out his arms, moaning loudly. Several kernels of popcorn went flying. “That’s it! Ride like you are on my cock, darling!”
Hades raised a brow at the god’s exaggerated display, though he supposed that answered his earlier question about when the god arrived.
Hermes straightened and popped another piece of popcorn into his mouth. “And I couldn’t sleep because I couldn’t stop wondering—what is she riding if she isn’t on his cock?”
“My face, Hermes,” Hades said. “She was riding my face.”
“Oh my gods,” Persephone whispered.
Hermes’s shoulders dropped in disappointment. “Well, that’s not very creative.”
Maybe not, but it was the first time with Persephone in far too long, and it had felt fucking great, even as the wound on Hades’s side continued to weep blood.
“Might I suggest—” Hermes began.
“No.” Hades and Persephone spoke in unison.
“You don’t even know what I was going to say!”
“That’s the point, Hermes,” said Hades.
“I don’t even know why we’re friends,” Hermes huffed.
Sometimes, Hades wasn’t sure either.
Persephone took that opportunity to slide past him on the bottom stair.
“Persephone—”
He reached for her again, but she turned to face him, her eyes bright and determined.
“I’m going to Ares’s island today,” she said. “We have to have the fleece. Harmonia is getting worse…and so are you.” Persephone looked pointedly at his side.
Hades stiffened, surprised that she knew. His reaction seemed to confirm her suspicions though, and despite her frustration, he also saw her hurt.
Fuck. He didn’t want to worry her, but he’d kept too much from her already.
He started to speak, but Hermes interrupted.
“Too bad you can’t just trap Ares in a bronze jar again. He was gone for a whole year, imprisoned by giants, and only escaped because I rescued him.” He paused to pick some popcorn from between his teeth. “He still owes me for that.”
Hades and Persephone both stared.
“What?” he asked.
“Ares owes you a favor?” Persephone asked.
“Yeah, like, from ancient times,” Hermes said, still oblivious to what Hades and Persephone were thinking.
“Hermes,” Persephone said, taking a step forward. “I need you to use your favor with Ares to get the Golden Fleece.”
“What?” he asked. “No.”
“Hermes, please,” Persephone said. “I will grant you favor in return. I will—”
“It isn’t about the favor. It’s about Ares. His island is one giant booby trap!” He paused and chuckled. “I’ve always wanted to use those words.”
“I am glad you still have your sense of humor in the face of Harmonia dying,” said Hades, barely biting back his anger.
“The point is, Hades, I am very much mortal right now, and because it is my favor, I have to go. What if I die?”
“I’ll protect you,” Hades said.
Hermes’s lips parted. “I’ve waited my whole life to hear those words,” he said, shivering.
“And you can wear the Girdle of Hippolyta,” said Persephone.
Hades looked at her, surprised that she had it. She noticed his gaze.
“Hippolyta gave it to me at Zofie’s funeral,” she explained. “She said something about an agreement you made for it.”
He could hear the accusation in her voice, clearly unhappy with the way she’d discovered that bit of information. He had never really expected her to find out about the girdle…or Theseus for that matter, but he was suddenly realizing that he might have protected her too much.
She turned back to Hermes. “At least you’ll have immortal strength.”
“What the fuck is a girdle, and why does it sound ugly?” Hermes asked.
“Think of it as a corset,” Persephone said.
“Hmm,” the god said. “I am intrigued. Give it to me.”
“Not until we leave,” Persephone said. She turned and headed down the hall toward their bedroom, calling out as she went, “Be ready in an hour!”
“I like Queen Sephy,” said Hermes. “She’s like…old Sephy but angrier.”
She was angry—the result of watching those she loved hurt. In some ways, Hades mourned the fact that she had to witness any of this, but they both knew it was her anger that fueled her power.
And it was her anger that would save them.
Hermes’s chewing drew Hades’s attention again, and he looked at the God of Mischief.
“Popcorn?” he offered.
Hades reached into the bowl and took some. He held Hermes’s gaze as he popped it into his mouth. The popcorn was buttery and melted on his tongue.
“Hmm, not bad,” he said, then licked his fingers.
Hermes looked a little dazed, and he swallowed. “Now you’re just being mean,” he said.
Hades chuckled and headed down the hall. “One hour, Hermes.”
