Hades smiled at her retort. He had smiled more in the last hour than he had in his lifetime.
“Ready?” she asked, lifting her hand, and forming a fist. Hades mimicked her movements, and she giggled. Clearly, this was amusing for her, and he groaned internally. The things he did for her already.
“Rock, paper, scissors, shoot!” She spoke the words with fervor. She was definitely having fun, and for that, Hades was glad.
“Yes!” she shrieked, arms flying into the air. “Rock beats scissors!”
Hades frowned. “Damn. I thought you’d choose paper.”
“Why?”
“Because you just sang paper’s praises!” he explained.
She giggled some more. “Only because you asked why paper covers rock. This isn’t poker, Hades. It’s not about deception.”
“Isn’t it?” he disagreed. He was certain if he played this game long enough, he would learn her tendency to choose one of the three options over the others. It was an algorithm, and most people had a pattern, even if they did not realize it.
Silence stretched between them for a moment, Persephone’s earlier excitement subsiding. The atmosphere was changing, and Hades did not like it. He wanted to recapture their earlier reverie, not explore darker secrets.
Suddenly, he wondered if he could distract her, close the distance between them and press his lips to hers, but she looked away, took a breath, and asked, “You said you had successes before with your contracts. Tell me about them.”
Hades pinched his lips together before retreating to the bar across the room to pour himself a drink. The alcohol would help him loosen up and hopefully prevent him from saying something he regretted.
I wanted a chance to explain, he reminded himself.
He took a seat on his black leather sofa before answering.
“What is there to tell? I have offered many mortals the same contract over the years. In exchange for money, fame, love, they must give up their vice. Some mortals are stronger than others and conquer their habit.”
It was a little more complicated than that, and as he spoke, he could feel the threads that covered his skin burn from every failed bargain he had made with the Fates.
“Conquering a disease is not about strength, Hades,” she said as she sat opposite to him, folding her leg beneath her.
“No one said anything about disease.”
“Addiction is a disease,” she said. “It cannot be cured. It must be managed.”
“It is managed,” he argued.
He managed it by holding mortals to their agreements, reminding them of what they would lose if they failed—their life.
“How? With more contracts?”
“That is another question,” he snapped, but she seemed unfazed and lifted her hands, signaling she was ready for another round. Hades sat his drink aside and mirrored her stance. When she landed on rock and he scissors, she demanded, “How, Hades?”
“I do not ask them to give everything up at once. It is a slow process.”
He did not want to admit that he had given no way for mortals to manage their addictions. It was up to them to find ways to come clean. When he did not elaborate, they played another round.
This time, to Hades’ relief, he won. “What would you do?” he asked, because he was curious, and he had no answers.
She blinked, brows furrowing. “What?”
“What would you change? To help them?”
Again, he felt a prick of frustration when her mouth parted in surprise at his question, but her expression quickly changed, becoming determined. “First, I wouldn’t allow a mortal to gamble their soul away.”
He grumbled at her critique, but she continued.
“Second, if you’re going to request a bargain, challenge them to go to rehab if they’re an addict, and do one better, pay for it. If I had all the money you have, I’d spend it helping people.”
She had no idea of his influence or how he maintained balance by bargaining with the world’s worst to feed the world’s deprived.
“And if they relapse?”
“Then what?” she asked, as if it were nothing. “Life is hard out there, Hades, and sometimes living it is penance enough. Mortals need hope, not the threat of punishment.”
Hades considered her words. He knew life was hard, but he knew that because he could see the burden upon souls when they arrived on his doorstep, not because he actually understood what it was to be mortal and to exist in the Upperworld.
After a moment, he lifted his hands as she had done before to signal another game. When he won, he took her wrist and turned her hand over, laying her palm flat, fingers brushing the bandage tied there.
“What happened?”
Her laugh was breathy, like she thought he was silly for asking.
“Just a scrape. It’s nothing compared to bruised ribs, I promise.”
Hades jaw tightened. Perhaps there was no comparison, but he did not like that he could not keep her from being hurt in his realm. In truth, this was a small part of a greater fear—that he could not protect her from those who would wish to harm him.
After a moment, he pressed a kiss to her palm, sending a shock of magic into her skin to heal the wound. When he pulled away, he met her heated stare.
“Why does it bother you so much?” she whispered.
Because you are mine, he wanted to say, but those words froze in this throat. He could not say them. They had known each other for a week, and she had no knowledge of the thread that bound them together, only the bargain that forced her to be here. So instead, he touched her face. He wanted to kiss her, to somehow communicate this desperate need he had to keep her safe in every way, but just as he started to lean forward, the door to his study opened and Minthe entered the room. She stopped short, her eyes narrowing into slits.
Had he not commanded her to knock?
“Yes, Minthe?” he asked, his jaw clenched. She had better have a good reason for this interruption…but he doubted that was the case.
“My lord,” she said tightly. “Charon has requested your presence in the throne room.”
“Has he said why?” He did not try to hide the irritation in his voice.
“He has caught an intruder.”
“An intruder?” Persephone asked, her curious eyes falling to Hades’. “How? Would they not drown in the Styx?”
“If Charon caught an intruder, it’s likely they attempted to sneak onto his ferry,” he replied, standing and extending his hand for her to take. “Come, you will join me.”
If she was curious about him and his realm, she would want to be present for this anyway. Perhaps she would see the demand mortals placed upon him.
She pressed her fingers into his palm, and he led her down the halls of his palace to his cavernous throne room, with Minthe leading the way.
In the beginning of his reign, Hades had used this room more often than any other part of his palace. It had been the one place souls had feared more than Tartarus, because it was a place of judgement. He would sit upon his obsidian throne, flanked by black flags bearing golden narcissus, and cast souls into a bleak eternity without a second thought. Then, he had been ruthless and angry and bitter, but now, this was his least favorite place in his realm.
Charon waited for them, his brown skin ignited against his white robes. He was a daimon—a divine creature that ferried souls across the River Styx. He met Hades’ gaze before it slipped to Persephone, his dark eyes sparking with curiosity. Beneath his gaze, Persephone started to withdraw her hand from his, but Hades’ grip tightened. He guided her toward his throne, manifesting a smaller one beside it, composed of the same jagged edges but in ivory and gold.
He gestured for her to sit and knew she was about to protest.
“You are a goddess. You will sit on a throne.”
Those words were similar to what he was really thinking. You will be my wife and queen. You will sit on a throne.
She did not protest. After she took her seat, Hades did too, turning his attention to the daimon.
“Charon, to what do I owe the interruption?” he asked.
“You’re Charon?”
Hades jaw tightened, not only at the goddess’ interruption, but at the evident admiration in her expression and tone. It was true that Charon did not look as the Upperworld depicted. He was regal, a son of gods—not a skeleton or an old man—and he was about to face a stint in Tartarus if he did not wipe that grin off his face.
“I am, indeed, my lady.”
“Please call me Persephone,” she offered, her smile matching his.
“My lady will do,” Hades interrupted. His people would not call her by her given name. “I am growing impatient, Charon.”
The ferryman bowed his head, probably to hide his laughter and not out of respect, but when he looked at Hades again, his expression was serious.
“My lord, a man named Orpheus was caught sneaking onto my ferry. He wishes for an audience with you.”
Of course, he thought. Another soul eager to beg for life—if not their own, then another’s.
“Show him in. I am eager to return to my conversation with Lady Persephone.”
Charon summoned the mortal with a snap of his fingers. Orpheus appeared on his knees before the throne, his hands tied behind his back. Hades had never seen the man before, and there was nothing particularly remarkable about him. He had curly hair that stuck to his face, dripping with water from the Styx. His eyes were dull, gray, and lifeless. It was not his appearance Hades was interested in anyway, it was his soul, burdened with guilt. Now that interested him, but before he peered deeper, he heard Persephone’s audible inhale.
“Is he dangerous?” she asked.
She had posed the question to Charon, but the daimon looked to him for an answer.
“You can see to his soul. Is he dangerous?” Persephone asked, looking at Hades now. He was not sure what had him so frustrated about her question. Perhaps it was her compassion?
“No.”
“Then release him from those bindings.”
His instinct was to fight her, to scold her for defying him in front of a soul, Charon, and Minthe. But looking into her eyes, seeing to her soul, how desperate she was to see compassion from him, he relented and released the man from his bonds. The mortal was unprepared and hit the floor with what Hades felt was a gratifying clap. As he picked himself up from the floor, he thanked Persephone.
Hades grinded his teeth. Where is my thanks?
“Why have you come to the Underworld?” Hades’ question was more of a bark. He was finding it hard to contain his impatience.
The mortal stared into Hades’ eyes, unafraid. Impressive…or arrogant. Hades could not decide.
“I have come for my wife. I wish to propose a contract—my soul in exchange for hers.”
“I do not trade in souls, mortal,” Hades answered.
The fact that his wife had died was an act of the Fates. The three had deemed her death necessary, and Hades would not interfere.
“My lord, please—”
He held up his hand to silence the man’s pleas. No amount of explaining Divine balance would help, and so Hades would not try. The mortal looked to Persephone.
“Do not look upon her for aid, mortal. She cannot help you.”
He might have given her free rein over his world, but she could not make these decisions.
“Tell me of your wife,” Persephone said.
Hades’ brows knitted together at her question. He knew she was challenging him, but what was her aim?
“What was her name?”
“Eurydice,” he said. “She died the day after we were married.”
“I am sorry. How did she die?”
Hades should discourage this line of conversation. It would only give the man hope.
“She just went to sleep and never woke up.”
Hades swallowed. He could feel the man’s pain, and yet there was still guilt weighing heavily upon his soul. What had he done to his wife? Why did he feel such guilt at her passing?
“You lost her so suddenly.” Persephone sounded so sad, so forlorn for the man.
“The Fates cut her life-thread,” Hades interjected. “I cannot return her to the living, and I will not bargain to return souls.”
He noted the curl of Persephone’s delicate fingers into a fist. Would she attempt to strike him? The thought amused him.
“Lord Hades, please—” Orpheus choked. “I love her.”
His eyes narrowed, and he laughed. He loved her, yes, he could sense that, but the guilt told him the mortal was hiding something.
“You may have loved her, mortal, but you did not come here for her. You came for yourself. I will not grant your request. Charon.”
Hades leaned back in his throne as Charon obeyed his command, vanishing with Orpheus. He would return the man to the Upperworld where he belonged, where he would mourn like other mortals for his loss.
In the silence, Persephone seethed. He felt her anger, billowing. After a moment, he spoke.
“You wish to tell me to make an exception.”
“You wish to tell me why it’s not possible,” she snapped, and Hades’ lips twitched.
“I cannot make an exception for one person, Persephone. Do you know how often I am petitioned to return souls from the Underworld?”
Constantly.
“You barely offered him a voice. They were only married for a day, Hades.”
“Tragic,” he said, and it was, but Orpheus was not the only one with this kind of story. He could not spend time feeling for every mortal whose life did not turn out the way they expected.
“Are you so heartless?”
The question frustrated him. “They are not the first to have a sad love story, Persephone, nor will they be the last, I imagine.”
“You’ve brought back mortals for less.”
Her statement took him aback. To what did she refer?
“Love is a selfish reason to bring the dead back,” he replied. She had not yet learned that the dead were truly favored.
“And war isn’t?”
Hades felt his gaze turn dark. The anger her words inspired burned through him. “You speak of what you do not know, goddess.”
The bargains he had struck to return wartime heroes weighed heavily upon him, but the decision was not made lightly, and he had not been swayed by gods or goddesses. He had peered into the future and saw what lay ahead if he did not agree. The sacrifice was the same—a soul for a soul—burdens he would carry forever. Burdens that were etched into his skin.
“Tell me how you picked sides, Hades,” she said.
“I didn’t,” he gritted out.
“Just like you didn’t offer Orpheus another option. Would it have been relinquishing your control to offer him even a glimpse of his wife, safe and happy in the Underworld?”
He had not thought of that, and he did not have long to think on it in the moment, either, because Minthe spoke.
He had forgotten the nymph was still in the room.
“How dare you speak to Lord Hades—”
“Enough!” Hades cut her off and stood. Persephone followed. “We are done here.”
“Shall I show Persephone out?” Minthe asked.
“You may call her Lady Persephone,” he snapped. “And no. We are not finished.”
He registered her shock for only a moment before turning to face Persephone. She wasn’t looking at him, but watching Minthe leave. He drew her attention, his fingers touching her chin.
“It seems you have a lot of opinions on how I manage my realm.”
“You showed him no compassion,” she said, and her voice trembled.
Compassion? Did she not remember their time in the garden? When he had showed her the truth of the Underworld? Was it not compassionate to use his magic so that his souls may live a more peaceful existence?
“Worse, you mocked the love he had for his wife.”
“I questioned his love. I did not mock it.”
“Who are you to question love?”
“A god, Persephone.”
That man’s guilt was not for nothing.
Her eyes narrowed. “All of your power, and you do nothing with it but hurt.”
Hades flinched. He could not help it; her words were like knives.
“How can you be so passionate and not believe in love?”
He laughed bitterly and said, “Because passion doesn’t need love, darling.”
He had said the wrong thing. He knew it before the words left his mouth, but he was angry and her assumptions made him want to hurt her in the only way he could—with words, and it worked. Her eyes widened, and she took a step away as if she could not stand being so close.
“You are a ruthless god!”
She vanished, and he let her go. If she had not accused him of only hurting others, he might have tried to help her understand his side of things, he might have even told her of the guilt he perceived upon Orpheus’s soul, but he could not bring himself to do it.
Let her think the worst.
CHAPTER XIII – REDEMPTION
Hades stood before the desolate plot he had gifted Persephone. There had been no changes in the soil, still dry as bone, still no signs of life.
She had not been here in four days. She had not returned to visit Hecate or Asphodel or water her garden.
She had not returned to him.
You are a ruthless god.
Her words echoed in his head, bitter and angry and…truthful. She was right.
He was ruthless.
The evidence was all around him, and he saw it now, standing in his palace garden, surrounded by beautiful flowers and lush trees. It was in the illusion of beauty he maintained, in the charities he supported, in the bargains he made. It was his attempt to erase the shame he had felt at who he once was—merciless, heartless, suspicious.
“Why are you moping?” Hecate’s voice came from behind him.
“I am not moping,” Hades said, turning to face the goddess. Cerberus, Typhon, and Orthrus sat obediently at her feet. She wore sleeveless robes, crimson in color, and she had wrangled her long, thick hair into a braid.
Hecate arched her brow. “It looks like you are moping.”
“I am thinking,” he said.
“About Persephone?”
Hades did not respond immediately. Finally, he said, “She thinks I am cruel.”
He explained what had transpired in the throne room, recognizing his tendency toward bargaining—this for that—not compromise. Persephone had been right—he could have offered Orpheus a glimpse of Eurydice in the Underworld. Perhaps he would have learned, then, why the mortal felt such guilt at her passing.
“She did not say you were ruthless for the reasons you think,” Hecate said.
The god met her dark-eyed gaze. “What do you mean?”
“Persephone has hope for love, just as you, Hades, and instead of confirming that, you mocked her. Passion does not require love? What were you thinking?”
Hades’ face felt warm, and he scowled. He hated feeling, especially embarrassment.
“She’s…frustrating!”
“You’re no walk in the park, either.” Hecate leveled her stare.
“Says the witch who uses poison to solve all her problems,” Hades grumbled.
“It’s far more effective than moping.”
“I am not moping!” Hades snapped and then sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry, Hecate.”
She offered him a half-smile. “Tell me what you fear, Hades.”
It took him a moment to find the words, because he did not really know himself.
“That she is right,” he said. “That she will see no more within me than her mother.”
“Well, lucky for you, Persephone is not her mother. A truth that is just as important for you to remember.”
He supposed it was just as unfair to keep comparing her to Demeter as it was for Persephone to compare him to Demeter’s words, but there was a part of him that wondered why he agonized. It was just a matter of time before the Fates took their scissors to these threads that held them entwined.
“If you want her to understand, you must share more.”
“And give her more fodder for the articles she wants to write? I think not.”
He was still frustrated by her visit to Nevernight, only to discover she was there to accuse him of destroying mortal lives.
Hecate raised a brow. “I have never known you to care what other people think, Hades.”
And now he knew why he never bothered before—because caring was a nuisance.
“She is to be my wife,” Hades said.
“And does that not give her a right to know you differently than anyone else?” Hecate asked. “Overtime, she will learn you—how you think, how you feel, how you love—but she cannot if you do not communicate. Start with Orpheus.”
***
When Hades returned to the castle, he found Thanatos waiting for him in his office. The God of Death appeared paler than usual, his vibrant eyes dull, his red lips drained of color. Normally, he had a calming presence, but Hades could feel his unease, and he shared it.
“We’ve had another,” Thanatos said.
Somehow, Hades knew what the god would say, even before he opened his mouth. It was as Hades anticipated—Sisyphus had not been content with merely avoiding imminent death. He wanted to avoid death altogether.
“Who this time?” Hades asked.
“His name was Aeolus Galani.”
Hades was quiet for a moment, crossing the room to his desk. It was an attempt to walk off some of the fury he felt toward the mortal who was defying death and harming others.
“His soul?”
Thanatos shook his head.
Hades slammed his fists on the desk. A fissure appeared down the center of the perfect, shining obsidian. The two gods stood in silence for a moment as each of them processed how to move forward.
“What connection does he have to Sisyphus?”
“There is only one. They were both members of Triad,” Thanatos replied. “Our sources say Aeolus was an elevated member of the organization.”
Hades brows lowered. He understood Sisyphus’ motives for killing Alexander. He had been an underling, someone whose addiction had led to a debt. Sisyphus had seen him as disposable, but a high-ranking member of Triad was different. His death was like declaring war. What had motivated Sisyphus? Had he learned about Hades’ encounter with Poseidon? Was he hoping to send a message? Did he think himself invincible now that he was in possession of the relic?
“The Fates?” Hades asked after a moment.
“Furious.”
He was not sure why he asked, he knew they were in an uproar. He had not visited their island since he had returned Atropos’ scissors, and even that had been an ordeal. As soon as he had entered, the three began lecturing and threatening. He could only imagine how they sounded now, wailing in a horrible refrain, threatening Hades in the only way they knew how—to unravel what he had always wanted.
He was already doing a fine job of that on his own.
“What will we do?” Thanatos asked, and his voice was quiet, full of a melancholy Hades felt in his chest.
He turned, straightened his tie, and buttoned his jacket.
“Summon Hermes,” Hades answered.
Thanatos’ pale brows furrowed. “Hermes? Why?”
“Because I have a message to send,” Hades said.
Lucky for Hermes, it would not even require words.
***