CHAPTER XXII – A BITTER BARGAIN
Leaving Persephone was the last thing Hades wanted to do. If Sisyphus did not still roam free, threatening his future with the beautiful Goddess of Spring, he wouldn’t have, but the fact remained that the mortal was still on the run, and holding the organization’s Magi prisoner had not lured Triad like he thought it might. Hades was unsure of their motives, but he did not feel good about their involvement.
It was inevitable that forces would rise to oppose the gods. They had come in all forms throughout history—scholars and naysayers and atheists and the Impious.
Hades understood the Impious’ resentment of the gods. They resented them for their distance and rejected their rule when they came to Earth, and they had reason to. Very few of the gods had done their job, never offering words of prophecy or importance. Hades himself had never encouraged mortals to believe in a blissful eternity in the Underworld. Instead, they spent their time toying with mortals for their entertainment, pitting them against each other in battle.
Still, Triad was different. Triad was organized and their tactics hurt innocent people. In their early life, they had set off bombs in public places, and in the aftermath, demanded to know why the gods had not stopped them if they were all-powerful. Their goal seemed to be to continue to illustrate how the Olympians remained detached and uninterested in mortal society, and while that was true for some, it was not true for all. Something Triad was about to discover.
Hades appeared on the floor of Nevernight. His intention was to find Ilias to begin their search for Theseus, but instead, the satyr found him.
“My lord,” Ilias said. “There is a man here to see you. A demi-god who calls himself Theseus.”
Hades stiffened at the name, feeling uneasy that his nephew would approach willingly. What was his game?
“Show him in.”
Ilias nodded and left, returning with a man who looked more like a warrior stuffed into a suit. He had dark hair, trimmed short, and a perpetual five o’clock shadow. The only thing he had retained of Poseidon’s were his aquamarine eyes, which looked like two suns blazing against his brown skin. Two men also followed him. They were large and their discomfort obvious. Hades got the sense he did not need these men to protect him, that they were merely for show.
“You are a man of few words, so I will get straight to the point,” Theseus said and, reaching into the pocket of his jacket, he withdrew a spindle—the one Poseidon had given Sisyphus. He held it out to Hades, but the god did not approach to take it. Ilias did, and then handed it to him.
Hades stared at the spindle. It was gold and sharp, and he could feel the Fates’ magic radiate from it, distinct in its smell but hard to describe. It was the scent of life—the smell of wet grass after rain and of fresh air and wood, undercut with the odor of smoke and blood and the tinge of death.
It was a scent that triggered Hades and unearthed memories of darkness, battle, and strife. He handed the spindle back to Ilias, wondering what sort of horrors the relic had managed to pull from Sisyphus, even Theseus.
“That is a start,” he replied. “But only one of two things I want.”
Theseus offered a small smile. “Before we continue, I do believe you have something of mine.”
Hades raised a brow at his choice of words but said nothing, summoning the magi with his magic. He appeared and instantly fell to the ground with a loud thud. He groaned, dragging himself to his hands and knees, then looked up and began to whimper.
“H-High lord,” his voice quivered.
Theseus looked at one of his men, who took out a gun and shot the mortal. He fell, and his blood pooled on the floor of Nevernight. Hades suddenly understood Theseus’ use for the bodyguards; they were here to do his dirty work. The god knew these types of men well—the no blood on their hands type. He had come to think that they believed if they did not pull the trigger or wield the knife, he could not trace their sins.
They were wrong.
Hades maintained his passive expression, but internally, he grimaced. The mortal’s death was not necessary, nor was it warranted. He had given Hades no information on Triad, which was the reason Hades had detained him.
“Interesting. You did not intervene,” Theseus said.
“Were you experimenting?” he asked, raising a brow.
He shrugged. “Just trying to figure out what you are about, Lord Hades.”
He just stared. Perhaps Theseus thought to challenge him as Triad challenged the gods, but Hades would not bite. If Theseus and his men wanted to add to their list of sins and carve their place in Tartarus, who was he to stop them?
“Two of one, Theseus,” Hades reminded, his patience wearing thin.
It was the first time Hades saw the spark of Poseidon’s resentment in Theseus’ eyes. He understood the mortal had come to play, had come to show the God of the Dead that he had power. But Hades was power, and he was not in the mood to entertain this man who played at being a god, even if he was semi-Divine.
Theseus nodded to one of his men, who spoke into a mic. After a moment, a third man joined them, dragging Sisyphus, and dropped him in the space between them. His mouth was taped shut, his wrists and legs bound. He looked like Hades remembered, but older—the result of using magic that did not belong to him.
Despite the gag around his mouth, Sisyphus managed a muffled scream.
“Silence,” Hades said, and stole the man’s voice. His eyes widened when he could no longer make sound, and he kicked and flopped on the floor, like a fish out of water.
Once there was silence, Hades lifted his gaze to Theseus. Something wasn’t right about this.
“What is it you want?” Hades asked.
He was not ignorant. He could see Theseus was eager for power and hungry for control. His soul was an iron tower, strong and unshakable. It was why he had kidnapped Sisyphus—he desired something from him. Hades understood that now.
“For returning the spindle, I would like a favor.” He paused, then added, “For Sisyphus, I ask for nothing.”
“How generous.”
He smirked, but the amusement did not touch his eyes. “How kind of you to say.”
Hades considered Theseus’ request. He did not feel comfortable offering him a favor, as it was an open-ended request, something Hades would be obligated to fulfill due to the binding nature of favors and immortal blood.
Yet a favor was no unfitting request for what the immortal had returned to him. He had essentially ensured his future with Persephone.
Still, Hades found that he had questions.
His eyes narrowed as he stated, “You are Divine, and yet I hear you lead Triad.”
“Are you asking a question, my lord?”
“I am merely trying to suss out what you stand for.”
That smile returned, and Hades knew why he disliked it so much. It was a smile that belonged to his brother.
“Freewill, freedom—”
“Not Triad,” Hades said, cutting him off. “You. What do you stand for?”
“Can you not see?” he challenged.
Yes, Hades wanted to hiss. I see your soul. Corrupt. Hungry for power, just as his father but without the failure, and that made him dangerous because it made him feel invincible.
“I am merely wondering what the difference is between your rule and mine.”
“There are no rulers in Triad.”
Hades cocked a brow. “No? Tell me, what is your title again? High lord?”
Hades knew what was happening here. He recognized Theseus’ ambition, because his brothers had shared it on the cusp of Titanomachy.
“Are the other high lords demi-gods too?” Hades tilted his head, narrowing his eyes. “Have you hope of ushering in a new legion of Divinity?”
“Feeling threatened, uncle?” Theseus asked.
Hades offered a wicked smile, and he saw Theseus’ confidence wavier.
“Hubris is always punished, Theseus. If not in life, always in death.”
“Rest assured, uncle, if Nemesis welcomes me upon my death, it shall not be a punishment, but confirmation that I have lived as I wished. Can you say the same? A tortured god with an eternal existence, whose chance at love hinges upon this mortal’s capture?” Theseus paused. “I’ll take that favor now.”
Hades ground his teeth so hard, he thought they might break.
“I will grant your request,” Hades said. “But it will not be Nemesis who greets you upon your death.”
He would, and he would revel in the process of torturing this immortal who had used Persephone as leverage. He would separate skin from body and watch as crows feasted upon the remains.
With the promise of a favor, Theseus left. Hades’ gaze fell to Sisyphus, who was trying to push himself away from the god.
“You should not have granted him such a gift,” Ilias said. “You do not know what he will ask.”
“I know what he will ask for,” Hades said.
“And what is that?”
“Power,” Hades replied. Raw power in any form, and with a favor to hang over Hades’ head, he had it.
Hades’ bent toward Sisyphus, and as he spoke, the mortal began to quiver.
“Welcome to Tartarus.”
***
Hades teleported to Hephaestus’ lab. Normally, he would arrive via the front gates and pay his respects to Aphrodite, but since La Rose, he had not wished to see her, and he did not wish for her to hear what he had come to ask for. He found the god at his forge, his large body hulked before an open-mouthed furnace that spit fire and sparks as he hammered on a flat piece of metal—a sword—gripped between a pair of tongs. Hades could tell by the set of the god’s shoulders and the force with which he worked that he was angry.
The sight made him apprehensive, so he rang a bell near the door to get the god’s attention. Hades was not surprised when Hephaestus twisted and threw the flat piece of metal he’d been hammering in his direction.
Hades sidestepped as it landed in the wall behind him.
There was a beat of silence, and then Hades asked, “Are you okay?”
Hephaestus’ chest rose with his breath. “Yes.”
The god threw his tongs down and turned fully to him. “What can I help you with, Lord Hades? Another weapon?”
“No,” Hades replied. “Are you sure you don’t need a minute?”
Hephaestus’ stare was hard. Hades took that as a no.
“I do not wish for a weapon,” he said. “I wish for a ring.”
Hephaestus did not appear as if he cared, though his voice betrayed his surprise. “A ring? An engagement ring?”
“Yes,” he said.
Hephaestus studied him for a long moment. Hades wondered what he was thinking. Perhaps, Who would marry you? Or something even more cynical. Do not do it, it isn’t worth it.
Still, even Hades knew Hephaestus did not believe that. He knew that now more than ever, after the god had used the Chains of Truth to ask Hades if he was sleeping with Aphrodite.
“Do you have a design?”
Hades felt the unfamiliar rush of embarrassment as he withdrew a piece of paper upon which he had sketched an image. It was similar to the crown Ian had made for Persephone, only he had chosen fewer flowers and gems—tourmaline and dioptase.
He handed the drawing to Hephaestus.
“When are you planning to propose?”
“I cannot say,” Hades said. He had not thought of a date or time when he would ask Persephone to be his wife. He had just felt that asking for the ring, creating the ring, was important. “There is no rush, if that is what you are asking.”
“Very well,” Hephaestus said. “I will summon you when it is complete.”
Hades nodded and left the forge, only to find his way blocked by Hermes.
“No,” Hades said immediately.
Hermes mouth opened in offense. “You don’t even know what I was going to say!”
“I know why you’re here. You only have two purposes, Hermes, and since you are not guiding souls to the Underworld, you must be here to tell me something I don’t want to hear.”
Hades pushed past him, and Hermes followed.
“I’ll have you know I am offended,” Hermes said. “I am not just a guide or a messenger; I’m also a thief.”
“Forgive the oversight,” Hades said.
“I thought you’d be in a better mood,” Hermes said. “Having finally buried the weasel, got your bone honed, launched the meat missile…”
“Enough!” Hades snapped, turning to the god whose eyes sparkled with amusement. “Why are you here?”
He grinned. “We’ve been summoned to council in Olympia. Someone’s getting in trouble for stealing Helios’ cows, and guess what? It’s not me this time!”
CHAPTER XXIII – OLYMPIA
Hades was not looking forward to council. He hated his fellow Olympians, and he hated the pageantry and the drama. He would much rather spend his evening with Persephone, buried inside her, exploring her body again, discovering new ways to fuck her that pleasured them both. Instead, he would be forced to sit through council, to hear his brothers argue, to hear Athena attempt peace, to hear Ares demand war, and he would have to face Demeter, knowing he’d fucked her daughter.
He sighed and materialized in the Garden of the Gods on the campus of New Athens University, using his magic to locate Persephone.
He found her faster this time, and he thought it might have something to do with the faint echo of power inside her. His darkness was drawn to that light, wanting to embrace it and foster it.
He teleported her to him. As soon as she appeared, he gripped her by the neck and kissed her. She made a sound in the back of her throat that encouraged him to part her lips and bury his tongue in her mouth. He wanted the taste of her upon his lips when he arrived in Olympia; it would be a wicked secret he would take with him.
He pulled away reluctantly, nipping at her bottom lip.
“Are you well?”
“Yes,” she answered, breathless. “What are you doing here?”
He smiled, almost sad, eyes falling to her lips again. He should answer with the whole truth, even the part where he’d been thinking about fucking her in this garden.
“I came to say goodbye.”
“What?” Her voice was sharp. Clearly, she had not expected that, but her surprise made him chuckle. He liked the idea that she would be disappointed in his absence. Perhaps that would mean a passionate reunion.
“I must go to Olympia for council.”
“Oh.” She frowned. “How long?”
“If I have anything to say about it, a day and no more.”
He was not like the other Olympians, who would stay for parties and revelry.
“Why wouldn’t you have a say?” she asked.
“It depends on how much Zeus and Poseidon argue,” Hades replied, rolling his eyes. As he did, he caught sight of what she was holding. A copy of the Delphi Divine with a bold, black title that read, “God of the Underworld Credits Journalist for The Halcyon Project.” Hades snatched it from her arms, where it was stacked atop her books, skimming the first few lines.
Hades, God of the Dead, astounded everyone Saturday night when he announced a new initiative, The Halcyon Project, a rehabilitation facility for mortals to be completed in the next year. The state-of-the-art facility will be located on ten acres of land and cater to a variety of mental health needs. Lord Hades went on to say his generosity was inspired by a mortal, Persephone Rosi, the journalist responsible for writing and releasing a scandalous article about the King of the Underworld. Now people are asking just how legitimate Rosi’s claims were, or is the God of the Underworld merely in love?
Hades’ jaw tightened. This was why he hated the media—they could never stick to facts. They had to include speculation and commentary, and worse, he knew these words were getting to Persephone because of her question.
“Is this why you announced The Halcyon Project at the gala? So people would focus on something other than my assessment of your character?”
“You think I created The Halcyon Project for my reputation?” He tried to keep the disappointment and anger from entering his voice, but it was a challenge. She should know he of all people cared nothing for what others thought of him. She was the exception.
She shrugged her shoulder. “You didn’t want me to continue writing about you. You said so yesterday.”
It took him a moment to speak, a moment to relax his jaw so the words could form on his lips.
“I didn’t start The Halcyon Project in hopes that the world would admire me. I started it because of you.”
“Why?”
“Because I saw truth in what you said,” he snapped. “Is that really so hard to believe?”
She did not answer, and Hades hated the way this made him feel. Like something heavy was sitting on his chest. Perhaps he had been wrong to come here to say goodbye, or to think their reunion would be sweet.
“My absence will not affect your ability to enter the Underworld,” he said, preparing to leave. “You may come and go as you please.”
Something changed in her expression, and he sensed that she suddenly felt just as desolate as he did. She stepped into him, reaching for the lapels of his jacket, her hips pressing into his. He wanted to groan, but he settled for wrapping his hands around her wrists.
“Before you go, I was thinking I’d like to throw a party in the Underworld…for the souls.”
He raised a brow, eyes searching hers.
“What kind of party?”
“Thanatos tells me souls will reincarnate at the end of the week and that Asphodel is already planning a celebration. I think we should move it to the palace.”
She was referring to the Ascension. It was an event that took place about every three months, a time when souls who were ready would be reborn. The residents of Asphodel always celebrated, as it symbolized new life, a second chance.
“We?” Hades asked.
He liked the way Persephone bit her lip. “I’m asking you if I can plan a party in the Underworld.”
He blinked, slightly confused. How had they gotten here? She’d just questioned his motives for The Halcyon Project, yet she was now planning to celebrate with his people in his realm.
“Hecate has already agreed to help,” she added, as if that would sway him, her palms flattening on his chest.
That amused him, and his brows rose. “Has she?”
“Yes. She’s thinking we should have a ball.”
He was not doing a good job focusing on the words coming out of her mouth. The only one he really heard was we, and she kept using it. He wanted to use it, too. We should go to bed. We should make love for hours. We should bathe together and fuck some more.
“Are you trying to seduce me so I’ll agree to your ball?” he asked.
“Is it working?”
He smirked and wrapped his arms around her waist, drawing her against him, pressing his hard length into her stomach.
“It’s working,” he whispered against her ear, lips brushing down the side of her neck before closing over her mouth. His hands moved over her bottom, and he cupped her ass, pressing into her. When he released her, her eyes were alight with desire, and he wondered if she would pleasure herself tonight, thinking of him inside her. He knew he would.
“Plan your ball, Lady Persephone.”
“Come home soon, Lord Hades.”
He smiled at her words before vanishing and held onto them as he appeared in the shadows of the golden-floored Council Chamber, where the gods were gathered. Columns lined the room in the shape of an oval, and within those columns, were twelve thrones, one for each of the Olympians. They were all distinct in creation, composed of symbols unique to the god.
Zeus’ sat at the head of the oval upon a throne made of oak, a thunderbolt and a gold scepter crossed on the back. His eagle, a golden bird, was perched upon the scepter, his name Aetos Dios. He was a spy Hades would prefer to roast on a spit, but he’d rather not be the cause of drama at council, so he refrained. Zeus looked the most like their father, a large man with wavy hair and a full beard. Upon his head, he wore a crown of oak leaves, one of his many symbols.
Beside him sat Hera. She was beautiful but rigid, and Hades always thought she looked uncomfortable beside her husband, something Hades could not really blame her for. The God of the Skies was known for fornicating across eternity, and descending to the modern world had made no difference. The Goddess of Women sat in a throne of gold, save for the back, which resembled the colorful feathers of a peacock—brilliant iridescent blue, turquoise, and green.
Next came Poseidon, whose throne looked like his weapon, the trident, made for him before the Battle of Titanomachy by the three Elder Cyclopes. Beside him was Aphrodite, whose throne mimicked a shell, pink in color and draped with pearls and blush-colored flowers. Then came Hermes, whose throne was gold, the back made to look like his herald’s wand—a winged staff with two snakes intertwined.
After, was Hestia, Goddess of the Hearth, whose throne was ruby red and made in the form of flames. Ares flanked her, sitting upon a pile of skulls, some white and others yellowed from age. They were all from people—mortal and immortal—and monsters he’d killed.
Beside him was Artemis, to her great dismay, as she—no one—got along with Ares. Her throne was simple, a gold-toned half-moon. Beside her sat Apollo, whose seat mimicked the sun’s rays in the form of a glimmering aureole circling behind him. Next was Demeter, whose seat looked more like a moss-covered tree, rich with white and pink flowers, and ivy spilling to the floor. Beside her, Athena, whose throne was a set of silver and gold wings. She sat, beautiful and poised, face expressionless, crowned with a gold circlet set with blue sapphires. Lastly, between the throne of Athena and Zeus, was Hades’, a black obsidian seat made of lethal, jagged edges, much like his in the Underworld.
The only god who spoke was Zeus, and everyone else looked angry or bored, except Hermes. Hermes looked amused.
Probably still laughing at his joke, Hades thought.
Hades wasn’t sure what Zeus was talking about, but he thought he must be telling a story because he was saying, “I mean, I am not an unreasonable god, so I said—”
Hades stepped out from his hiding spot and walked down the center of the oval. Zeus’ voice boomed, echoing all around.
“Hades! Late as usual, I see.”
He ignored his brother’s judgement and took the seat beside him.
“You are aware of the allegations against you?” the God of the Skies asked.
Hades just stared. He wasn’t going to make this easy. He knew there would be repercussions for his actions and could admit that his choice to steal Helios’ cattle was petty, but Helios had prevented Hades from Divine Judgement. Wasn’t the Titan only here by the grace of Zeus himself?
“He says you stole his cattle,” Zeus continued. “And he is threatening to plunge the world into eternal darkness if you do not return them.”
“Then we shall have to launch Apollo into the sky,” Hades said.
The God of Music and the Sun glared. “Or you can give Helios’ cattle back. Why take them anyway? Don’t you condemn the rest of us for such…trivial behavior?”
“Do not be too hard on Hades. It is how he feels he must act, given he is the most dreaded among us.” Those were Hera’s words, and they made Hades clench his jaw.
“Not anymore!” Zeus boomed. “Our resident grump has gone and fallen in love with a mortal. He has the whole world swooning.”
Zeus laughed, but no one else did. Hades sat, his fingers curled over the edges of his throne, the obsidian biting into his skin. He could feel the anger radiate from Demeter. None of these gods save Hermes knew Persephone’s true origins. He wondered if the God of Lightening would laugh, knowing Hades had fallen in love with a goddess. There were greater implications when gods united, because it meant sharing power.
“Be kind, Father.” It was Aphrodite who spoke, her voice dripped with sarcasm, her anger over Adonis still apparent. “Hades does not know the difference between attention and love.”
“Do you speak from experience, Aphrodite?” Hades challenged.
Her expression turned sullen, and she crossed her arms over her chest, sinking into her seat.
His response to Aphrodite silenced the rest, because as much as they liked to make fun, they knew Hades was dangerous. Stealing Helios’ cattle had been a kindness, revenge in its most basic form. If he had wanted to, he could have plunged the world into darkness himself. Helios need not threaten it.
“You will return his cattle, Hades,” Zeus said.
Again, Hades said nothing. He would not argue with Zeus in front of the other gods.
“Since we are assembled. Are there any other matters you wish to bring forth?”
This was the part Hades dreaded. Council was only supposed to be four times a year, and yet Zeus would call it for a trivial reasons and then ask to hear grievances, as if he had nothing better to do than mediate arguments between Poseidon and Ares—the only two who ever spoke.
Except this time.
“Triad is being led by demi-gods,” Hades said, and he looked at Poseidon as he spoke. “I have reason to believe they are planning a rebellion.”
This time, Zeus was not the only one to laugh. Poseidon, Ares, Apollo, even Artemis laughed.
“If they wish for battle, I will bring it,” Ares said, always eager for bloodshed. Hades hated him, hated his lust for death and destruction. He knew not one other god who wished to revel in the horror of war.
“I suppose you laugh because you think it is impossible. But our parents believed the same of us and look where we sit,” Hades said.
“Do I hear fear in your voice?” Ares challenged.