She did not ask what that meant, but Hades thought he had an idea, and he didn’t like it. The Impious were mortals who did not worship the gods. It was more of a belief system than it was an institution, though some chose to organize under the banner of Triad. It was an organization that used to terrorize the public to prove that the gods were passive, but with Theseus at the helm, they pretended to put aside their aggressive tactics in favor of appearing peaceful, though if Hades had to guess by Theseus’s ask, he’d found a new avenue to execute his violence, and he didn’t want the connection known.
“How can I possibly be responsible for what people think, Theseus?”
“You can. I do it all the time.”
“Just like you’ve done with my sister?”
The demigod did not flinch at her retort, though Hades was certain she meant it as an insult.
“Since you brought her up, I’ll remind you what’s at stake.”
“You already owe me one visit with her, Theseus,” she said, leaning across the table as she spoke through her teeth. “I helped you find the Graeae.”
“And they were useless,” he said.
“Like you?” she countered with her usual venom.
Theseus glared. “I am not the one who consistently fails to deliver.”
“I deliver. You just don’t like the results.”
“And you must not like seeing your sister.”
She sneered at him, but Hades noticed how Theseus stared at her, eyes set intently on her mouth. It was a predatory gaze, and after everything he had said to her tonight, it made Hades want to pluck his eyes from his head and shove them down his throat.
“Put that mouth of yours to good use and do as I say,” said Theseus.
A tense, hateful silence followed, then Ariadne spoke. “If I do as you say, when can I see my sister?”
“That depends entirely on you,” he replied.
Hades did not like whatever hold Theseus had over Ariadne’s sister—or Ariadne, for that matter. It was as if Theseus was holding her prisoner and only granting access to Phaedra when Ariadne performed like he wanted. Knowing the detective like he did, it was unlikely she’d see her sister again. Ariadne wasn’t someone to be controlled.
Now he wondered why she’d come to him about the missing women in New Greece. Had she thought her sister was among Dionysus’s maenads before she’d discovered otherwise?
Hades frowned and returned to Ilias, who he found directing staff in the kitchen. He tried to ignore how the clamor of dishes and chatter ceased at his presence.
“Theseus has Ariadne’s sister,” said Hades. “Find out why and who she is.”
Ilias nodded, though he did not take his eyes off his task, which was rolling silverware into black napkins.
“And keep an eye on them, especially Ariadne,” Hades said, biting the inside of his lip as he thought about the detective. He worried for her and feared the longer Theseus strung her along, the less he would need her. Knowing the demigod, he was already planning how to dispose of her. She knew too much and wasn’t someone he could charm, which meant he couldn’t keep her around long term.
“Of course,” said Ilias.
“Hey! You can’t go back there!” someone shouted, disrupting his debrief with the satyr. For a moment, he thought that perhaps Ariadne had somehow spotted him, but when he turned, he found Leuce bursting through the kitchen doors.
“Hades!” She said his name, but he couldn’t tell if she was surprised or relieved at his presence. His lips flattened as he watched the pale nymph approach, wide eyed and out of breath.
“What do you want, Leuce?” He was still angry with her about Iniquity, not to mention he still believed she was working against him and Persephone.
“I just…” she began, then hesitated. “Will you take me home?”
Hades and Ilias exchanged a look before the god asked, “Why?”
“I…I just feel afraid.”
“You feel afraid?” he repeated. Leuce was a lot of things, but never afraid.
“When I was walking home from Iniquity, I got the sense someone was following me,” she said, and Hades frowned. Likely, she wasn’t wrong. Now and then, a few unsavory characters would linger outside Iniquity and attempt to track various attendees to darkened allies. Usually, they were interested in obtaining an obol to get into the club. “I stopped here because I thought Ilias might be able to help.” Her eyes shifted to the satyr.
“I can take her home, Hades. It’s nothing.”
“No,” he said. He’d rather have the satyr here watching Theseus and Ariadne. It was far easier for him to take Leuce. Though he did not relish time spent with her, he would hate to discover that something had happened to her.
“Keep watch,” Hades reminded Ilias before ushering Leuce out of the kitchen and into a waiting elevator. They did not speak as they took it to the first floor of the parking garage and exited onto the street. Hades looked about as he set off east down the road, and though he saw no one moving in the shadows, he did not trust that whoever had been following her had not walked on to head her off while she was in the restaurant.
“Hades, wait!” Leuce called, and in the next moment, he felt her hand reach for his. Her touch slithered through him, and he jerked his hand away.
“Don’t touch me,” he said.
“Sorry. I was just trying to keep up.”
Hades said nothing but slowed his pace, which allowed her to walk beside him, the steady tap of her heels grinding on his nerves.
“I hope you have forgiven Persephone for attending Iniquity.”
“There was nothing to forgive,” he replied.
“Then have you forgiven me?”
Hades did not respond, because the answer was no.
Leuce scoffed. “Where is this understanding for me? Where was it when we were together?”
Hades cringed. “I have no interest in reflecting on my past with you, Leuce.”
“You’ve changed for her.”
“You only think that because you were gone so long,” Hades replied. “You know nothing about me. Not anymore.”
“I…I’m not saying that because I am angry,” she said. “I’m saying that because I like Persephone. Despite what you think, I do not wish her harm.”
“Perhaps if you’d admit that Demeter gave you life, I’d be more willing to believe that.”
“If you want answers, you’d have to do more to protect me, Hades,” she replied.
Those words gave him pause, and he wondered what she meant—or rather, what she feared. They said nothing else until they had made it to Leuce’s apartment. She unlocked the door and stepped inside.
“If protecting Persephone meant protecting you, I’d do whatever it took,” Hades said.
“You can start by giving me a new job,” she said and then offered a small, sad smile. “I’ve already said too much.”
Then the nymph slammed her door in his face.
Before Hades returned to the Underworld, he stopped by Persephone’s room, where he intended to tell her about his night—namely that he had seen Leuce home. However, when he manifested, he found her asleep, and given that she had been so tired earlier, he did not wish to wake her, so he smoothed his hand through her hair, inhaling her sweet scent before pressing a kiss to her forehead.
“I love you,” he whispered and vanished.
Chapter XXIII
A Game of Pride
“You are really going to hate this,” Ilias said and dropped a copy of the Delphi Divine in front of him as he sat at the Nevernight bar the next morning.
Before the words were out of his mouth, Hades already felt a heaviness in his throat and stomach. Somehow, he knew what was coming.
The headline read:
HADES STEPS OUT WITH MYSTERIOUS WOMAN
Below that was a picture, snapped at the precise moment Leuce had reached for his hand. It was as if someone had been waiting to take it, and in that frozen second, it appeared that he had been holding her hand, dragging her hurriedly down the shadowed street. There was a lot someone could infer from it, but all he cared about was that Persephone knew the truth.
As he stared at the photo, he studied Leuce’s face, who had schooled her features into a placid mask, the opposite of how she had looked when they had faced each other.
I’ll help you when you admit that Demeter gave you life.
Well, if this wasn’t fucking proof.
She had set him up.
A sharp, black spire shot from the tip of his finger, and he used it to shred Leuce’s face before rising to his feet.
“I’ll be back,” he told Ilias before vanishing.
He manifested on the sixtieth floor of the Acropolis, at the entrance of New Athens News. There was a young blond at the front desk who gasped and stood. As he walked past her, she started to speak. “Can I…?”
“No,” Hades growled, having already found the object of his visit—Persephone, who rose to standing, dressed in black. She was beautiful and striking, and her anger and pain hit him with a force that nearly stole his breath.
He swallowed down the dread crawling up his throat and continued toward her.
“You need to leave,” she whispered furiously, though it was so quiet on the floor that her words carried.
“We need to talk.”
She leaned forward just an inch, eyes alight, determined in her refusal to hear his explanation. Clearly, she’d already decided what to believe, and there was a sharp pain in his chest that made his heartbeat feel slow and sluggish.
“No.” The word was harsh and definite.
His features hardened. “So you believe it then? The article?”
“I thought you had a meeting,” she threw back at him, and it was the first time he heard the hurt leak into her voice.
“I did.” It was frustrating that she didn’t believe anything he had said.
“And you conveniently left out the fact that it was with Leuce?”
“It wasn’t with Leuce, Persephone.”
She looked away, clenching her jaw. “I don’t want to hear this right now. You need to leave.”
She came around her desk and walked past him toward the elevator. He turned to follow.
“When are we going to talk about this?” he asked.
“What is there to talk about?” she asked, jamming the button for the elevator. “I have asked you to be honest with me about when you are with Leuce. You weren’t.”
“I came to you immediately after I saw Leuce home, but I didn’t feel good about waking you. When I saw you yesterday, you looked exhausted.”
She whirled to face him. “I am exhausted, Hades. I’m tired of you and sick of your excuses.”
That was a lie. Well, part of it was, anyway. She wasn’t tired of him.
“Leave!” She pointed to the open doors of the elevator, but if she thought he would go without discussing this, she was wrong.
He drew his arm around her waist and hauled her into the elevator with him, choosing a floor at random just so the doors would close. Once they were alone, he sealed the lift with magic. It wouldn’t move and it wouldn’t open for anyone.
Hades placed Persephone on her feet, his hands on her waist, and he leaned into her, bracing one hand on the wall.
“Let me go, Hades! You’re embarrassing me,” she said. Hades felt a twinge in his chest at the sound of her tired and defeated voice. Her hands were on his chest as if she wanted to push him away, but she didn’t. “Why did you have to do this now?”
“Because I knew you’d jump to conclusions. I’m not fucking Leuce.”
She paled at his words and shoved against him. “There are other ways to cheat, Hades!”
“I’m not doing any of them!”
And a horrible sickness twisted through him, knowing that she thought he had. Though it seemed after hearing those words, she’d lost her energy to fight. She stood between him and the wall, her arms at her sides, staring at his chest.
“Persephone.” He closed his eyes against her name. “Persephone, please.”
“Let me go, Hades,” she said quietly.
He wanted to touch her, to lift her face so he could look into her eyes. So he could beg her not to think what she was thinking, but he realized she was not ready to hear anything right now, and while he hadn’t wanted to give her time to think, to agonize, to wonder what had really happened, this wasn’t how he’d wanted to have this conversation—not through force.
“If you won’t listen now, will you let me explain later?”
“I don’t know,” she whispered.
“Please, Persephone. Give me the chance to explain.”
“I’ll let you know,” she said, her voice thick with tears.
“Persephone.”
He moved to brush her cheek, but she turned away. There was a strangeness to this pain between them, and it went deeper than Leuce. His heart felt very broken, a shattered thing that moved about in his chest, puncturing whatever it came into contact with. After a moment, he stepped back, giving her space. She wouldn’t look at him, keeping her burning, glistening gaze on the elevator wall. Still, he studied her profile—the turn of her nose and the pout of her mouth and the way her hair curled around her ears and neck, like tendrils of his shadowy magic cupping her face.
He memorized her as if this were the last time he’d see her, and without another word, he left.
* * *
Hades found himself on the island of Lemnos, knocking on Aphrodite’s front door.
He hated what he was about to do, but Hecate had asked him over and over what he was going to do, and while Aphrodite never seemed to be able to handle her relationship with Hephaestus, she was still the Goddess of Love, and it was likely she could offer some insight.
Or at least tell him what to avoid.
He peered through the glass door of her home, looking for any sign of Aphrodite or Lucy, the animatronic maid Hephaestus had made who was far more lifelike than necessary in his opinion, but the hallway was empty.
He knocked again and sighed.
“I know you’re here,” he growled.
A loud yawn broke from behind him, and he turned to find Aphrodite stretching. She was dressed in peach, and her golden hair fell in waves down her back.
“What is it, Hades?” she asked. “I am tired.”
Now that he faced her, he suddenly felt very stupid and wanted to leave.
“This was a mistake,” he said. “I… Sorry.”
He started to leave when Aphrodite’s presence flashed as she teleported closer to prevent him from going.
“Did you just apologize, Hades?” she asked. He did not speak, and a smile curved her lips. “Something must be wrong,” she said. “Come.”
She led him down a walkway that ran parallel to her home and opened to a patio that overlooked the ocean. He had seen the water in all forms throughout his visits to this island—deep blue and green, golden and orange—but today it churned beneath the bright sun, making it gleam like millions of diamonds. It almost hurt to look at it.
Aphrodite made her way to a lounge where it was clear she had been resting before Hades interrupted her. A book lay facedown on a table beside a large hat and some kind of pink drink.
“I would tell you to sit,” she said, “but I doubt you would be comfortable enough.”
She was right. Instead, he remained on his feet, hands in his pockets, standing on the line where the shadow met the light, and stared off at the horizon, squinting against the bright day.
“I know you have not come all the way to Lemnos for the view,” Aphrodite said. “Tell me why you are here so that we might both get back to our day.”
While her words were dismissive, Hades knew she was far too intrigued by his visit to be too impatient.
“As if your schedule was packed,” Hades countered.
“If you are going to beg for my help, you could at least respect my time.”
“I have not come to beg.”
“Perhaps not,” she said. “But if you keep delaying, you will be on your knees before you leave my sight.”
Hades ground his teeth and finally relented. “I fucked up,” he said, and he held his breath as he added, “I need advice.”
Aphrodite’s eyes gleamed, amused, but as he began to tell her what had transpired between him and Persephone—the goddess’s desperate wish to save her best friend, the bargain with Apollo, the aftermath of their anger and pain—that warm glow in her eyes dimmed.
Aphrodite knew the pain of loss, and she understood it from the perspective of love—all love, not just romantic—because love did not end when life did. It carried on in the absence of it.