Hades watched Persephone closely, and at her mother’s words, he noted how her back stiffened and her fingers curled. As much as he hated those words, he knew that she feared their truth.
You are not like her. You never will be, he thought.
Demeter vanished, but the silence felt heavy with her presence. It was Leuce who broke it, taking a few cautious steps before she hurried to Persephone, throwing her arms around her.
“Thank you, Persephone.”
The goddess hugged her back, and despite the smile on her face, Hades knew she was changed by this.
Hades’s gaze slid to Hermes, who still lingered in the room. When their eyes met, he knew they had both reached an understanding about what had occurred here.
Demeter was no longer Persephone’s family. They were, and they would do anything to protect her, to give her what she never had—even in the face of war.
* * *
While Persephone seemed more confident in the days following her encounter with her mother, she was also more anxious. Hades knew that was mostly due to Lexa, who remained in the hospital for another two weeks. Despite Persephone’s happiness upon her release, he worried she expected things to go back to normal. He was not certain she understood that she lived in a new world, one where Lexa would never be as she once was.
“Do you think Lexa will be able to attend the gala?” Persephone had asked one evening while they sat in the library.
The upcoming gala was hosted by the Cypress Foundation and would illustrate the impact of its charity work. Before Lexa’s accident, she had a role in planning the event, and while Hades would like Lexa to be present, he didn’t know if she was prepared for such an intense evening, and he said as much to Persephone.
She was quiet for a long moment, and when she spoke, her voice was thick with emotion. “How long do you think? Until she’s…”
Her voice trailed off, but he knew what she wanted to ask. How long until she’s normal again?
He rose and came to kneel before her, their eyes level.
“Darling,” he said quietly.
“I know,” she said, tears already streaming down her face. “You don’t have to say it.”
So he didn’t.
While he’d have liked to have his attention solely on Persephone, he couldn’t. Since the death of the Graeae, Hades had Ilias attempting to track Theseus’s contacts in the black market. His goal was to discover what relics the demigod had managed to obtain or might be seeking. Hades also had to deal with Hera, but first, he needed to make Zeus aware of what had happened to the Graeae. He wasn’t yet prepared to tell Zeus of Hera’s alliance with Theseus…unless she refused his ultimatum.
Hades found Zeus at his estate in Olympia, which was a modern version of Olympus. The gods had homes in both locations, even Hades, though he was loath to use them. The God of the Sky was in his backyard, a golf club clasped between his enormous hands as he attempted to hit a small white ball by twisting his entire body around. The first few swings sent grass and dirt flying across the lawn. When he finally hit the ball, it sounded like thunder as it tore through the air, zooming far past the flagged target in the distance. It likely landed in the ocean and belonged to Poseidon.
Zeus growled in frustration, an indication that the club in his hands was likely to follow wherever the ball landed.
“Starting a new hobby?” Hades asked, making himself known.
Zeus whirled, the scowl darkening his bearded face turning to one of jovial surprise, though Hades knew it was likely not because his brother was glad to see him. There was an art to Zeus’s demeanor, and he crafted it carefully so that no one knew his true thoughts or feelings.
“Brother,” Zeus boomed. “To what do I owe this great honor?”
“I have brought you something,” Hades said, though as he reached into his pocket to retrieve the box that held the eye of the Graeae, his stomach knotted. There was a part of him that wanted to hold on to the eye, but a greater part of him needed this leverage for his future with Persephone.
While Hades was still not certain how the eye worked—or even if the vision it had shown him was true—giving Zeus anything with relative power made him anxious. Not to mention the eye was sentient. Would it resent him for this exchange? Would it retaliate by showing Zeus something that would destroy his whole world?
As Hades handed Zeus the box, he said, “I fear I have bad news to accompany it. I found the Graeae dead. They were killed by a hydra blood–tipped blade. I fear it may be the first of many attempts on the lives of the Divine.”
Zeus stared down at the open, black box before snapping it shut and resting his hands atop the club.
“Who was responsible?”
“I suspect this is the work of Triad.”
Zeus did not speak, but Hades knew how he felt about the organization of Impious. As much as he hated them, he did not see them as a true threat.
“We should call Council,” Hades suggested.
“No,” Zeus said suddenly.
Hades glared. “No? You’ve called Council for less.”
Including Helios’s cows.
“For what purpose would I call Council?”
“To warn other gods,” Hades said, angry.
“The Graeae were blind,” Zeus said. “They were at a disadvantage. You do not honestly think another god could fall prey to this parlor trick?”
“Parlor trick? The Graeae are dead, Zeus.”
Hades did not know how often he would need to say this before Zeus understood. The Graeae—Divine beings—had been murdered.
“You cannot honestly think Triad will stop with these three deaths? They will try again, and they will seek more ways to replicate what they’ve done.”
“And who will they target next? Hephaestus, perhaps? Aphrodite will likely thank them.”
Hades ground his teeth until his jaw popped. “So this is your response? To the death of deities?”
Hades usually operated without expectation of his brother, but he had failed to do so here. He had thought the King of the Gods, the one responsible for the well-being of everyone and everything on Earth, would be appalled by the death of the Graeae. Instead, he seemed to think Triad had somehow granted a kindness to the three sisters.
Zeus looked at Hades and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Do not worry, Brother. If it were you, I’d call Council in an instant.”
Hades imagined that was meant to be some kind of compliment and shoved his brother’s hand away.
“Action doesn’t matter once you’re dead, Zeus.”
“If deities are dying, then perhaps they have no business being Divine,” Zeus replied, once more returning to his practice—widening his feet, gripping his club, and manifesting a white ball. He swung and hit the ball with a crack that echoed through the air, shielding his eyes to see how far it flew, but it was already out of sight. Hades wanted to tell him he was supposed to aim for the red flag in the distance, but he had a feeling his brother had decided to play differently—especially when he could not play right.
“It’s survival of the fittest, Hades,” Zeus said at last. “Always has been, always will be.”
Chapter XXVII
A Proposal
Hades left Olympia for Nevernight. The only thing that quelled his frustration toward his brother was thinking about what he had planned for Persephone this evening. He’d decided to show her a little more of the Underworld and, in the process, himself. He hoped it would be healing and perhaps lay a foundation so that he could share more things—harder things—but those thoughts were put on hold as he appeared on the floor of Nevernight and knew he was not alone.
Hera.
He turned to face the goddess.
“Hades,” she purred.
“No,” Hades said.
He was done with her and her labors. The goddess looked stunned for a second before her cheeks grew flushed with anger.
“You forget you are under my control,” she said. “I decide your future with your beloved Persephone.”
“I would think carefully on how you decide my fate, Hera,” Hades said. “Because I decide yours.”
She blanched. “What do you mean?”
“I was not eager to get involved when you decided you wanted to overthrow Zeus again, but since then, I have learned of your alliance with Theseus, and now I have no other choice but to choose a side.”
Her eyes darkened. “Are you saying you are with Zeus?”
“No,” he replied. “I am on no one’s side but my own.”
“Why am I not surprised?” she said through her teeth. “Your only loyalty is to yourself.”
“Wrong,” Hades said. “I am extremely loyal to those I care about, though you are not one of them. Perhaps you could say the same if you truly cared for anyone.”
She lifted her head. “So what are you going to do now? Tell Zeus? Have him hang me from the sky?”
“No,” he said. “But I want your favor in exchange for the secret, and I’d like to cash it in now.”
“Let me guess. You want my blessing for your marriage?”
“I don’t just want your blessing,” Hades said. “I want you to defend it.”
The goddess swallowed hard, and Hades knew she was weighing her options. She had been punished by Zeus before for her insolence, but this was different and she knew it. She’d helped Theseus kill three deities, and it was likely when Zeus found out about her involvement with Theseus, he’d call forth the Furies to enact Divine retribution. The only reason Hades had not done so was because only Zeus could punish his queen.
“Fine,” Hera said at last. “You have my blessing.”
Hades did not thank her. Instead, he started toward the stairs but paused to look upon her once more before offering a final warning.
“This is not a war you survive, Hera.”
It would be up to her to believe him or not.
* * *
Hades returned to the Underworld and changed into the clothes Hermes had left for him. He had almost dreaded asking for help, knowing the god would react with an overwhelming amount of enthusiasm—and Hades had not been wrong—though Hermes had made him work for it.
“You need my help?” he’d asked.
“Yes, Hermes,” Hades had said, frustrated. “I need your help.”
“With fashion.”
Hades did not consider this fashion. He was asking to be dressed down, and those were clothes he did not own. Still, he knew Hermes would not appreciate that.
“Yes,” he hissed, trying to remain calm.
“Hmm. I may be able to pencil you in…though, I am always willing to do favors for my best friends.”
Hades glared, and Hermes raised his brows.
“Persephone is your best friend. This is for her.”
“But Persephone admits she’s my best friend,” Hermes said.
“Does it mean as much when I say it?”
“It’s like saying I love you,” Hermes explained. “I might know it, but it’s good to hear.”
There was a long pause, then Hades mumbled, “You’re my best friend.”
“What was that?” Hermes asked. “I couldn’t hear you.”
“You’re my best friend,” Hades repeated quickly.
“Ah, once more, with feeling.”
Hades glared and said deliberately, “You’re my best friend.”
Hermes preened. “I’ll have something for you by the evening.”
And he had held to his word, leaving a black shirt, pants, and a pair of riding boots for the evening. Once he was changed, Hades went to the library, where he waited for Persephone to return to the Underworld.
Luckily, he did not have to wait long, though when she spotted him, she halted, as if surprised.
“What are you wearing?” she asked at seeing his outfit, a smile curving her pretty lips.
“I have a surprise for you.”
“Those pants are definitely a surprise.”
The corner of Hades’s mouth lifted, despite not knowing how to take her reaction. Did she like these clothes? Perhaps he should have just worn his suit, though riding horseback would have been decidedly uncomfortable. He decided not to ask and instead reached for her hand.
“Come.”
He led her outside, where Alastor and Aethon waited for them. Of his four sable-black horses, these two could not be more opposite. Aethon was impatient and dreaded being locked in the stables at night. Alastor was far more calm, and he preferred being alone. Despite this, Hades knew he was the best horse for Persephone due to his loyal and gentle nature.
“Oh, they’re beautiful,” Persephone said, and the horses liked her praise, snorting and bobbing their heads. Hades didn’t blame them—he felt the same beneath her approval.
“They say thank you,” he said with a laugh. “Would you like to ride?”
“Yes!” she said with more enthusiasm than he expected, but it made him happy. Then she hesitated. “But…I’ve never…”
“I’ll teach you,” he said quickly and once again took her hands, guiding her forward.
“This is Alastor.”
“Alastor,” she said and stroked his nose. Alastor lowered even more, urging her to scratch his head. Persephone giggled and obeyed. “You are magnificent.”
Aethon gave an envious bray.
“Careful,” Hades warned. “Aethon will be jealous.”
Persephone smirked and reached to pet Aethon too. “Oh, you are both magnificent.”
“Careful, I might get jealous,” Hades said, then took up Alastor’s reins. “Put your foot in the stirrup,” he instructed Persephone. “Lift yourself up and swing your leg over, then sit down gently.”
She followed as he advised, and once she was seated, he continued.
“If you become afraid, sink your weight, lean back, and firm up your legs, but my steeds will listen if you speak. Tell them to stop, they will stop. Tell them to slow down, they will slow down.”
“You taught them?” she asked, holding the reins in one hand while petting Alastor’s mane.
He mounted Aethon and answered “Yes,” though it was not difficult. The four steeds were Divine, and they had been together for a long time. They knew Hades’s moods just as well as he knew theirs. He did not even need to speak. “Don’t worry. Alastor knows what he carries. He will take care of you.”
They started slow, wandering into the fields and gardens beyond the palace. Alastor and Aethon ambled side by side. Hades could not help watching Persephone as she rode, her hands wrapped gracefully around the reins, her hair catching beneath the light of his realm. She was beautiful and happy and beaming. It made his heart beat almost erratically.
“This is a wonderful surprise,” she said.
An excitement shivered through him as he answered, “This isn’t the end.”
They wandered through Hecate’s green meadow, where Alastor and Aethon only briefly became distracted by the goddess’s wild mushrooms before they were redirected, heading around the ominous mountains of Tartarus.
“How was your day?” It wasn’t a question Hades asked often, mostly because he didn’t want the same asked of him. He never had a good answer anyway, but it always presented more ways for him to omit the truth, and that only made him feel more guilty for the things he felt he had to hide—the truth of him and his life. Asking now was progress—a way to start anew and be more transparent.
“Good,” Persephone said and paused before adding, “Lexa’s been making coffee in the mornings. It isn’t how she used to do it, but I think it’s a sign she’s going to be okay.”
Hades said nothing, knowing there was still so much uncertainty around Lexa’s livelihood. Just getting her out of the hospital had been a feat. Now that she was home, she’d have to face the reality of routine, and sometimes that was harder than the confinement of a hospital.
Persephone did not ask him about his day, and he wondered if she saw the point, if she assumed he would not be honest.
They continued along, winding through landscapes that changed from mountainous to forested to fields of purple and pink flowers. Against the backdrop of the darkened mountains, which mostly housed prisoners of Tartarus, they looked aflame.
“How often do you…change the Underworld?” she asked.
“I wondered when you’d ask me that question.”
She raised a brow. “Well?”
“Whenever I feel like it,” he answered. Sometimes he changed it when a deity left just in case they thought they could find their way back. Mostly, though, he expanded his realm. He created new spaces within Asphodel for the souls, because as the world changed above, so did their needs below. Elysium was another challenge and often evolved because each soul was there to heal. Outside of that, his world changed as he wished—and it would soon change as Persephone wished.
“Perhaps when my magic isn’t so terrifying, I will try.”
“Darling, there is nothing I’d like more.”