CHAPTER XI: A GAME FOR A GOD

CHAPTER XI – A GAME FOR A GOD

“I asked for a weapon, Hephaestus.”

Hades stared at the small, octagon-shaped box the God of Fire held out to him. It was beautiful—obsidian and inlaid with jade and gold—but it did not look like something that could restrain a god.

When Hades met Hephaestus’ grey eyes, he knew he had missed something. The corner of his mouth lifted, and he dropped the box at Hades’ feet. In the next second, heavy manacles clamped down upon his wrists, their weight keeping his arms fastened at his sides, and when he tried to lift them, he found it was impossible.

“And so I have granted you chains,” the god replied.

Hades tried to lift his arms again, and his muscles tightened, veins rising to the surface of his skin, but it seemed like the more force he exerted, the more the chains oppressed.

“Tell me what you think of them,” Hephaestus said.

“Brilliant,” Hades answered, the word falling out his mouth before he even had a chance to think—and he remembered what he’d requested of the God of Fire—a weapon that could subdue violence and encourage truth. Hades smiled despite feeling like a lab rat. Hephaestus’ ability to create and innovate never ceased to impress.

“This is a dangerous weapon,” Hades said, but when he looked at Hephaestus, he knew something else was on the god’s mind. His eyes were steely and menacing. Hades stiffened; he knew this look, he had seen it in the eyes of every mortal and immortal who had wished death upon him.

“Have you fucked my wife?” The question did not match Hephaestus’ cool composure or dispassionate tone, but Hades recognized himself in the God of Fire and knew that beneath his calm exterior, he was raging inside.

“No.”

“Eleftherose ton,” Hephaestus said, turning his scarred back to Hades as he was released from the restraints, the chains returning to the black box. Hades rubbed his wrists as the full weight of Hephaestus’ question settled upon him. He had thought Hades was sleeping with Aphrodite, and he had believed it so thoroughly, he felt he needed magic to get the truth.

Hades scooped up the box and straightened, staring at Hephaestus’ back.

“Why ask me about Aphrodite?” He could not help the frustration in his voice. He knew why Hephaestus had asked—because, despite his feigned indifference, he cared about his wife and who she chose to sleep with. He loved her, and yet he chose to be miserable, chose to be passive.

“Have I not revealed enough of my shame?” Hephaestus asked.

“It is not shameful to love your wife.”

Hephaestus said nothing.

“If you feared her infidelity, why did you release her from the bonds of marriage to begin with?”

The god tensed. Clearly, he did not know what Aphrodite had shared with him. That on the eve of his marriage to the Goddess of Love, Hephaestus had released her from all obligations of that marriage.

“She was forced to marry me,” Hephaestus said, as if that explained everything. Though, it was true. Zeus had arranged their marriage to keep peace among those who wanted Aphrodite for a wife.

“You didn’t have to agree,” Hades said.

Hephaestus’ muscles rippled, and the God of the Dead knew he had angered him. Yet when he spoke, his voice was calm, void of emotion.

“Who am I to reject a gift from Zeus?”

It was a simple comment, but it spoke volumes about how Hephaestus viewed himself—unworthy of happiness, of favor, of love.

Hades sighed. In truth, it was not his place to get involved in Hephaestus and Aphrodite’s relationship. He had enough to worry about as it was with the Fates, Sisyphus, and Persephone.

“Thank you, Hephaestus,” Hades said, lifting the box. “For your time.”

He teleported from the cavernous lab, appearing in the sky over the ocean, and let himself fall through billowing clouds. Hades landed on Earth, on the island of Atlantis. The impact shook the ground and marred the marble at his feet. Around him, Poseidon’s people—mortals who called themselves Atlanteans—screamed. It took seconds for his brother to appear, bare chested and wearing a pteruges, a decorative skirt made of leather strips. Gold cuffed his forearms, his wavy and blond hair was crowned with gold spears, and two large spiral markahor horns jutted from the top of his head.

The God of the Sea looked like he was prepared for battle, which was fair. Hades only ever visited when he had a score to settle, and this time was no different.

“Brother.” Poseidon offered a curt nod.

“Poseidon,” Hades said.

There was a moment of tense silence before Hades asked, “Where is Sisyphus?”

Poseidon smirked. “Not one for pleasantries, are you, Hades?”

Hades tilted his head to the side, and as he did, a great marble statue of Poseidon cracked and split. As the pieces crashed to the ground, more of Poseidon’s cult, who had stopped to stare, ran for cover, screaming.

“Stop destroying my island!” Poseidon commanded.

“Where is Sisyphus?” Hades demanded again.

His brother’s eyes narrowed, and he chuckled. “What did he do? Tell me it was good.”

Hades’ anger was acute, and for the first time since he had asked Hephaestus for a weapon to contain Poseidon’s fury, he realized it was just as much meant for him as it was his brother. Tired of wasting time, Hades tossed the box at Poseidon’s feet. In the next second, the God of the Sea found himself ensnared in chains. For a few seconds, Poseidon blinked in shock at the metal around his wrists. He pulled at them, trying to snap them with his strength, muscles bulging, veins popping, but no matter how hard he tried, they remained.

“What the fuck, Hades?” he snarled.

“Tell me where Sisyphus is hiding!” Hades’ voice was brutal and rough.

“I don’t know where your fucking mortal is,” Poseidon spat. “Release me!”

Hades could sense Poseidon’s power rising with his rage. The sea around the island churned violently, lapping at the edges of the landmass. Hades only hoped he could get the answers he was looking for before his brother’s violence was unleashed. Poseidon would not grieve the loss of his people if it meant revenge against him.

“Careful, brother. Your rage may add worshippers to my realm.”

It was the one thing he could say that would at least give Poseidon pause.

The god glared, his chest rising and falling with his anger, but Hades felt his magic ebb. Given his frustration, Hades had forgotten that the chains drew truth from their captor, which meant that Poseidon truly did not know where Sisyphus was.

He needed to ask a different question.

“How do you know Sisyphus de Ephyra?” Hades asked.

Poseidon roared, clearly trying to fight the words the magic pulled from his throat. “He saved my granddaughter from Zeus.”

Ah. Now they were getting somewhere.

“And did you reward him?”

“Yes,” Poseidon hissed.

“Did you grant him favor?”

“No.”

“What did you grant him?”

“A spindle.”

A spindle—a relic—just as Hades suspected. It explained how Sisyphus had been able to steal lives from another mortal.

“You gave a mortal a fucking spindle?” Hades snarled. “Why?”

For the first time since Hades had begun interrogating Poseidon, he seemed to speak with ease as he said, “To fuck with you, Hades. Why else?”

It was a petty reason, but a very Poseidon reason, nonetheless.

“I tell you what, though. I’ll make a deal with you,” Poseidon said. “A bargain, as you call it.”

“Those are brave words coming from someone who has no power to fight the magic holding them captive,” Hades observed.

“I’ll help you find Sisyphus. Hell, I’ll lure him here myself. If…”

Hades waited, hating how slow Poseidon spoke, how much time he wasted.

“If you release my monsters from Tartarus.”

“No.”

Hades’ did not even need to think. He would not relinquish any of the creatures who lived in the depths of Tartarus. They did not have a place in the modern world and definitely did not have a place in Poseidon’s hands.

The ground began to quake, and the ocean rose up on all sides of the island, welling in the cracks Hades had created in Poseidon’s marble. He had pushed too hard. Hades cast his magic like a net, enveloping the landmass in shadow to keep his brother at bay.

“You lost your monsters because you tried to overthrow Zeus,” Hades said through gritted teeth. Poseidon’s magic was heavy, and he felt like he was being buried alive as it battled against his wall of shadow. “Now you are angry because there were consequences for your actions. How childish.”

The disgust Hades felt for his brother in this moment fueled the strength of his magic, though Poseidon’s display was not surprising. His life had been a sequence of childish outbursts that had dire consequences for those involved.

“You claim to be a king and yet follow the rule of Zeus,” Poseidon spat.

“I follow my own rule,” Hades said. “It just doesn’t align with your will.”

Hades didn’t often agree with Zeus, but at least the God of the Sky believed in the existence of a free society. He believed that all gods had their role in the world, and that they should keep order within their specialty and nothing more.

Poseidon was not of the same mind, and if he could rule supreme, he would.

The problem was he had two equally powerful brothers who could—and would, and had—stopped him.

Hades closed his eyes and reached into his darkness, into the part of himself that had been born to war and chaos and destruction. To the part of himself that was desperate for control and order and power. He drew upon that desperation, that will, that strength, coaxing it to the surface until the power that welled deep in his chest exploded in a stream of shadow. It tore through Poseidon and his wall of water, and the god went to his knees, the ground shaking beneath him.

The two gods breathed hard and glared at one another, and as the water settled around them, Hades spoke.

“I have saved your people and your island. I am due a favor.”

There was a chance Poseidon would not agree, that he would go to the same dark place Hades had to retrieve power, but Hades hoped the God of the Sea would realize what was at stake—more than just monsters. If he fought, it would mean the end of Atlantis, his people, and perhaps his freedom.

Zeus had taken that before. Nothing would stop him from doing it again.

“Think, Poseidon. Do you really want your empire to end over this mortal?”

He could see the indecision warring in Poseidon’s eyes. At this point, it wasn’t about a mortal anymore, it was about Hades and the fact that he had challenged—and overpowered—Poseidon in front of his own people.

“Poseidon.” A musical, feminine voice called the god’s name.

Hades’ gaze shifted to Amphitrite, Poseidon’s wife. Her eyes were large and round and the color of peridot. They were eerie to behold and set in a delicate face. Long ginger hair shrouded her curvy body like a cape. She was beautiful and deeply in love with her husband, despite his infidelity.

In her presence, Poseidon’s anger evaporated and his body slumped. Hades watched as Amphitrite hurried to him, and the God of the Sea grasped her, chains rattling as he did. They held one another close before pulling apart and staring into each other’s eyes. Something passed between them, a wordless communication born from years of partnership. After a moment, Poseidon looked at Hades.

“A favor, then,” he agreed.

“You will help me capture Sisyphus,” Hades said. “Since you are responsible for this blight upon the world.”

It was like asking for Poseidon’s help and Hades hated it, but it was probably the easiest way to get Sisyphus off the streets and the spindle out of circulation.

“Iniquity,” Hades said. “Tomorrow at midnight.”

“Sisyphus will not come within a mile of your territory,” Poseidon said. “And not that quickly, especially after your…gross display of power. It will be a few days, and it will be in my territory.”

Hades did not like the idea of meeting on Poseidon’s turf. It meant that he had more at his disposal, both in power and people, but the God of the Sea was right. It was best to meet in a place that would not draw suspicion from Sisyphus.

“Fine,” Hades said. “Eleftherose ton.”

As Hades spoke the words, Poseidon was released from his chains. Amphitrite helped the burly god to his feet, which was almost comical, considering she was half his size. Poseidon drew her close, his large hands nearly spanning her waist, and kissed her. Hades averted his eyes, confused by their display of affection. If his brother loved his wife so much, why did he pursue other women? They seemed lost in one another for a moment, Poseidon’s anger toward his brother momentarily forgotten.

Hades used his magic to reclaim the small, black box Hephaestus had given him. There was no way he would let something so useful and so powerful slip through his hands. As the box came to land in Hades’ palm, Amphitrite looked at him. She might be his sister-in-law, but he knew very little about her, save that she could calm the seas and Poseidon.

But right now, Hades felt her fury.

“I think it is time you left, Lord Hades,” she said.

The corner of his mouth tipped, and he nodded before vanishing.