CHAPTER XIII: REDEMPTION

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.

***

Hades left the Underworld and teleported to Nevernight. He had expected to go about his usual rounds, wandering unseen among the mortals and humanoids crowding the floor below, sending his staff to deliver passwords to the lounge above, before ascending to bargain, except when he arrived, he was summoned to the balcony by Ilias.

“My lord,” the satyr said as Hades approached.

“Yes, Ilias?”

He nodded to something in the distance, and Hades’ eyes narrowed as he followed.

“That nymph. I believe she’s one of Demeter’s, here to spy on Persephone.”

Demeter had all types of nymphs in her employment—alseids, daphnaie, meliae, naiads, and crinaeae—but this one was a dryad, an oak nymph. She wore a glamour, probably hoping that she would go unnoticed, but Hades could see her green skin beneath the magic. Even if her nature was not apparent, it was obvious she was up to something. Her eyes roamed the crowd, seeking and suspicious. She was clearly looking for someone.

“Has Lady Persephone arrived?” Hades asked, keeping his tone neutral, and yet after the embarrassing conversation he’d had with Hecate in his garden, he could not help being hopeful.

“Yes,” Ilias responded, and Hades felt a mix of relief and tension build inside him all at once, a push and pull that made him eager to see her. “The nymph followed her in. I didn’t prevent her from entering in the event that you wish to speak to her.”

“Thank you, Ilias,” Hades said. “Have her removed from the floor.”

At Hades’ request, Ilias spoke into his mic. In seconds, two ogres emerged from the shadows. The nymph’s eyes widened at their approach, one on either side. There was a short exchange, but she gave no fight and allowed the two creatures to escort her into the darkness of the club. They would leave her in a small, windowless room to wait until Hades was ready to confront her.

“You know what to do,” Hades said. “I’ll be there shortly.”

Ilias would conduct a background check on the nymph, learn her name, her associates, and her family. It was an arsenal of sorts, a way to weaponize words so Hades could obtain what he wanted from the nymph—for her to defy her mistress.

“Oh, and Ilias—make an appointment with Katerina when you are finished.”

Katerina was the director of The Cypress Foundation, Hades’ non-profit organization. If he was going to help mortals the way Persephone desired, he was going to have to create something special, and he knew just when to unveil the project—at the upcoming Olympian Gala.

He left the balcony and called up his glamour, moving unseen across the floor of Nevernight in search of Persephone. She had to be in the club, because he had sealed the entrances to the Underworld to keep her from coming and going without his knowledge.

As he searched the shadows, he came upon Minthe, who was engaged in an argument with Mekonnen. Hades rolled his eyes; there was nothing unusual about this. The nymph fought with everyone in his employment.

“We are not a charity!” Minthe was saying.

“She is not asking for charity.” Despite Minthe’s anger, Mekonnen remained calm. It was a trait Hades admired in the ogre, who he had appointed to Duncan’s position.

“She is asking for the impossible. Hades does not waste his time on grieving mortals.”

There was truth to that, and yet hearing the words out loud, hearing them spoken in a tone so careless and so crass, sent a spear right through his heart. Is that what he had sounded like when he had dismissed Orpheus? No wonder Persephone had been appalled.

He was suddenly at odds with the way Minthe and Persephone perceived him, as it struck him that they thought similarly. Minthe expected him to refuse a mortal in distress, and Persephone assumed the same.

“Since when do you decide what Hades considers worthy, Minthe?” Mekonnen asked, and Hades felt true appreciation for the ogre.

“A question I’d very much like to hear the answer to,” Hades said, stepping from the shadow.

Minthe whirled to face Hades, the surprise on her face evident in her raised brows and parted lips. Clearly, she did not have as much confidence speaking on his behalf when he was present.

“My lord,” Mekonnen said, bowing his head.

“Did I hear right, Mekonnen? There is a mortal here to see me?

“Yes, my lord. She is a mother. Her daughter is in the ICU at Asclepius Children’s Hospital.”

Hades’ mouth was set in a grim line. The Asclepius Foundation was one of his charities. There were elements of being the God of the Dead he did not like, and one of those was the death of children. As much as he understood the balance of life, he would never quite accept that the deaths of children were necessary.

“The child isn’t gone yet, my lord.”

“Show her to my office,” Hades instructed. He started to walk away, but paused. “And Minthe, I am your king, and you shall address me as such. My given name is not for you to speak.”

Hades crossed the floor of his club with Minthe on his heels. The nymph grabbed his arm, and Hades whirled to face her.

“You forget your place,” he hissed.

She did not even flinch, just stared at him with furious eyes. She was undaunted by his anger, fearless of his wrath.

“Any other time, you would have agreed with me!” she snapped.

“I have never agreed with you,” he said. “You have assumed you understand how I think. Clearly, you do not.”

He turned from her and headed upstairs, but the nymph continued to follow.

“I know how you think,” the nymph said. “The only thing that’s changed is Per—”

Hades turned on her again and lifted his hand. He was not sure what he had intended to do, but he ended up clenching his fist.

“Do not say her name.” The words slipped between his teeth, and he spun, throwing open the door to his office.

He sensed Persephone and Hermes inside, but did not see them. Years of existing in battle kept him from hesitating in the doorway, but he was on edge and he could not deny that the thought of them hiding in this room together sent him spiraling.

Why are they in here together to begin with? Is this why he did not locate her on the floor earlier?

He gritted his teeth harder than necessary.

“You are wasting your time!” Minthe bit out, pulling him from his thoughts and redirecting his frustration. He wondered what she was referring to—the mortal or Persephone?

“It’s not like I’m running out,” Hades snapped.

Minthe’s lips flattened. “This is a club. Mortals bargain for their desires; they do not make requests of the God of the Underworld.”

“This club is what I say it is.”

The nymph glared. “You think this will sway the goddess to think better of you?”

His eyes narrowed, and he snarled as he spoke. “I do not care what others think of me, and that includes you, Minthe. I will hear her offer.”

Her severe expression relaxed, eyes widening, and she stood in stunned silence for a moment before leaving without another sound.

Hades was glad he had a few seconds to get a grip on his anger, and it was even more important because he was aware that he had an audience. Persephone’s and Hermes’ magic brushed the edges of his own, igniting his blood in a way that made him want to rage, but before he could spiral, the doors to his office opened and a mortal woman entered.

She was disheveled, like she had dressed hastily. The neckline of her sweater draped off one shoulder, and she wore a long coat that made her body look like a balloon. Despite her haphazard appearance, she held her head high and he sensed determination beneath her broken spirit.

Still, she froze when she saw him, and he hated the way it made his chest feel. He knew why he was the enemy of the world above—because he was shouldered with the blame for taking all loved ones away, because he had done nothing to contradict those ancient beliefs about his hellish realm, but that never bothered him until tonight.

“You have nothing to fear.”

Her voice shook as she laughed. “I told myself I wouldn’t hesitate. I wouldn’t let fear get the best of me.”

Hades tilted his head to the side. There were very few moments in his life when he felt true compassion for a mortal, but he felt it now for this woman. The core of her soul was good and kind and…simple. She wanted for nothing but peace, and yet she had the opposite.

Hades spoke in a quiet voice. “But you have been afraid. For a very long time.”

The woman nodded, and tears spilled down her face. She brushed at them fiercely, hands shaking, and offered that nervous laugh again. “I told myself I wouldn’t cry, either.”

“Why?”

“The Divine are not moved by my pain.”

She was right, he was not moved by her pain, but he was moved by her strength.

“I suppose I cannot blame you,” she continued. “I am one in a million pleading for myself.”

She was one of a million who had made the same request, and yet, this one was still different.

“But you are not pleading for yourself, are you?”

The woman’s mouth quivered, and she answered in a whisper, “No.”

“Tell me.”

“My daughter.” The words were a sob, and she covered her mouth with her hand to quell her emotion. After a moment, she continued, brushing at her face. “She’s sick. Pineoblastoma. It’s an aggressive cancer.”

He studied the woman; the hurt dwelled within her broken soul. She had struggled to conceive. After several devastating miscarriages and painful treatments, she finally had what she wanted—a perfect baby girl. But at two years old, she started having trouble walking and standing, and all the elation the woman had felt turned to despair.

Still, beneath that horrific sorrow, he could sense the hope she still had for her daughter, the dreams she still dreamed for her. The woman had fought to have this child, and she would fight to keep her on Earth, even if it killed her.

And it would.

Hades’ fists tightened at the thought.

“I wager my life for hers.”

Many mortals had offered up the same, the life of one they loved for another, and no one meant it more than the mothers who begged at his feet. Still, he would not accept.

“My wagers are not for souls like you.”

“Please,” the woman whispered. “I will give you anything. Whatever you want.”

A humorless laugh escaped him. What do you know about what I want? he wanted to say as his thoughts turning to Persephone.

“You could not give me what I want.”

The woman blinked, and she seemed to come to some sort of unspoken conclusion, because she hung her head in her hands and her shoulders shook as she sobbed.

“You were my last hope. My last hope.”

Hades approached her, placed his fingers under her chin, and brushed her tears away. “I will not enter into a contract with you, because I do not wish to take from you. That does not mean I will not help you.”

The woman inhaled sharply, her eyes widening with shock at Hades’ words.

“Your daughter has my favor. She will be well and just as brave as her mother, I think.”

“Oh, thank you! Thank you!” The woman threw her arms around him. He stiffened, not expecting her to react physically, but after a moment, his grip on her tightened before he pulled her away. “Go. See to your daughter.”

The woman took a few steps away. “You are the most generous god.”

Hades’ lips twitched as he chuckled. “I will amend my previous statement. In exchange for my favor, you will tell no one I have aided you.”

The woman’s brows rose. “But—”

He held up his hand to silence her. He had his reasons for asking for anonymity, among them that this offer could be misinterpreted. He could offer her reassurance that her daughter would be okay because she was not dead yet, just in limbo. It was not the same as Orpheus asking for Eurydice’s return to the Upperworld.

Hades had more control over souls in limbo because they were like wildcards, their fate was undetermined. There were various reasons for this—sometimes the original destiny needed to change and the Fates used limbo as a mechanism to alter lives, sometimes the soul themselves did not know if they wish to live or die and limbo was used as a way to give them time to decide.

Finally, she nodded and then broke into a smile, tears still streaming down her face.

“Thank you.” She turned on her heels. “Thank you!”

Hades watched the door after she left, the satisfaction he felt at helping the mortal dissolving into something unpleasant once he was alone, with Hermes and Persephone still hiding in his office. He turned, his magic surging, and forced the two out of the mirror over his fireplace. Hermes, having been in these situations numerous times, was prepared and landed on his feet. Persephone wasn’t so lucky. She landed on her hands and knees with a loud thud.

“Rude,” Hermes said.

“I could say the same,” Hades replied, his eyes quickly shifting to Persephone as she got to her feet, dusting off her hands and knees. She looked different, but he assumed that was because of the way she was dressed. She wore a white tank top and black pants, and her hair was piled in a bun on top of her head, exposing her angled jaw and graceful neck. He liked her like this. She seemed…comfortable.

“Hear everything you wanted?” he asked her.

She glared at him. “I wanted to go to the Underworld, but someone revoked my favor.”

He had not revoked her favor; he’d just kept her from entering the Underworld before he had a chance to talk to her. Unfortunately, he now needed to talk to Hermes, and without an audience.

He turned to the God of Mischief. “I have a job for you, messenger.”

Hades snapped his fingers and sent Persephone to the Underworld. Hermes raised a brow, looking particularly judgmental.

“What?” Hades snapped.

“You could have handled that better.”

“I did not ask for your opinion.”

“It isn’t opinion, it’s fact. Even Hecate would agree with me.”

“Hermes—” Hades warned.

“I can summon her to make my point.”

“You are in my territory, Hermes, lest you forget.”

“And I am your messenger, lest you forget.”

They glared at one another. Taking relationship advice from Hermes was like asking Zeus for the same—pointless.

“Lucky for me, it isn’t your messenger skills I am after, God of Thieves.”