CHAPTER XV - A GAME OF TRICKERY

CHAPTER XV - A GAME OF TRICKERY

It was early when Hades made his way to the Underworld stables. They were located at the back of his estate and just as grand as his castle. Marble floors lined a wide aisle flanked by stalls with glossy black doors. Hades had four sable-black horses, Orphnaeus, Aethon, Nycteus, and Alastor, who occupied each pen, and as he came into view, they neighed, pawing the ground with their hoofed feet.

“Yes, yes, I know. You are wasting away in these stables, and you want to go for a run,” he said as they complained noisily. “I’ll bargain with the lot of you. Be good while I brush your coats and trim your hooves, and I’ll let you roam the realm.”

They snorted in response—an agreement. “Who wants to go first?”

They were quiet.

They were fire and brimstone, and they had seen battle as Hades had seen battle. Despite how he tried to care for them, their spirits were wild, their dreams haunted. They were tortured like he was tortured.

“Come now. The longer you wait, the further you are from freedom.”

That got their attention, and they all responded at once, knocking against their stall doors.

Hades grinned and laughed. “One of you will just have to charm me.”

He sidled along the marble walkway, pausing at each stall.

“Alastor?” he questioned, and the horse mewled. Of all his horses, Alastor was the most gentle, an irony considering in battle, he was known as the tormentor. His memory was long, and he never forgot an enemy.

“Orphnaeus?” The beast whined.

“Aethon?” The stallion blew a harsh breath from his nose and knocked against his gate, the most aggressive of the four.

“Nycteus?” The youngest of the four snorted.

Hades chuckled and then approached Aethon’s stall. “Alright, since you were so vocal.”

He opened the gate, leading the beast to the wash station in the stables. He did not need to secure him to keep him from running off. Despite their wish to roam, they would not disobey their master. Hades began the process by cleaning Aethon’s hooves, prying dirt and mud free from the soles of his feet. After, he curried the coat, loosening mud and grit and dirt. As he worked, he spoke.

“Hecate tells me you four have been grazing in her mushroom grove again.”

They snorted in denial at the accusation.

“Are you sure?”

They shook their heads, neighing.

“Because Hecate said she called to each of you, and you fled like shadow, eyes aflame.”

They were all quiet.

Then, Alastor brayed, and Hades laughed.

“Are you suggesting Hecate hallucinated the whole thing?”

The four snorted in agreement.

“While I don’t doubt Hecate’s use of hallucinogenic mushrooms, I also do not doubt your use,” he said.

Hades moved on, working the knots free from Aethon’s main and tail. He brushed his coat two more times, with a stiffer brush and a finishing brush. Last, he used a damp cloth to clean around Aethon’s eyes, muzzle, and ears.

“Off you go,” he said, and Aethon hurried from the stable into the early morning of the Underworld.

Hades moved onto Orphnaeus, then Nycteus, and last Alastor, repeating the same steps of cleaning hooves, coat, and mane.

As he wiped around Alastor’s eyes, he asked in a quiet voice. “Are you well, my friend?”

The horse stared at Hades with dark eyes, and within them, he saw the depth of his torture. Of the four, Alastor was the most haunted. He often separated from the others to wander alone, needing the isolation to fight his own demons.

Hades understood.

The horse exhaled quietly, and Hades brushed his snout.

“I would mourn the loss of you,” he said. “But if you need to drink from the Lethe…I will grant your wish.”

Alastor offered a snort, and shook his head, declining the offer.

Hades grinned. “It is just an offer,” he said. “On the table…if ever you grow too weary.”

He finished cleaning Alastor’s ears and stepped away.

“Alright, my friend. Off you go.”

As Alastor raced from the stables, he passed Minthe, who approached Hades with a smug expression on her face. He wasn’t sure why, but dread pooled in his stomach at her approach.

“My lord,” she said. “I have news.”

Hades focused on cleaning up, not meeting her gaze.

“And what news is that, Minthe?”

“It’s something you’ll want to see, my lord.”

He hung the last of the brushes on a post near the wash station before turning to look at her. The nymph held up a paper, a copy of New Athens News. His eyes were immediately drawn to the cover story, which included his name.

Hades, God of the Game

by Persephone Rosi

Hades snatched the paper from her hands, staring at those bold, black letters until they blurred across the page.

“It seems your precious Persephone has betrayed you,” Minthe was saying, but her voice sounded far away. He was too focused on the words his goddess had written to pay attention.

In my short encounter with the God of the Underworld, he can best be described as tense. He is cold and boorish, his eyes colorless chasms of judgement set within a callous face. He lurks in the shadows of his club, preying upon the vulnerable.

Hades felt a rush of embarrassment and shame and anger, and for a moment, all he could think was, So this is what she truly thinks of me? And yet he could not reconcile how she had acted in the library the night before, the way she had leaned into him, the way she had parted her lips, ready for his own. He had felt her passion just as acutely as he felt his own.

Could these really be her thoughts? Her words? Was she trying to cage her heart?

He continued reading.

Hades says the rules of Nevernight are clear. Lose against him, and you are obligated to fulfill a contract, one that exposes his debtors to shame, and while he has claimed success, he has yet to name a single soul who has benefited from his so-called charity.

So-called charity.

He gritted his teeth; he was plenty charitable.

How is she supposed to know? I haven’t told her, he countered.

“I will visit Demetri today. Persephone will never write again,” Minthe said.

It was the usual avenue. Anyone who photographed or wrote about Hades usually found themselves out of a job and unable to be hired. No one wanted to incur the wrath of Hades, and despite how this article made him feel, he could not take away Persephone’s dream.

“No,” Hades said, and the word was harsh, a mix of alarm and frustration.

Minthe’s eyes widened. “But…this is defamation!”

“Persephone is mine to punish, Minthe.”

The nymph’s brows narrowed harshly over her burning eyes. “And what is your idea of punishment? Fucking her until she begs for release?”

“Fuck you, Minthe.”

“This isn’t you,” she argued. “If it were any other mortal, you would let me do my job!”

“She is no mortal,” Hades snapped. “She is to be my wife, and you will treat her as such.”

Silence followed, and after a moment, Minthe spoke, her voice shaking.

“Your wife?”

“Your queen,” Hades said.

Minthe’s jaw tensed. “When were you going to tell me?”

“You act as if I owe you an explanation.”

“Don’t you? We were lovers!”

“For a night, Minthe, nothing more.”

She stared at him, eyes glistening. “Is it because she is a goddess?”

“If you are asking me why not you, it was never you, Minthe.”

The words were harsh but they were true, and he hoped they hit home. He would see that she respected Persephone as her queen, or he would dismiss her.

The nymph lingered for a few seconds longer before turning on her heels and running from the stables.

***

“I’m disappointed in you,” Hecate said.

The two stood in the shadows outside Dolphin & Co. Shipbuilding. It was a company owned by Poseidon, and because it was owned by a god, it had the monopoly on ship and boat building in New Greece. It helped that Poseidon claimed his ships were unsinkable, a promise many believed because he was God of the Sea. His dockyard spanned for miles, employing thousands of mortals and immortals who built yachts, cargo ships, and wartime vessels, the latter being a type of ship Zeus has ordered Poseidon to cease building after The Great War. Hades doubted Poseidon had listened.

It was here where Sisyphus had agreed to meet Poseidon under the guise that the god would help him escape Hades’ wrath, a ruse that was not implausible. Hades did not trust Poseidon. He was well-aware that the god had fulfilled his part of the bargain—luring Sisyphus. Beyond that, he was not obligated to help Hades captured the mortal.

“Why this time?” he asked, responding to Hecate’s earlier comment.

“I told you I wanted to be present when you told Minthe you were to be married.”

Hades glanced at the goddess, raising a brow. She was cloaked in black velvet, as was her nature when she came to the Upperworld. She preferred to blend with the darkness. He had asked her to accompany him on this trip to handle the spindle. Ilias had not been able to track how Poseidon had come into possession of it, so Hecate would have to perform a trace on the object.

That was the problem with relics—there was so much to clean up in their aftermath.

“How do you know I told her?”

“Because she has vented to half the staff about it,” Hecate said. “Though, it has not had the effect she desired.”

“What does that mean?”

“She hoped they would be just as affronted, but I think the staff are hopeful.”

“Hopeful?”

“They want Persephone much as you do, Hades,” Hecate said, a little mischievously.

“Hmm,” Hades grunted. It was true that he wanted her, but after the article she had written, he was not certain she wanted him, or ever would. Still, he knew she had made an impression on his souls. After she watered her garden, she spent hours with them. She had learned many of their names and spent time with them, going for walks or taking tea, even cleaning. She played with the children and brought them gifts, even his dogs tended to follow her, even if he promised playtime.

She had won their favor in no time, and he had yet to win hers.

Hades focused on the smell of Poseidon’s magic—salt and sand and hot sun—as his brother appeared before them. He was fully dressed this time in a pink suit with black lapels and a white pocket square. Despite using a mortal glamour, he had kept his crown, the gold spires losing their luster amid his honeyed hair. Hades wondered if he wore it as a show of power, to remind him that they were in his territory.

“I see you brought your witch,” Poseidon said, aqua eyes sliding to Hecate.

It was not Hecate Poseidon disliked, so much as her relationship with Zeus. Hecate, on the other hand, hated Poseidon merely for being arrogant. As soon as the god spoke, Hecate’s eyes narrowed, and the leg of his’s trousers caught fire.

“Motherfucker!” he roared as he hopped about, trying to put out Hecate’s mystic fire.

Hades smirked at his brother’s pain.

“Hecate is far older than us, Poseidon,” Hades called over his brother’s screams. “We must respect our elders.”

“Careful, Hades. I am not above setting you aflame,” the Goddess of Magic replied.

“And I am not above incinerating your nightshade.”

They smiled at each other.

“If you two are finished flirting,” Poseidon shouted. “I should remind you that my fucking leg is on fire!”

“Oh, I haven’t forgotten.” Hecate’s eyes flashed as she returned her gaze to Poseidon, which caused the god to go still. Whatever he saw in her eyes caused him more fear than the fire claiming his leg. Finally, she dismissed the magic. Poseidon brushed at his pant leg, hands shaking as he assessed the damage. The cloth was blackened and curled, parts of it melted into his bubbling skin. He glared at Hecate, and she shrugged a shoulder.

“You called me a witch,” she said.

“You are a witch,” Hades reminded her.

“It was the way he said it, like it was an insult. Perhaps next time, he’ll remember the power behind the word.”

Poseidon straightened, fists curled at his sides. Hades sensed his rage churning beneath the surface, fierce like a deadly storm. He was not sure what the god intended to do next. Perhaps he wished to war with Hecate, which would spell disaster for him, his business, and the goal of this meeting.

“Where is the mortal?” Hades asked.

Poseidon’s eyes shifted to his, and Hades felt his hate. Usually, his brother’s intense emotion left him smiling, but today, he felt dread. Poseidon had a number of reasons to fuck this up. Favor or not, Hades had embarrassed him in front of his people and his wife, and while Poseidon had earned Hecate’s wrath, there was only so much the God of the Sea would endure before he took his revenge. Everyone had a breaking point, and Poseidon had done well to stay composed this long. He wondered what sort of magic Amphitrite had worked upon him.

“He will arrive soon.” Poseidon indicted to a watchtower that overlooked his shipyard. “Wait there.”

The two did as he instructed and teleported to the lookout. The box was small, and Hades and Hecate stood shoulder to shoulder as they peered out over the yard. This particular security station overlooked the entrance and the main office. In the distance, a series of lights illuminated hundreds of ships in various states of construction. Hades thought the view was beautiful in its own way.

“He is even more unpleasant than I remember,” Hecate muttered.

“You know he can hear you?” Hades reminded her.

“I hope so.”

Hades smirked, and then his gaze shifted to the entrance of the shipyard. Something rippled in the air—magic, but not Poseidon’s or Hecate’s. He tensed and saw Sisyphus walk into view. The mortal’s thick, broad frame was unmistakable. As he approached Poseidon’s office, the god walked out to meet him.

“That is not a mortal,” Hecate said.

It was at that moment that Thanatos appeared in a billow of black smoke, his great wings spread wide, and he wielded a long blade he used to slide through Sisyphus’ body, but the mortal disintegrated into bits of rock and clay.

“Poseidon,” Hades growled.

Sisyphus’ laugh echoed from every direction, and Hades looked at Hecate.

“Someone has given the mortal magic,” the goddess said.

“You might be all-powerful, but I can guess your tricks, Lord Hades.”

Hades ground his teeth and called upon his magic, sending his shadows searching for the mortal in the darkness. He would draw the man out like poison from a wound.

“Ah!”

As soon as Sisyphus screamed, Hades teleported, finding him atop the yard’s wide, stone wall.

“Hello, mortal.”

His foot shot out, kicking Sisyphus in the stomach. He fell from the wall onto his back in the middle of the yard. Hades followed, landing on his feet and took a few deliberate strides toward him, spires protruding from his fingertips. He would sink them so far into Sisyphus’ chest, he’d puncture his heart.

The mortal groaned and rolled onto his back, eyes widening as Hades approached. He pushed himself onto his elbows, his feet sliding against the dirt as he tried to crawl away.

Again, Hades felt that same shift in the air. It was magic of some kind, but it was not Divine.

“Hades! Down!” Hecate commanded, her voice was near, but he could not see her.

He obeyed, hitting the ground just as the wall behind him exploded. Debris flew, hitting Hades’ back as he crouched on the ground. The impact was harsh, and he groaned. He might heal easily, but that did not mean he could not feel pain.

Somewhere in the distance, Poseidon laughed. “You had better run, mortal, unless you wish to find yourself at the end of Hades’ claws.”

Hades looked up, and through the curling smoke, he saw Sisyphus climb to his feet. He was covered in dust, and his head was bleeding.

“No!” Hades growled. With his magic working to heal him fast, he had no time to teleport. Instead, he withdrew the small box Hephaestus had made and tossed it after the mortal. As he did, Thanatos moved to chase Sisyphus, the god blocking Hades’ aim. The box fell at Thanatos’ feet, and the chains unfurled, trapping the God of Death in heavy manacles.

Sisyphus raced toward the gaping opening in Poseidon’s wall, and Hades growled as he got to his feet and followed, but when he made it outside, the mortal was gone and the street quiet.

A mortal could not have fled that fast; he’d had help.

“Magic,” Hecate said, appearing beside him. “The air smells of it. If I had to guess, a portal.”

Hades stood for a few moments in silence, glaring at the space where Sisyphus once stood before returning to the yard. Poseidon stood near his office, large arms crossed over his chest, a smug expression on his face.

“What’s the matter, brother? Evening not go quite as planned?”

Hades cast his arm out, and the spires that protruded from the tips of his fingers shot toward Poseidon like bullets. The god summoned a wall of magic, and the spikes halted inches from his face.

Hades turned his attention to Thanatos, whose lithe body bowed beneath the weight of Hephaestus’ chains. Hecate stood aside, studying him, the corners of her lips turned up.

“Chains of Truth, Hades?” she asked, raising a brow. “Thanatos, what do you think of Hades’ hair?”

The God of Death’s eyes widened in fear, and when he spoke, it was like the words had been torn from his throat.

“It’s a mess. A complete contradiction to his pristine appearance.”

Hecate’s smile widened, and Hades glared at the two.

“Eleftherose ton,” he said, and as the Thanatos was released from the chains, he collapsed to his knees. Hecate helped him to his feet.

“I’m…so sorry, my lord.”

Hades said nothing, his hand clenched around the box, edges digging into his palm. He looked at Hecate.

“What was the creature that came in place of Sisyphus?” he asked.

“It was a golem,” Hecate said.

A golem was a creation made of clay and animated with magic. It could take on any form, so long as the potion included a piece of the person it was to imitate.

“Sisyphus had help creating that creature,” Hades said. “Can you trace the magic?”

“Of course I can trace the magic,” Hecate said. She seemed offended he would even ask. “Can you ask nicely?”

At that moment, his phone rang. Before Persephone, he had hardly used it, but it was that thought that had him drawing it out of his pocket to answer before he responded to Hecate.

“Yes?” he hissed as he answered his phone.

“Hades?” Aphrodite purred his name.

Hades sighed, frustrated. “What do you want, Aphrodite?”

If she was calling to goad him, he would torture Basil tonight. He swore it.

“I just thought you might like to know your goddess has come to my club for a visit.”

Something possessive reared its head at the mention of his goddess. It was a dark feeling, and it came out of his chest, a monster ready to fight, to protect, to claim.

“A visit?”

“Yes.” Aphrodite’s voice was breathy. “She arrived with Adonis.”

Forget fighting and protecting and claiming. That monster in his chest wanted blood.

“I hope you hurry,” she said. “He seems smitten.”