CHAPTER XXII: A BITTER BARGAIN

CHAPTER XXII – A BITTER BARGAIN

Leaving Persephone was the last thing Hades wanted to do. If Sisyphus did not still roam free, threatening his future with the beautiful Goddess of Spring, he wouldn’t have, but the fact remained that the mortal was still on the run, and holding the organization’s Magi prisoner had not lured Triad like he thought it might. Hades was unsure of their motives, but he did not feel good about their involvement.

It was inevitable that forces would rise to oppose the gods. They had come in all forms throughout history—scholars and naysayers and atheists and the Impious.

Hades understood the Impious’ resentment of the gods. They resented them for their distance and rejected their rule when they came to Earth, and they had reason to. Very few of the gods had done their job, never offering words of prophecy or importance. Hades himself had never encouraged mortals to believe in a blissful eternity in the Underworld. Instead, they spent their time toying with mortals for their entertainment, pitting them against each other in battle.

Still, Triad was different. Triad was organized and their tactics hurt innocent people. In their early life, they had set off bombs in public places, and in the aftermath, demanded to know why the gods had not stopped them if they were all-powerful. Their goal seemed to be to continue to illustrate how the Olympians remained detached and uninterested in mortal society, and while that was true for some, it was not true for all. Something Triad was about to discover.

Hades appeared on the floor of Nevernight. His intention was to find Ilias to begin their search for Theseus, but instead, the satyr found him.

“My lord,” Ilias said. “There is a man here to see you. A demi-god who calls himself Theseus.”

Hades stiffened at the name, feeling uneasy that his nephew would approach willingly. What was his game?

“Show him in.”

Ilias nodded and left, returning with a man who looked more like a warrior stuffed into a suit. He had dark hair, trimmed short, and a perpetual five o’clock shadow. The only thing he had retained of Poseidon’s were his aquamarine eyes, which looked like two suns blazing against his brown skin. Two men also followed him. They were large and their discomfort obvious. Hades got the sense he did not need these men to protect him, that they were merely for show.

“You are a man of few words, so I will get straight to the point,” Theseus said and, reaching into the pocket of his jacket, he withdrew a spindle—the one Poseidon had given Sisyphus. He held it out to Hades, but the god did not approach to take it. Ilias did, and then handed it to him.

Hades stared at the spindle. It was gold and sharp, and he could feel the Fates’ magic radiate from it, distinct in its smell but hard to describe. It was the scent of life—the smell of wet grass after rain and of fresh air and wood, undercut with the odor of smoke and blood and the tinge of death.

It was a scent that triggered Hades and unearthed memories of darkness, battle, and strife. He handed the spindle back to Ilias, wondering what sort of horrors the relic had managed to pull from Sisyphus, even Theseus.

“That is a start,” he replied. “But only one of two things I want.”

Theseus offered a small smile. “Before we continue, I do believe you have something of mine.”

Hades raised a brow at his choice of words but said nothing, summoning the magi with his magic. He appeared and instantly fell to the ground with a loud thud. He groaned, dragging himself to his hands and knees, then looked up and began to whimper.

“H-High lord,” his voice quivered.

Theseus looked at one of his men, who took out a gun and shot the mortal. He fell, and his blood pooled on the floor of Nevernight. Hades suddenly understood Theseus’ use for the bodyguards; they were here to do his dirty work. The god knew these types of men well—the no blood on their hands type. He had come to think that they believed if they did not pull the trigger or wield the knife, he could not trace their sins.

They were wrong.

Hades maintained his passive expression, but internally, he grimaced. The mortal’s death was not necessary, nor was it warranted. He had given Hades no information on Triad, which was the reason Hades had detained him.

“Interesting. You did not intervene,” Theseus said.

“Were you experimenting?” he asked, raising a brow.

He shrugged. “Just trying to figure out what you are about, Lord Hades.”

He just stared. Perhaps Theseus thought to challenge him as Triad challenged the gods, but Hades would not bite. If Theseus and his men wanted to add to their list of sins and carve their place in Tartarus, who was he to stop them?

“Two of one, Theseus,” Hades reminded, his patience wearing thin.

It was the first time Hades saw the spark of Poseidon’s resentment in Theseus’ eyes. He understood the mortal had come to play, had come to show the God of the Dead that he had power. But Hades was power, and he was not in the mood to entertain this man who played at being a god, even if he was semi-Divine.

Theseus nodded to one of his men, who spoke into a mic. After a moment, a third man joined them, dragging Sisyphus, and dropped him in the space between them. His mouth was taped shut, his wrists and legs bound. He looked like Hades remembered, but older—the result of using magic that did not belong to him.

Despite the gag around his mouth, Sisyphus managed a muffled scream.

“Silence,” Hades said, and stole the man’s voice. His eyes widened when he could no longer make sound, and he kicked and flopped on the floor, like a fish out of water.

Once there was silence, Hades lifted his gaze to Theseus. Something wasn’t right about this.

“What is it you want?” Hades asked.

He was not ignorant. He could see Theseus was eager for power and hungry for control. His soul was an iron tower, strong and unshakable. It was why he had kidnapped Sisyphus—he desired something from him. Hades understood that now.

“For returning the spindle, I would like a favor.” He paused, then added, “For Sisyphus, I ask for nothing.”

“How generous.”

He smirked, but the amusement did not touch his eyes. “How kind of you to say.”

Hades considered Theseus’ request. He did not feel comfortable offering him a favor, as it was an open-ended request, something Hades would be obligated to fulfill due to the binding nature of favors and immortal blood.

Yet a favor was no unfitting request for what the immortal had returned to him. He had essentially ensured his future with Persephone.

Still, Hades found that he had questions.

His eyes narrowed as he stated, “You are Divine, and yet I hear you lead Triad.”

“Are you asking a question, my lord?”

“I am merely trying to suss out what you stand for.”

That smile returned, and Hades knew why he disliked it so much. It was a smile that belonged to his brother.

“Freewill, freedom—”

“Not Triad,” Hades said, cutting him off. “You. What do you stand for?”

“Can you not see?” he challenged.

Yes, Hades wanted to hiss. I see your soul. Corrupt. Hungry for power, just as his father but without the failure, and that made him dangerous because it made him feel invincible.

“I am merely wondering what the difference is between your rule and mine.”

“There are no rulers in Triad.”

Hades cocked a brow. “No? Tell me, what is your title again? High lord?”

Hades knew what was happening here. He recognized Theseus’ ambition, because his brothers had shared it on the cusp of Titanomachy.

“Are the other high lords demi-gods too?” Hades tilted his head, narrowing his eyes. “Have you hope of ushering in a new legion of Divinity?”

“Feeling threatened, uncle?” Theseus asked.

Hades offered a wicked smile, and he saw Theseus’ confidence wavier.

“Hubris is always punished, Theseus. If not in life, always in death.”

“Rest assured, uncle, if Nemesis welcomes me upon my death, it shall not be a punishment, but confirmation that I have lived as I wished. Can you say the same? A tortured god with an eternal existence, whose chance at love hinges upon this mortal’s capture?” Theseus paused. “I’ll take that favor now.”

Hades ground his teeth so hard, he thought they might break.

“I will grant your request,” Hades said. “But it will not be Nemesis who greets you upon your death.”

He would, and he would revel in the process of torturing this immortal who had used Persephone as leverage. He would separate skin from body and watch as crows feasted upon the remains.

With the promise of a favor, Theseus left. Hades’ gaze fell to Sisyphus, who was trying to push himself away from the god.

“You should not have granted him such a gift,” Ilias said. “You do not know what he will ask.”

“I know what he will ask for,” Hades said.

“And what is that?”

“Power,” Hades replied. Raw power in any form, and with a favor to hang over Hades’ head, he had it.

Hades’ bent toward Sisyphus, and as he spoke, the mortal began to quiver.

“Welcome to Tartarus.”

***

Hades teleported to Hephaestus’ lab. Normally, he would arrive via the front gates and pay his respects to Aphrodite, but since La Rose, he had not wished to see her, and he did not wish for her to hear what he had come to ask for. He found the god at his forge, his large body hulked before an open-mouthed furnace that spit fire and sparks as he hammered on a flat piece of metal—a sword—gripped between a pair of tongs. Hades could tell by the set of the god’s shoulders and the force with which he worked that he was angry.

The sight made him apprehensive, so he rang a bell near the door to get the god’s attention. Hades was not surprised when Hephaestus twisted and threw the flat piece of metal he’d been hammering in his direction.

Hades sidestepped as it landed in the wall behind him.

There was a beat of silence, and then Hades asked, “Are you okay?”

Hephaestus’ chest rose with his breath. “Yes.”

The god threw his tongs down and turned fully to him. “What can I help you with, Lord Hades? Another weapon?”

“No,” Hades replied. “Are you sure you don’t need a minute?”

Hephaestus’ stare was hard. Hades took that as a no.

“I do not wish for a weapon,” he said. “I wish for a ring.”

Hephaestus did not appear as if he cared, though his voice betrayed his surprise. “A ring? An engagement ring?”

“Yes,” he said.

Hephaestus studied him for a long moment. Hades wondered what he was thinking. Perhaps, Who would marry you? Or something even more cynical. Do not do it, it isn’t worth it.

Still, even Hades knew Hephaestus did not believe that. He knew that now more than ever, after the god had used the Chains of Truth to ask Hades if he was sleeping with Aphrodite.

“Do you have a design?”

Hades felt the unfamiliar rush of embarrassment as he withdrew a piece of paper upon which he had sketched an image. It was similar to the crown Ian had made for Persephone, only he had chosen fewer flowers and gems—tourmaline and dioptase.

He handed the drawing to Hephaestus.

“When are you planning to propose?”

“I cannot say,” Hades said. He had not thought of a date or time when he would ask Persephone to be his wife. He had just felt that asking for the ring, creating the ring, was important. “There is no rush, if that is what you are asking.”

“Very well,” Hephaestus said. “I will summon you when it is complete.”

Hades nodded and left the forge, only to find his way blocked by Hermes.

“No,” Hades said immediately.

Hermes mouth opened in offense. “You don’t even know what I was going to say!”

“I know why you’re here. You only have two purposes, Hermes, and since you are not guiding souls to the Underworld, you must be here to tell me something I don’t want to hear.”

Hades pushed past him, and Hermes followed.

“I’ll have you know I am offended,” Hermes said. “I am not just a guide or a messenger; I’m also a thief.”

“Forgive the oversight,” Hades said.

“I thought you’d be in a better mood,” Hermes said. “Having finally buried the weasel, got your bone honed, launched the meat missile…”

“Enough!” Hades snapped, turning to the god whose eyes sparkled with amusement. “Why are you here?”

He grinned. “We’ve been summoned to council in Olympia. Someone’s getting in trouble for stealing Helios’ cows, and guess what? It’s not me this time!”