Chapter XI: Hades

CHAPTER XI

HADES

Hades brought Persephone to Aphrodite’s home on Lemnos. He was never sure where he might appear when he teleported there—the locations had varied over time, but it all depended on where she or Hephaestus decided to grant access.

Today, it was the God of Fire’s study, which surprised him, given that Hephaestus did not even allow Hades direct access to his workshop, but he understood why as soon as they manifested.

Aphrodite sat at the base of a chaise positioned in the center of the room, bent over a woman who lay in an unnatural position. Hades recognized her as Harmonia, though it took him a moment because of how badly she was beaten.

She was the Goddess of Harmony, Aphrodite’s sister.

This was exactly what he had feared.

Every inch of her exposed skin was covered in dirt or blood or bruises, and at the top of her head were two blunt bones. They were her horns, and they had been cut from her head.

“Oh my gods.” Persephone’s voice shook, and she left Hades’s side to go to Aphrodite. He squeezed his hands into fists to keep from pulling her back to him, to keep from shielding her from this. In some ways, she needed to know the reality of the world and how it preyed on them just as it did on mortals.

But this was worrying. A second attack and this time a goddess, both connected to Aphrodite.

Hades looked up and into the shadowed room, finding Hephaestus nearby. He was not surprised. He was never far behind when Aphrodite was in trouble, her constant shadow, even if she did not realize it.

“What happened?” he asked.

Hephaestus’s eyes gleamed in the dark, a hint of the anger Hades could feel roiling inside him.

“We don’t know for certain. We believe she was walking her dog, Opal, when she was attacked and had just enough strength to teleport here. When she arrived, she was not conscious, and we have not been able to rouse her.”

It sounded similar to what had happened to Adonis. They’d both been alone when attacked and at night.

“Whoever did this will suffer,” Hermes said, his voice shaking with anger.

The problem with what happened here was twofold. Not only was Harmonia a goddess—someone of divine blood—but she was also kind.

Persephone’s gaze moved from Hermes to Hades.

“Who is she?” she asked.

“My sister,” Aphrodite said, her voice was thick with emotion. She sniffed and then took a breath as she whispered her name. “Harmonia.”

“Can you heal her?” Persephone asked him, and her question made his chest ache. She asked because he healed her often, but this was beyond what he could do. Harmonia’s injuries were far too numerous.

“No,” he said, feeling as though he was disappointing her somehow. Despite all his power, he was not all-powerful. “For this, we will need Apollo.”

“I never thought those words would come out of your mouth,” said Apollo, who appeared at Hades’s summons.

The God of Music had changed. Now he was dressed in armor, as if he were preparing for practicing or training, which wasn’t outside the realm of possibility considering the Panhellenic Games were approaching and Apollo oversaw training at the Palaestra of Delphi.

His smug expression soon fell when he caught sight of Harmonia.

“What happened?” he asked, striding forward and wedging himself between Aphrodite and Persephone.

“We do not know,” said Hermes.

“That’s why we summoned you,” Hades said.

Persephone’s brows lowered. “I…don’t understand. How would Apollo know what happened to Harmonia?”

It was an indication of how little Persephone knew about the gods and their power, and though not completely surprising, it worried Hades. He had years to study their many and varied powers, to learn what to anticipate if they battled—but not Persephone. She took their titles as an indication of their abilities, like many mortals.

“As I heal, I can view memories,” Apollo said. “I should be able to tap into her injuries and discover how she received them…and from who.”

Despite the pride with which Apollo spoke, the power of viewing memories could be dangerous. There was always the possibility that he would not be able to tell the difference in what he was seeing versus his reality, and if he believed he was being attacked, he could face the same outcome as Harmonia.

Persephone rose to her feet and took a step away. Hades wished she would come to his side. He wanted her near, if only for his own comfort, but she remained, watching Apollo as he placed his hands on Harmonia, gently brushing her hair from her face.

“Sweet Harmonia. Who did this to you?”

Apollo began to glow and so did Harmonia, and it wasn’t long before the god began to shake, his body convulsing as he viewed Harmonia’s memories.

Persephone couldn’t handle it, and she surged forward, pushing him away from the goddess.

“Apollo, stop!”

He fell back, catching himself before he splayed on the floor.

“Are you okay?” Persephone asked.

Apollo’s hand was under this nose, stained with crimson, but he looked at her and smiled. “Aw, Seph. You really do care.”

Despite the fact that Hades did not like Apollo having a nickname for his lover, he was glad for the comfort he attempted to offer.

Persephone was far too caring for her own good.

“Why isn’t she waking up?” Aphrodite’s voice was high-pitched and desperate, her fear radiating through everyone present.

No one wanted Harmonia to die.

“I don’t know. I healed her as much as I could,” Apollo said. “The rest…is up to her.”

Once again, Hades felt Persephone turn to him.

How often would she look to him for guidance? How often would he fail her?

“Hades?”

His name fell off her tongue, an unspoken question hanging in the air between them—would she survive this?

“I do not see her lifeline ending,” he said. “The more pressing question is what you saw as you healed her, Apollo.”

He was frustrated that the god had yet to tell them what he’d seen in Harmonia’s memories, though he knew his anger was misplaced. The god was still recovering from whatever he’d witnessed.

“Nothing,” Apollo admitted, rubbing circles over his temple. Then he added in a low and defeated voice, “Nothing that will help us anyway.”

“So you couldn’t view her memories?” Hermes asked.

“Not much. They were dark and hazy, a trauma response, I think. She’s probably trying to suppress them, which means we may not have any more clarity when she wakes. Her attackers wore masks—white ones with gaping mouths.”

“But how did they manage to harm her at all?” Aphrodite asked. “Harmonia is the Goddess of Harmony. She should have been able to influence these…vagrants and calm them.”

“They must have found a way to subdue her power,” Hermes said.

Hades swallowed something thick in his throat as they all exchanged uneasy looks.

“But how?” asked Persephone.

“Anything is possible,” Apollo replied. “Relics cause problems all the time.”

Hades was well aware of the problems they caused.

“Hades?”

Once again, Persephone called to him.

“It could be a relic or perhaps a god eager for power,” he said.

What he didn’t say was that it could be both. He thought of Poseidon, who had handed a spindle over to the mortal Sisyphus. He could have used it to manipulate the lifelines of mortals, but instead, he chose to kill them.

And now there was a chance Poseidon had given over a scythe.

“Any ideas, Hephaestus?” Hades asked.

Despite shaking his head, Hades thought the god knew otherwise.

“I would need to know more.”

“Let her rest, and when she wakes, give her ambrosia and honey,” Apollo advised as he rose to his feet.

Persephone also stood, and when Apollo stumbled, she caught his arm to steady him.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked.

Her concern for him was misplaced, Hades thought—a point that was driven home when he opened his mouth again.

“Yeah.” Apollo smirked. “Stay alert, Seph. I’ll summon you soon,” he said and vanished.

Hades glared at the space where Apollo had been, still uncomfortable with the bargain he and Persephone continued to maintain. He did not like the idea that Apollo could summon his fiancée when he pleased, especially in this environment, where goddesses were openly being attacked.

He met Persephone’s gaze briefly before shifting his attention to Aphrodite.

“Why summon us?”

It was probably obvious to Persephone, but it wasn’t obvious to Hades. Aphrodite knew he could not heal or view memories.

Aphrodite straightened and looked at him. He wasn’t really prepared to see her face—eyes rimmed in red and swollen. He’d never seen her so distraught, and it made him uncomfortable.

“I summoned Persephone, not you,” she said.

They both glared at Hermes.

“What?” he demanded. “You know Hades wouldn’t let her come alone!”

“Me?” Persephone asked. “Why?”

Why indeed, Hades thought.

“I would like you to investigate Adonis’s and Harmonia’s attacks.”

“No,” Hades said immediately. He would not even entertain the idea. Persephone did not need to be involved. He was taking care of it. “You are asking my fiancée to put herself in the path of these mortals who hurt your sister. Why would I say yes?”

“She asked me, not you,” Persephone snapped, her gaze just as frustrated. There was a brief pause, and then she turned back to Aphrodite. “Still, why me? Why not ask Helios for assistance?”

Hades was already shaking his head.

“Helios is an asshole,” Aphrodite said. “He feels he owes us nothing because he fought for us during the Titanomachy. I’d rather fuck his cows than ask for his assistance. No, he would not give me what I want.”

“And what do you want?” Persephone asked.

“Names, Persephone,” Aphrodite said. “I want the name of every person who laid a hand on my sister.”

But not Adonis? Hades glanced at Hephaestus, wondering if she censored herself because of him.

“I cannot promise you names, Aphrodite. You know I can’t.”

“You can,” she insisted. “But you won’t because of him.”

Hades ground his teeth. “You are not the Goddess of Divine Retribution, Aphrodite.”

“Then promise me you will send Nemesis to enact my revenge.”

“I will make no such promise.”

If Aphrodite decided to kill someone whose fate did not involve her, she would be punished. How, he could not say, but the Fates would come for her eventually.

“Whoever hurt the mortal and Harmonia has an agenda,” Hephaestus said. “Harming those who assaulted them will not lead us to the greater purpose. You might also, inadvertently, prove their cause.”

Aphrodite did not like what her husband was saying, but then again, Hades liked it less as he continued to speak.

“If that’s the case, I can see the value of Persephone investigating Harmonia’s assault. She fits in—as a mortal and a journalist. Given her record of slander against gods, they may even think they can trust her, or at least turn her to their cause. In either case, it would be a better way to understand our enemy, make a plan, and act.”

“I would do nothing without your knowledge,” Persephone said, holding Hades’s gaze. “And I will have Zofie.”

“We will discuss the terms.”

It wasn’t a no, but it wasn’t a yes either. Still, he was rewarded with her soft smile, and that felt like conquering the world.

“But for now, you need rest,” he said, and then he looked at Hephaestus because he did not trust Aphrodite or Hermes for that matter. “Summon us once Harmonia wakes.”

When they arrived, they stood apart but faced each other. Neither of them moved.

He was attempting to process what it meant to involve her in discovering Adonis and Harmonia’s attackers. If it was something she could do from the safety of Alexandria Tower, her investigative work could help, but was she ready for this? Because right now, he feared she was about to break, and he wasn’t even sure she knew it.

“You will keep me informed of every step you take, every bit of information you glean on this case,” he said. “You will teleport to work. If you leave for any reason, I have to know. You will take Zofie everywhere.” He shifted closer to her, bending over her. “And, Persephone, if I say no…”

He meant it. He could not even verbalize what consequences he would enact if she disobeyed, but they would be dire, and she would hate him.

“Okay,” she said, and there was a sincerity in her tone and in her gaze he believed so deeply it hurt his chest.

He exhaled and then brought her forehead to his, hands braced at the base of her head.

“If anything happened to you—”

He couldn’t let himself imagine it—her in place of Harmonia.

“Hades, I’m here. I am safe. You will not let anything happen to me.”

“But I did,” he said.

He’d let Pirithous take her, and he had not known. He’d let him violate her.

What good is being God of the Dead if you can’t do anything?she had asked him once in the face of Lexa’s death, but he asked himself that now. What good were his powers if he couldn’t even protect Persephone?

“Hades—”

“I do not wish to discuss it,” he said, releasing her. He took a step back. “You need rest.”

He rarely put distance between them, but he needed it right now. He hated how it seemed to stun Persephone. She watched him for a moment as if she thought he would call her back, but instead, he turned to pour a drink and she retreated to the bathroom to shower.

She must think he was rejecting her, but she did not want him right now. At least she wouldn’t, not if she knew what he was thinking.

And he was thinking that he would never let her leave the Underworld. He had threatened as much before, but these attacks were too close, and it wasn’t as if she hadn’t been targeted either. Ilias was still looking for the woman who had poured hot coffee in her lap.

It angered him that his realm was not enough. He could never embody the warm summer sun or the blue skies of the mortal realm, and she would never be content to only rule the dead.

She thrived on purpose, on changing the world.

But she had changed his world, and while there were moments when he felt better for it, there were also moments when he felt more violent than he ever had before, more capable of terrible things.

It was wrong to want to hold her hostage, but he was angry. Aphrodite had drawn her into this world, exposing her to what he had tried so hard to shield her from, and of course she had been willing and ready to help. She took responsibility for everyone.

It was a quality he could usually admire except in this manner, when gods were the victims.

“Are you coming to bed?” Persephone’s voice drew his attention, quiet and apprehensive.

He didn’t like it.

He turned to look at her. She was dressed in a shirt that was too big. It clung to the places on her body that had yet to dry. Her hair was heavy and wet. She had been crying. Her cheeks were a little too pink, her eyes a little too red.

His mouth hardened, and he set his drink on the mantle before crossing to her. He took her face between his hands, letting his fingers brush her skin.

His heart squeezed.

“I will join you shortly,” he said quietly, hoping it would ease her anxiety, but more than that, he needed time to work through his frustration. He knew it would only get worse before it got better, and he did not wish for her to be the recipient of his aggression.

She rose onto the tips of her toes to kiss him, but he avoided her mouth and pressed his lips to her forehead. It was not the kiss she wanted or the one he wished to give, but it was all he could manage at this moment. He knew if he had let her, she would have drawn him in to keep him here, and he would have obliged, but he would have fucked her and he would be hard and unforgiving.

He was not sure she could handle that.

Though as she lowered to her feet, he wasn’t sure if she could handle his rejection either.

She swallowed hard, and as she turned from him, he felt as though she had ripped out his heart and taken it with her to bed.