Chapter XI

Chapter XI

A Battle of Wills

Hades expected to return to the Underworld only mildly frustrated after dealing with Dionysus tonight, but he had not anticipated adding to his long list of anxieties, among them the abducted Graeae.

The only thing that worked in either Dionysus’s or Hades’s favor was that he was still in possession of the eye. The way he saw it, there were two possibilities ahead of them—either he and Dionysus found the abductors, or the abductors would come to them. For now, at least the gorgon Medusa was safe.

Though for how long, Hades could not be certain, and that made him uneasy. In fact, everything about this made him uneasy. Something was at work here, and he felt like he could see it forming on the fringe of his vision, a slight shadow that hinted at darker days.

Whoever was in search of Medusa wanted a weapon.

A thick dread settled in his chest and tangled in his lungs, making it hard to breathe and think of anything but…war.

He shook his head, frowning deeply at the turn his thoughts had taken, and it was made worse by the sudden, deep desire to see Persephone. When he felt like this—like chaos and turmoil—he turned to her to calm and soothe. She was everything he had never had upon entering this ravaged and bloody world—warm and loving and safe—and when this violence moved beneath his skin at the thought of his past, she always managed to ease it.

As he made his return to the Underworld, the need to see her blossomed. He was urged not only by these darker feelings but by far less rational thoughts, like what if Apollo had somehow found a way into the Underworld? He knew it wasn’t possible, yet his mind would not ease until he laid eyes on her.

Still, he hesitated at her door. What if she did not wish to see him? He frowned, imagining what she might say.

Ensuring I remain in your prison?

He took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

There was no answer.

For a moment, he thought that perhaps she was ignoring him, but then he went in search of her presence and realized he could not feel her.

He opened the door.

It was dark, but he could see that the bed was untouched.

“Persephone?” he called and moved farther into the room, calling forth lights to burn away the darkness, leaving no part of the room in shadow. But she was not there, so he searched the baths, then the library, then the entire palace, and when he could not find her, he turned to the garden.

He walked the winding path that seemed never-ending the longer he went without finding her beneath the branches of the willows or hiding among the flowers. Hysteria burned his throat when he came to the end of the garden where Cerberus, Typhon, and Orthrus waited, as if they sensed his discontent.

“Find Persephone,” he ordered.

The dogs took off, their noses to the ground, but he could tell by the way they moved that they were not tracking her scent, which only made his fear more acute. As he followed their movement across the Asphodel Fields, he closed his eyes, searching his realm for her footprint, but he couldn’t feel her.

On any given day, at any given time, he could feel her here, a soft caress, a burning ember. He could also feel her absence, a great disruption in the fabric of his world. That was how she felt now—gone. His growing unease turned to fear, churning hard in his stomach. Though this was his realm, it was still dangerous, and Persephone had found that danger readily enough in the past, wandering into Tartarus only to come face-to-face with Tantalus, a man who still wished to cause Hades pain, much like many who resided in his realm.

Except then, Hades had been able to track her to Tantalus.

He could not trace her now.

“Hecate, Hermes!”

Their names left his lips, a summoning command. There were no snide remarks or quips from either as they appeared before him. They knew he would not have called them if it weren’t serious. If he did not need them.

“I cannot find her,” he said, his voice shaking, his heart racing. “I cannot feel her.”

They both paled hearing his words, and there was a shared sense of dread between the three.

“We’ll find her,” Hermes said confidently.

But would it be too late?

The two vanished, and Hades stormed across the field. The wind picked up speed, whipping around him, and the elegant stems of the asphodel wilted as he drained the lush ground around him of magic. Then the air rippled and grew warm with the energy of gods as Hades summoned the deities of the Underworld. They came to him disembodied, taking the form of shadow and lightning, whirling around him. He felt them acutely—grief and sorrow, sickness and panic, starvation and want . They whispered to him as they circled, monstrous things they used to infect mortal minds and drive them to madness.

And Hades felt mad.

Now and then, the deities flashed red eyes or gnashed long, sharp teeth. They were monsters more than they were human, and Hades needed them.

“Find. My. Queen!” he commanded.

The deities circled quicker, and their whispers became faster until they peeled away, dashing across the sky. Hades followed, still leeching magic from his realm as he went, his sole focus on finding Persephone.

His mind knew no bounds when it came to imagining what might have happened to her. His earlier thoughts of battle returned with a vengeance, and all he could think was that she must be hurt and that he would find her broken and bleeding. The images came to mind easily because he had seen many bodies in the same state. He had never allowed himself to think long on loss, not when it came to Persephone, though he’d always promised to end the world if anything did occur.

Now he was certain of it, but he’d not just set it aflame.

He would tear it to pieces.

It was Cerberus who came to him first, then Typhon, and they led him to a grove of poplar trees where Orthrus sat rigid, guarding Persephone, who slept beneath the silver of his strange moon. Even standing before her, he still could not sense her. It was as if, in slumber, she had managed to shield herself.

It took him a moment to move, to settle the chaos her absence had caused, and when he did, the wind ceased to roar and the deities he had called to his aid screamed as they were forced to return to the untamed wild beyond the gates of his realm. Though he managed to quell the external part of his frenzy, inside, he still felt the aftershock shudder through him, but that soon ebbed as he knelt to gather her into his arms.

He cradled her close as he rose, enjoying her warmth and weight and the smell of her hair, which was earthy and sweet, and soon, Hecate and Hermes had found them. None of them spoke, but there was a general sense of relief between the three. Hades moved past them, heading for the palace. While he could have teleported, he wanted more time with her like this—when all was well and peaceful, when she forgot that she hated him.

Cerberus, Typhon, and Orthrus led the way, and with each step he took, his world fell into place, and the Underworld became lush once more.

* * *

Hades took Persephone to his room, tucking her into his bed. She shifted once when he laid her down, moving to her side and curling her hands beneath her cheek, but she did not wake. He bent and pressed a kiss to her forehead, calm in the knowledge that she was safe, and ventured into the night, finding that he was far more disturbed by his behavior than he had expected to be.

He hated feeling like he had no control, and when he’d returned to the Underworld to find Persephone missing, he had lost it in more than one way. He returned to where he’d found her. This time, she had been far from the dangers of Tartarus, nearer to Hecate’s meadow and the palace.

“She must have gone for a walk,” Hecate said, appearing in the meadow beside him. “Perhaps she got tired and sat down to rest.”

“I find myself wishing to destroy everything that poses a threat to her,” he admitted.

“If you only try to insulate her, she will grow to resent you.”

He knew Persephone well enough to know that Hecate was right. She would grow to hate him if she felt caged, and wasn’t that the opposite of what he’d wanted for her?

He looked away. “I am afraid for her.”

In the short time they’d been together, she had become collateral for Hera’s whims and the focus of Apollo’s soon-to-be wrath. Not to mention her mother, Demeter, was likely still plotting ways to keep them apart, and he suspected that Leuce may be part of that scheme.

Worst of all, he knew this was only the beginning.

Persephone was a relatively new god, her powers untested, and in the end, she possessed a code of ethics that would never allow her to overlook injustice.

“So teach her,” Hecate said.

Hades met the goddess’s gaze.

“You want a queen,” she said. “So teach her to live within your realm. Teach her to use her magic. Teach her to be a goddess, and stop trying to fight all her battles.”

Hecate was right, and he would let Persephone fight her own battles—just not against Apollo.

* * *

Hades did not sleep that night.

He stayed in his office and kept himself occupied with thoughts of the Graeae. He wondered if there was a connection between their abduction and the bombing of Acacius’s shop. He would have to see what Ilias discovered during his investigation. Outside of that and his inevitable encounter with Apollo, his greatest worry was still Hera and the labor he had not even attempted.

The murder of Briareus.

The last communication he’d had from the goddess was the note she’d attached to Persephone’s article about Apollo, reminding him that she had control over their future as husband and wife. Though something she had said intrigued him—that allies among the Olympians might influence Zeus’s decision. Hades knew his brother well enough, knew there was potential for that to be true, so how did he sway them to his side?

There was a knock, and he looked up as Hermes burst through the door.

“He’s coming,” Hermes said. “He’s angry.”

The God of Mischief didn’t need to specify. Hades knew he was referring to Apollo.

“I want you to watch Persephone,” Hades instructed. “Keep her occupied while I talk to Apollo.”

Hermes raised his skeptical brow. “Because you’re so good at conversing?”

“That’s a big word, Hermes,” Hades replied. “Have you been reading a thesaurus?”

Hermes narrowed his eyes. “Deflect all you want, King of Corpses, but I know you, and you aren’t a talker. What are you planning?”

“I’m talking to you, aren’t I?” Hades pointed out.

“Hardly, and I’m your best friend.”

It was Hades’s turn to raise a brow.

“Don’t deny it. Do you ask Hecate for fashion advice?”

Hades scowled. “Don’t make me regret my decision, Hermes.”

“Regret? Excuse me. Did you get laid in those gray sweatpants I suggested you wear?”

He rolled his eyes.

“Then you can’t regret it!”

“How do you know that was a yes?”

“Hades,” Hermes said, as if he were about to point out something very obvious. “Because I dressed you for sex.”

“Get Apollo, Hermes, and once he’s here, go to Persephone.”

“On it, best friend,” Hermes said as he headed for the door.

Hades left his office. As he started for the throne room, he changed directions and headed for his bedchamber, where Persephone still slept, swathed in silk. She hadn’t moved, still lying on her side, knees bent, hands curled near her face. He brushed a stray curl from her face, fingers lingering on her flushed cheek before teleporting to the throne room where Apollo already waited. He was like his mother, Leto, in appearance, crowned with dark curls and dark eyes that sometimes looked violet when he was frustrated enough, but that was where the similarities ended. Unlike her, there was no softness to his personality, nor his sister’s for that matter.

“I knew you wouldn’t let your little lover fight the war she started,” said Apollo.

“What’s the matter, Nephew? A few words have you ready for battle?”

“Her words were slander!”

“Is it slander if they are true?”

Hades noted the tightening of his fists. There was a part of him that wished Apollo would act against him in his realm. The affront would mean the god would be forced to end his pursuit of Persephone. While Apollo was often brash, he did not often challenge other gods, and it was likely he wouldn’t challenge Hades, knowing something far more lucrative waited for him if he maintained his composure.

“Truth has nothing to do with this slight,” Apollo replied. “Her blasphemy will be punished, Hades. Even you cannot stop divine retribution.”

Hades took a moment to speak, working to relax his jaw, and when he did, his words felt thick in his mouth. “And what if I offer to bargain?”

Apollo’s eyes flashed, and he lifted his chin, intrigued. Hades hated the slight twitch to his lips as Apollo implored, “Go on.”

“Forgive this slight , and in exchange, I offer a favor.”

“A favor ,” Apollo echoed. “That is very generous.”

“The offer is not for your benefit, though you will likely reap the rewards.”

“You must really care for this mortal.”

Hades said nothing. He did not have to. The offer of a favor spoke volumes.

“Fine,” Apollo said. “But she will never —”

The doors to the throne room slammed open, and Hades’s eyes lifted to Persephone, who stood barely dressed in her black robe. Though her exposed skin meant little to Apollo, Hades would have preferred he not see her at all. Every muscle in his body tightened as the God of Music turned to look at her.

“So,” he purred, “the mortal has come to play.”

Hades’s body vibrated with frustration, his eyes sliding to Hermes, who had just come to a stop behind Persephone, looking a little too impish to be completely innocent. Hades glared.

“What?” Hermes asked, defensive. “She guessed!”

“The deal is done. You will not touch her,” Hades said, both as a reminder and as a warning.

“What deal?” Persephone asked, taking a few more steps into the room.

He had not told her of his plans, and now that they were here in this room, he wished he had, even if there had been no time, and even though she wouldn’t have approved, at least she wouldn’t have had to find out this way. He knew it looked bad.

“Your lover has struck a deal,” Apollo said, his disdain for Persephone evident in his tone. It was an insult, and Hades considered challenging the god, but it was a dangerous prospect now that he owed him a favor. “I have agreed not to punish you for your… slanderous article …and in turn, Hades has offered me a favor to be collected at a future time.”

Persephone’s eyes widened, which told him she understood perfectly the implications of his deal.

“Damn,” Hermes whistled, and Hades’s mood darkened. “He really does love you, Sephy.”

“I will not agree to this,” Persephone said.

Hades admired her words; they came out of a concern for him, no matter how futile.

“You don’t have a choice, mortal,” Apollo said.

“I’m the one who wrote the article. Your deal should be with me.”

“Persephone,” Hades warned. While he had accepted Hades’s offer, there was nothing to prevent Apollo from also taking Persephone up on hers.

But Apollo laughed, such was his arrogance. “What could you possibly offer me?”

Persephone’s eyes flashed, her fingers curled into her palms, and Hades allowed his magic to surface in response, hoping it would mask hers.

“You hurt my friend,” she seethed.

“Whatever your friend did must have warranted punishment or she would not be in the situation she is in.”

Apollo’s response did nothing to quell Persephone’s anger, but at least it illustrated who he was, something that could only be witnessed—an asshole.

“You mean to tell me her refusal to be your lover warrants punishment?” Persephone asked.

Hades noted how rigid Apollo had gone, which told him he knew exactly who Persephone was talking about.

“You took away her livelihood because she declined to sleep with you. That is insane and pathetic.”

As much as he enjoyed her insults, they were best kept between them. If Apollo wanted, he could take each word as a slight and ask for more in exchange.

“ Persephone ,” Hades warned.

“You be quiet! You chose not to include me in this conversation. I will speak my mind.” While he deserved her contempt, he’d have rather taken it without an audience. Hermes laughed, and to Hades’s chagrin, she continued. “I only wrote about your past lovers. I didn’t even touch on what you have done to Sybil. If you don’t undo her punishment, I will dismantle you.”

Hades assumed she meant she would do so with her words, and while he believed she was capable of writing something that hurt, she obviously had forgotten how poorly the public had taken her first article.

He expected Apollo to respond with aggression, but he chuckled, and that put Hades more on edge because it meant he was intrigued.

“You are a fiery little mortal. I could use someone like you.”

“Speak further, Nephew, and you will have no reason to fear her threat, because I will tear you to pieces.”

Apollo’s gaze narrowed, daring him to try.

“Well?” Persephone asked, raising her voice to regain Apollo’s attention.

The god studied her for a long moment, and Hades hated the smile that curled his lips.

“Fine,” Apollo said at last, and Hades let his breath escape in a slow stream. “I will return your little friend’s powers, and I’ll take Hades’s favor as well, but you will not write another word about me— no matter what . Understand?”

“Words are binding,” Persephone replied. “And I do not trust you enough to agree.”

Hades was quite proud of that.

Even Apollo grinned. “You have taught her well, Hades.”

Then Apollo took a step toward her, and Hades fought every urge to fling him across the Underworld. He might have done it if he didn’t think the God of Music was about to relent.

“Let me put it this way—you write another word about me, and I’ll destroy everything you love. And before you consider the fact that you love another god, remember that I have his favor. If I want to keep you apart forever, I can.”

You can try , Hades thought. But it will be the last action you take .

Apollo knew that, and Hades worried that perhaps that was what the god wanted.

Persephone’s face was flushed, her jaw tight as she spoke. “Noted.”

“I will warn you now, Apollo,” Hades said. “If any harm comes to Persephone, favor or not, I will bury you and everything you love in ash.”

As useless as the threat was, he still wished to make it, though he knew it had little impact on the god who felt he had already lost everything. Perhaps that was what made Apollo so dreadful to challenge.

“You’ll only have me to bury, Hades. Nothing I love exists anymore.”

With that, Apollo left, and in the silence that followed, Hermes spoke, still lingering near the doors. “Well, that could have gone better.”

“Why are you still here?” Hades snapped.

“He was babysitting me,” Persephone said, whirling to face him. “Or did you forget?”

Hades returned her angry stare.

“How can you say you wish for me to be your queen when, given the opportunity to treat me as your equal, you fuck it up completely? Does your word mean nothing? ”

They were the words he had used against her, and they stung. But he deserved them. He wanted to speak, but Persephone turned, took Hermes’s arm, and left the throne room.