Chapter XIV

Chapter XIV

An Uncertain Future

In the immediate aftermath of Briareus’s death, a dull ache formed at the front of Hades’s head. It was only a matter of time before it turned into something far worse. He had known he would not be able to sleep, but all possibilities of rest were now out of the question.

So he headed to Iniquity.

He had only managed to take care of one task, though now that the first of Hera’s labors was complete, a second would soon come. In the meantime, he had to figure out who had kidnapped the Graeae. There was the possibility that Dionysus was lying and he was still in possession of the gray sisters, but Hades doubted it. The God of the Vine had been too stunned, too affronted.

Hades wondered if the abductors of the gray sisters wanted the eye or just Medusa? What hope did they have in using her as a weapon? Who were their targets? There was a horrible dread that came with the unknown, and he hated it.

Once in his office, he found himself pulling the small black box from the inside of his jacket pocket and setting it on the desk in front of him. He stared at it for a long moment, wavering on whether he should use it. When he opened the box, he felt even less confident.

The eye stared back at him as if it knew his intentions.

He did not know exactly how the eye worked. Did it work like a crystal ball? Could he ask it to show him something? Was it sentient?

Hades turned the box on its side and let the eye roll out onto the desk. It was sticky, but it landed pupil up and seemed to glare back at him.

Definitely sentient, he thought. Fuck.

“I’m looking for your…owners,” Hades said. “Can you show me where they are?”

He felt really stupid all of a sudden.

Idiot , he imagined Hecate saying.

He picked up the eye and was deposited onto a crowded street in the pleasure district. There was loud music and wicked laughter as people danced around him in a parade of colorful costumes. He recognized his surroundings, particularly the columns that decorated this square. They were gold, and even from here, he could make out the carnal scenes carved into their surface.

Dionysus was here.

Hades could not yet see him for the crowd, but he could feel his magic rising. It was slightly floral but acidic at the same time and possessed a heaviness unlike anything he had ever felt. To others, he imagined it must feel pleasant, but to Hades, it was cloying. Following the spike in power, those who had been dancing around him began to fuck.

The air was thick with carnality, and those present bent to the weight of it, tangled in passionate revelry, and as they fell, Hades saw Dionysus, sitting in his gold throne before those gold pillars. But it was not the sight of him that made his body go cold and fill with an unnerving heaviness. It was the sight of Persephone perched comfortably on his lap, dressed in matching white, the glamour she seemed so keen to hold on to around him gone.

Sitting there with her elegant white horns on display, her eyes as bright as the spring sky, she looked confident and queenly, and he raged at the heat in her gaze—a passion that should be reserved only for him.

What the actual fuck.

The vision flashed and faded away, and Hades was once again in his office at Iniquity, the eye of the Graeae clutched in his palm. He uncurled his clenched fingers, and the eye fell onto the table, bloodshot.

“What the fuck did you show me?” he demanded.

The eye sat silent, of course, but still seemed to be glaring.

“If there is an ounce of truth to that vision, I will crush you to a pulp,” he threatened.

He had almost done so in the midst of the vision. He could still feel the stickiness of the eye on his palm.

He rolled the eye into its box.

“Useless,” he muttered as he sat back in his chair. Obviously the eye would not help him locate the Graeae. And if it would not help him, it was likely it would not cooperate with Hecate either if the goddess attempted a location spell. With the eye’s power, it was possible it would manipulate the spell anyway and send them on a useless hunt.

The fact was, the eye did not trust them.

Normally, he would make himself the target by feeding information into the market that he was in possession of the eye, to lure whoever had kidnapped the Graeae, but he had no doubt some bold idiot would attempt to hold Persephone for ransom as a result, and he wasn’t willing to take the risk.

He had one other option, and the thought quite literally made him want to vomit. Not to mention he would probably be less helpful than the eye, and he required far too much coddling for a Titan.

Hades let out an aggravated growl and slumped farther into his chair.

“Fucking Helios.”

Approaching the God of the Sun would take some planning, however, given that their last encounter had ended poorly. Hades had stolen every single one of his prized cows and refused to return them, though at least now he had a bargaining chip.

While Hades did not think it was likely that Helios would refuse the return of a cow, he couldn’t be certain. The god was difficult, more of an asshole than Apollo. Hades would have to think of something else to hold over his head.

His thoughts were interrupted, though, by a call from Ilias.

“Yes?” Hades answered, dread already twisting through his body.

“I’ve got news for you, though you will not be happy.”

“Am I ever happy to hear your news?”

“Do you want me to answer that question?”

“The answer is no,” Hades replied. “If you want it to change, perhaps you should bring me better news.”

“Then offer me a different job.”

“And what would I offer? Flower picking for Hecate?”

“That is perhaps more dangerous than your workload,” Ilias replied.

Hades managed a smirk.

“We’ve been tracking Dionysus’s movements as you instructed. He has a few connections in the black market, but he is not trying to build a list of contacts like we thought. He is a contact.”

“Any word on the kind of jobs he’s running?”

Hades guessed he was sending his maenads on assassination missions, but assassins were also good spies.

“He seems to be interested in obtaining information on any and everyone,” Ilias replied.

Not surprising. There was no greater power than knowledge.

“Has he tried locating the Graeae or Medusa?”

He wondered if the god might try to circumvent using the Graeae, since it seemed that the gorgon was his target.

“He has sent the maenads to investigate various channels in the market but has had no luck yet, though it seems many knew he was in possession of the sisters. The bounty’s increased on Medusa’s head. She’s caused quite a stir among hunters. They’re ravenous to find her.”

It was concerning to Hades that no one in the market had yet to snitch. Usually, it didn’t take much. People in the underground were there because they liked to make deals that benefited them. There were no loyalties, only a good bargain.

Which made Hades think that perhaps the Graeae had moved beyond the market.

“I did ask Euryale as you instructed. She does not know Medusa.”

Strange, Hades thought. He’d expected otherwise, given that they were both gorgons. Perhaps Medusa had not always been a gorgon. Perhaps she had come under some divine curse.

“See what my brother is up to,” Hades instructed.

“Which one?”

“The wet one.”

Poseidon was always scheming, and he was likely working with Hera on her plan to overthrow Zeus. It would not surprise Hades if the god was trying to gather his own advantages and allies.

“Very well,” Ilias said. “Are you ready for the unhappy news?”

“That wasn’t unhappy enough?”

“We’ve detained a man,” Ilias said. “We expected you would want to…interrogate him.”

“And why would I want to do that, Ilias?” Hades spoke carefully, but his irritation had spiked.

“He threw a glass bottle at Persephone.”

Hades waited, and when the satyr didn’t continue, he demanded, “Did he hit her, Ilias?”

“No, of course not,” Ilias replied. “I would have told you far sooner.”

The rush of fury that had erupted inside Hades quieted, replaced mostly by horror. He wondered what had spurred the attack. Had it been Persephone’s article about Apollo or her relationship with him? Perhaps both. Nevertheless, he’d see that the man paid for his actions.

“Where is he being held?”

“Your office,” Ilias said.

Hades needed no more information, and he teleported to Nevernight, to his office, where he found a man bound and gagged.

He was unremarkable—a pale man with a mop of dirty brown hair and dull eyes that widened at the sight of Hades. To his credit, he did not beg, though he did begin to shake, and a wet spot soaked through his khaki trousers.

“I heard you threatened the love of my life,” Hades said, shedding his jacket. He folded it and draped it over the back of the couch. Then he began to unlink his cuffs. “I’m here to discover why. Though, you should know, there is no excuse—no reason you can give that will end your suffering.”

As Hades rolled up his sleeves, the man began to beg, a muffled cry that Hades could decipher as “Please.”

Hades continued fixing his sleeve, and when he was finished, he removed the bind from the man’s mouth.

“Please, please,” he repeated in a shaky voice.

“Please what?” Hades asked.

“Don’t.” The word was a whisper, a plea, laced with fear.

Hades bent, eye level with the man as he spoke. “Don’t worry,” he said. “This is not how you die.”

And as he shoved the gag back into the man’s mouth, he drew on his magic, and shards of black glass shot from the floor and speared the mortal’s feet, anchoring him in place. Blood pooled on the floor, and the mortal’s pained screams brought about a different kind of release, a means through which Hades could channel his anger and grief.

With the torture started, he retrieved a bottle of whiskey and an empty glass and dragged a chair from the bar, positioning it before his victim. He sat opposite the man and poured himself a drink, downed it, and poured another before removing the gag from the mortal’s mouth once more.

He moaned, leaning forward in his chair.

“It may do no good, but I will hear you speak,” Hades said. “Tell me why you threatened my lover.”

The man took a few heavy breaths. “It was stupid. I’m sorry .”

“It was stupid,” Hades agreed. “Unfortunate that you did not realize it sooner.”

He drained his glass once more and slammed it on the edge of his chair, gripping a large sliver and jamming it into the man’s thigh. He arched, but the movement only placed more strain on his impaled feet, which caused more pain.

“I am certain you are full of regret.”

The man’s chest heaved, and his head lolled about, an unnatural wheeze escaping his mouth.

The torture continued like that. Hades would take a drink, ask a question, and jab another sharp piece of glass into the man’s body. When he ran out of larger pieces, he summoned his own.

“I don’t…I don’t even like Apollo,” the man said in a breathy moan.

“So you are a sheep,” Hades said. “A follower who thought to rise to the rank of leader with your actions.”

The man groaned, though Hades did not know if he meant to agree or not.

“Let this be a lesson to think for yourself.”

Hades rose and used his magic to dislodge every shard of glass in the man’s body. It was a torture of its own, and as the pieces rose, they disintegrated. In the next second, he sent a surge of magic toward the man, and his wounds were healed.

“Th-thank you,” he said.

“Oh, it is not for your benefit,” Hades replied. “It is for mine. Perhaps I wish to begin anew.”

The man began to sob. The sound grated against Hades’s ears, and to stop it, he shoved the gag back into the man’s mouth. Then he sat back in his chair and finished off what remained of his whiskey.

Some time had passed when Hades rose, and the movement caused the mortal to flinch, but Hades had no intention of continuing the torture. He did, however, intend to threaten his entire afterlife if he spoke one word against Persephone or himself. After he was certain the man understood, he would have Ilias take him home.

Hades fixed his sleeves, secured his cuff links, and pulled on his jacket, but as he adjusted the collar and straightened the lapels, he felt the distinct roar of Persephone’s untamable power. He felt dread and tasted her distress. It was both cloying and bitter, a conflict of her magic.

He started for the doors when they burst open.

“ Persephone .”

There was something devastating in the way she looked at him, an emotion within her eyes that communicated something unspeakable, but Hades knew this pain. His soul recognized it and called to it, familiar with the ache it would inspire within his chest.

“Hades! You have to help! Please —”

Her words dissolved into a choked cry, and all Hades could do was take her into his arms and hold her against him as she shook. He felt helpless, and he hated it because he only ever felt helpless with her. As quick as it had begun, she composed herself and lifted her head from his chest.

“Hades—” she started, and it was then he realized she had noticed his prisoner, though it was hard not to because he had begun to scream, albeit muffled.

“Ignore him,” he said, preparing to teleport the man to a holding cell when Persephone’s hand clamped down on his own.

“Is that—is that the mortal who threw the bottle at me today?”

When he didn’t respond, she turned her gaze on the man. Whatever she saw was answer enough. He was prepared to hear her demand to release him, but instead, she asked, “Why are you torturing him in your office and not in Tartarus?”

The mortal must have expected more of a compassionate response, because his cries grew louder.

“Because he’s not dead,” Hades said. He could only take souls to Tartarus if their thread had been cut. He gave the man a withering look as he added, “Yet.”

“Hades, you cannot kill him.”

“I won’t kill him.” It wasn’t his time to die, and he wasn’t willing to sacrifice another soul for this man. Besides, it was far more gratifying to have him live so that he could tell the tale of his torture at the hands of the God of the Dead. “But I will make him wish he were dead.”

“Hades. Let. Him. Go.”

And there it was. He had expected it sooner, but perhaps he should consider it a victory that she waited this long.

“Fine,” he said and sent the man to the holding rooms a level below, and blessedly, she did not demand to know where he’d gone. He led her to the couch with a hand on the small of her back, guiding her to sit on his lap. “What happened?”

She started to breathe heavier, and as he tilted her head back, her mouth quivered so badly, she couldn’t speak. Hades manifested a glass of wine and held it to her lips as she drank. When she was finished, he nodded.

“Start again,” Hades said. “What happened?”

“Lexa was hit by a car,” she said, and it was as if her breath had been knocked from her lungs.

Her words shocked him because he had not expected them. Despite many humans believing otherwise, Hades did not have a hand in orchestrating life-threatening injuries. Those were designed by the Fates, and while all were tragic, they often served a greater purpose, if not for the victim, for those in their lives.

“She’s in critical condition at Asclepius Community Hospital. She’s on a ventilator. She’s… broken .”

She spoke through tears and stumbled across words laced with pain and disbelief, and while he despaired over Lexa, he hated to see Persephone suffer. Though there was a dark part of him that rose, clawing at the fringes of his mind, bringing on a familiar dread that caused him to fear the direction this conversation might go.

“She doesn’t look like Lexa anymore, Hades.”

She wept harder, and she covered her mouth to contain her cries.

“I’m so sorry, my darling.”

They were the only words he had for her, because there was nothing he could do. Even now, he could feel along Lexa’s thread, which was not cut but rather bent—she was in a state of limbo.

In other words, her soul was undecided.

Persephone twisted to face him as much as she could.

“Hades, please.”

She didn’t need to explain; he knew what she asked. Her eyes were desperate, and because he could not see her like that, he averted his gaze, frustration making his jaw tight.

“Persephone, I can’t.”

He had had this conversation so many times, with mortals he had no personal connection with and gods he held in contempt. He had never faced it with a lover. Even if Hades could save Lexa, the consequences of such actions were dire, especially when the decision to live or die rested with the soul.

She scrambled off his lap, standing a few steps away. He did not try to reach for her.

“I won’t lose her.”

“You haven’t. Lexa still lives.” She was so afraid, it was like she already considered her dead. “You must give her soul time to decide.”

“Decide? What do you mean?”

He sighed, unable to contain the dread he felt at this oncoming conversation.

He answered as he pinched the bridge of his nose, an ache forming at the front of his head for the second time today. “Lexa’s in limbo.”

“Then you can bring her back,” she reasoned.

That was not how limbo worked.

“I can’t .”

“You did it before. You said when a soul is in limbo, you can bargain with the Fates to bring it back.”

“In exchange for the life of another. A soul for a soul, Persephone.”

“You can’t say you won’t save her, Hades.”

He was saying that, as hard as it was to admit. This was a situation of choice on Lexa’s behalf. To interfere, to bring her back when she was not ready, or worse, did not want to come, would mean a harrowing return to the world of the living. The consequences were endless.

“I’m not saying I don’t want to, Persephone. It is best that I do not interfere with this. Trust me. If you care for Lexa at all—if you care for me at all—you will drop this.”

“I’m doing this because I care!”

“That’s what all mortals think—but who are you really trying to save? Lexa or yourself?”

She wanted to escape the loss and the grief. She didn’t want to think of a life without Lexa, and while he could not blame her, it was never for the living to decide, though they tried often.

“I don’t need a philosophy lesson, Hades,” she sneered.

“No, but apparently you need a reality check.”

He rose to his feet and removed his jacket, and when his fingers moved to the buttons of his shirt, Persephone snapped.

“I’m not having sex with you right now.”

He scowled, frustration making his body feel tight and warm. He shrugged off his shirt and stood bare-chested before her, dropping the glamour he used to hide the black threads marring his body. The newest was a thick band that wrapped around his arm and went across his back. It was Briareus’s, and it had burned a track into his skin as he’d taken the giant’s soul. They were all painful when they were made, but some hurt worse than others, and this one still throbbed.

“What are they?”

She reached to touch him, but the thought of her tracing such a dark part of his life was alarming, so he captured her hand, halting her movement. Her eyes snapped to his.

“It’s the price I pay for every life I’ve taken by bargaining with the Fates. I carry them with me. These are their life threads, burned into my skin. Is this what you want on your conscience, Persephone?”

She wrested her hand from his hold, cradling it against her chest, though her eyes still trailed the fine lines on his skin.

“What good is being the God of the Dead if you can’t do anything?” She sounded very much defeated as she looked away and took a shuddering breath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

He gave a humorless laugh. “You meant it,” he said, one hand pressing against her cheek so she would look at him once more. “I know you don’t want to understand why I can’t help, and that’s okay.”

“I just…don’t know what to do,” she whispered.

“Lexa isn’t gone, yet you mourn her. She may recover.”

“Do you know that for certain? That she will recover?”

“No.”

He saw no reason to lie. The truth was, even Lexa did not know yet. He wished he could offer more comfort. He knew she wanted it, but in the face of death, there were no words that would ease her pain.

Finally, she rested her head against his chest, and her body felt heavy against his, as if she were finally giving over this burden—at least for now. He took her into his arms and teleported to the Underworld, to his chamber, where he laid her to rest on his bed.

“Do not fill your thoughts with the possibilities of tomorrow,” he said and kissed her forehead, letting his magic send her into a deep, unbothered sleep, hoping she would actually rest, so he could slip away to the palace of the Fates.

He appeared in a flurry of shadows and smoke that peeled away and led him to the Library of Souls where he found the Fates at work. It appeared that Clotho was spinning gold threads, and they glimmered in the air, crisscrossing the breadth of the space. While she worked, Lachesis stood at the center, holding open a large book into which the thread was burrowing, while Atropos waited with her scissors.

Just as she began to cut, Lachesis spoke, “No, no, no, you mustn’t end it there!”

“You are the allotter of life. I am the manner of death,” Atropos said. “I will end this life where I want!”

“You are far too humane,” Lachesis said. “This man has lived an inhospitable life. He should die the same.”

“Trauma is hardly pleasant.”

“It is merciful. Much better to die by disease.”

“Why let him die at all?” Hades asked. “Perhaps the greater torture is continuing to live an unfavorable life?”

The three snapped their heads in his direction, though with Lachesis distracted, Atropos cut the thread. As she snipped, the end turned black and curled, disappearing into the book. Lachesis slammed the book closed and launched it at her sister. The Fate caught it and tossed it back, but before it could hit, Hades wrenched it from the air, and as it landed in his palm, the three glared.

“What do you want, Rich One?” Lachesis snapped.

“Why have you—?”

“Lexa Sideris,” Hades said, cutting Atropos off. “Is she the soul you chose to complete the bargain?”

The Fates had said that Briareus’s life would cost him dearly. Lexa’s death would have consequences that echoed far beyond Persephone’s relationship with the mortal. After tonight, it was clear it would also impact Persephone’s relationship with him.

“A mortal in exchange for an immortal?” asked Atropos.

“That is hardly fair, Lord of the Dead,” said Clotho.

“Completely unreasonable,” agreed Lachesis.

“No, dear king, the end of Briareus’s life must give life to another immortal. That is the bargain we’ve struck.”

There was a part of him that felt relief at hearing he was not responsible for Lexa’s accident and subsequent limbo, but a new anxiety filled him at the prospect of an immortal life being born or taken as a result of Briareus’s death, though he always knew it was a possibility.

As much as he wanted to ask them who—which immortal they had chosen—he knew the question was futile.

“Do not fret, Good Counselor,” said Clotho.

“Your bargain with Briareus,” said Lachesis.

“Will only ruin your life,” said Atropos.