Chapter XXVI

Chapter XXVI

Survival of the Fittest

Later, they dressed, and Hades sent Hermes to summon Demeter.

“I think you just want her to disfigure my face,” Hermes said. “She will bite my head off when I tell her you’ve commanded her appearance in the Underworld.”

“Then don’t tell her Hades sent for her,” Persephone replied. “Tell her I command it.”

Hermes smiled at that. “Will do, Sephy,” he said and left the Underworld.

“Are you nervous?” Hades asked as they walked, hands linked, to the throne room, where they would receive her mother. Hades thought it was the second-best option, the first being their bedchamber, though Persephone had shot that idea down. And to be honest, he looked forward to witnessing this—Persephone looking radiant in her Divine form, wrapped in a white peplos, being who she was meant to be, a goddess and queen.

“No,” she said and looked at him, and as their eyes met, a warm smile spread across her face. It felt like a long time since she had looked at him that way, and it made his throat feel tight. “Not with you by my side.”

His lips curled, and he squeezed her hand. It was all he could manage for the moment. Anything else and he would pull her to him, kiss her, and he wouldn’t stop.

“Remember what I taught you in the meadow,” he said.

“With your hands or your mouth?” she countered, breathless.

“Both,” he said. “If it helps you with your magic. Plus, I will take great pleasure in knowing you are thinking of my mouth while you put your mother in her place.”

They entered the throne room, which while dark was not cast in the red light that had made Persephone’s wounds look so much worse. Instead, his halls were brightened by the glow of Hecate’s lampades.

Leuce already waited at the base of the steps to the dais where Hades once sat alone, where two thrones now stood—his a jagged obsidian and Persephone’s a smooth ivory embellished with gold and florals. When Persephone saw it, she looked at him.

“You missed an opportunity, Lord Hades.”

He quirked a brow in question.

“I could have sat on your lap.”

He grinned as he helped her up the steps, and as Persephone turned, he asked, “Is that a suggestion or a request, my queen?”

“Something to consider,” she replied. “For next time, perhaps. I fear we may have pushed my mother too far with our request.”

“She has little power here, my darling.” Hades guided her to sit and did the same.

“Stand beside me, Leuce,” said Persephone, and as she did, the nymph shook.

Persephone frowned. His goddess had far more sympathy for Leuce than he did, though he was not surprised. It was in her nature, but Persephone also knew what it was to live beneath the constant and critical eye of Demeter.

“She will lash out,” Leuce said, her voice trembling. “I am sure of it.”

“Oh, I expect it,” Persephone replied with no hint of dread in her voice. “She is my mother.”

There was a strange anticipation to this, one that wasn’t unpleasant but almost freeing. Hades wanted this, he realized: to present to Persephone’s mother united, to show her they were stronger than her ploys and games.

“Hermes has returned,” Hades informed them when he felt the god’s magic erupt. It was like sweet citrus and fresh linen, clean and crisp, and it mingled with Demeter, who should smell like a rotting corpse flower but instead smelled like fragrant wildflowers.

The doors at the end of the room yawned open, and Demeter strolled in ahead of Hermes with a confidence that faltered. The air grew heavy and charged with her anger. It had been a while since Hades had looked upon the goddess, though he noted nothing about her had changed, except that perhaps she appeared far more resentful than before.

Hades wondered if she’d thought she had been summoned to retrieve her daughter, only to find her sitting at his side, a queen to his king. Her stony gaze slid from him to Persephone, bitter with contempt.

“What is this about?” she demanded, and there was a sharpness to her voice that Hades imagined Demeter had often used with Persephone, but if it had frightened her before, it did not now.

“My friend tells me you have threatened her,” Persephone said, and Leuce shook beneath the attention.

“You would believe your lover’s whore over me?”

“That is unkind,” Persephone said with an edge to her voice. “Apologize.”

“I will do no such—”

“I said ‘ apologize .’” Persephone’s voice echoed throughout the chamber, and Demeter hit the ground with a loud crack.

Hades knew Demeter had felt Persephone’s magic rise but had not considered it a threat, which was evident in her stunned expression as she knelt on the floor before them.

Her shock quickly melted into fury, however, and when she spoke, the air vibrated with her animosity.

“So this is how it will be?”

“You could end your humiliation,” Persephone said. “Just…apologize.”

It was difficult for Hades to remain stoic when he had never watched anything more entertaining in his entire life than this—Demeter on her knees in his realm, seething.

At Persephone’s suggestion, Demeter’s lips had gone pale and pinched.

“Never.”

Demeter attempted to rise and sent her power barreling outward, a tremor that was likely an attempt to both break Persephone’s hold and call forth some kind of destructive magic. Whatever it was never manifested. Persephone managed to hold Demeter in place on the broken ground, and Hades’s magic lay in wait, ready to defend if hers failed.

Against Demeter’s suffocating wave of magic, Persephone rose and advanced on her mother, who had not relented in her efforts to break Persephone’s hold. As she drew nearer, her magic grew stronger and heavier, and it sank Demeter farther into the ground as if it were soft earth and not stone.

“I see you have learned a little control, Daughter,” Demeter said, allowing her magic to dissipate. Hades noted that it left her body shaking, and he wondered if the goddess was frightened.

He was.

Not of Persephone, but for her.

He thought of the power she had displayed in Tartarus. Her anguish had fueled that magic. It had overpowered him . Now she had managed to overpower Demeter.

It was an ominous prospect, a dreadful one, given that if she was a threat to them, she was a threat to anyone—to Zeus—and his brother liked to dispose of threats.

“All you’ve ever had to do was say you were sorry,” Persephone said quietly, but there was a power to her voice that commanded attention. “We could have had each other.”

“Not when you’re with him.”

Demeter spoke with venom. He had always known the Goddess of Harvest would not approve of a union between him and Persephone, but she took it a step further by refusing to have a relationship with her, all because of her choice.

“I feel sorry for you,” Persephone said at last. “You would rather be alone than accept something you fear.”

“You’re giving up everything for him.”

“No, Mother, Hades is just one of many things I gained when I left your prison.”

As those words left her mouth, she took a step back, and the hold she had over Demeter broke. The release was sudden, and it was clear Demeter had not been prepared, because she nearly hit the ground when it no longer held her up.

Hades watched the goddess stare up at her daughter with no hint of affection in her face, and his heart twisted painfully. He knew he would never fully understand what it meant to live beneath the reign of such a mother—one who could turn her love on and off at will—but he imagined it had left Persephone feeling very unworthy, and it was likely why she had so much doubt when it came to their relationship.

Sometimes he forgot the baggage she carried, forgot that her need for reassurance did not necessarily mean she had doubts, only that she needed comfort, and this was why.

It made him resent Demeter even more.

“Look upon me once more, Mother, because you will never see me again.”

Demeter’s expression changed, and a faint smile curled her lips. Hades did not like it, and he did not like what she said next.

“My flower. You are more like me than you realize.”

Hades watched Persephone closely, and at her mother’s words, he noted how her back stiffened and her fingers curled. As much as he hated those words, he knew that she feared their truth.

You are not like her. You never will be , he thought.

Demeter vanished, but the silence felt heavy with her presence. It was Leuce who broke it, taking a few cautious steps before she hurried to Persephone, throwing her arms around her.

“Thank you, Persephone.”

The goddess hugged her back, and despite the smile on her face, Hades knew she was changed by this.

Hades’s gaze slid to Hermes, who still lingered in the room. When their eyes met, he knew they had both reached an understanding about what had occurred here.

Demeter was no longer Persephone’s family. They were, and they would do anything to protect her, to give her what she never had—even in the face of war.

* * *

While Persephone seemed more confident in the days following her encounter with her mother, she was also more anxious. Hades knew that was mostly due to Lexa, who remained in the hospital for another two weeks. Despite Persephone’s happiness upon her release, he worried she expected things to go back to normal . He was not certain she understood that she lived in a new world, one where Lexa would never be as she once was.

“Do you think Lexa will be able to attend the gala?” Persephone had asked one evening while they sat in the library.

The upcoming gala was hosted by the Cypress Foundation and would illustrate the impact of its charity work. Before Lexa’s accident, she had a role in planning the event, and while Hades would like Lexa to be present, he didn’t know if she was prepared for such an intense evening, and he said as much to Persephone.

She was quiet for a long moment, and when she spoke, her voice was thick with emotion. “How long do you think? Until she’s…”

Her voice trailed off, but he knew what she wanted to ask. How long until she’s normal again?

He rose and came to kneel before her, their eyes level.

“Darling,” he said quietly.

“I know,” she said, tears already streaming down her face. “You don’t have to say it.”

So he didn’t.

While he’d have liked to have his attention solely on Persephone, he couldn’t. Since the death of the Graeae, Hades had Ilias attempting to track Theseus’s contacts in the black market. His goal was to discover what relics the demigod had managed to obtain or might be seeking. Hades also had to deal with Hera, but first, he needed to make Zeus aware of what had happened to the Graeae. He wasn’t yet prepared to tell Zeus of Hera’s alliance with Theseus…unless she refused his ultimatum.

Hades found Zeus at his estate in Olympia, which was a modern version of Olympus. The gods had homes in both locations, even Hades, though he was loath to use them. The God of the Sky was in his backyard, a golf club clasped between his enormous hands as he attempted to hit a small white ball by twisting his entire body around. The first few swings sent grass and dirt flying across the lawn. When he finally hit the ball, it sounded like thunder as it tore through the air, zooming far past the flagged target in the distance. It likely landed in the ocean and belonged to Poseidon.

Zeus growled in frustration, an indication that the club in his hands was likely to follow wherever the ball landed.

“Starting a new hobby?” Hades asked, making himself known.

Zeus whirled, the scowl darkening his bearded face turning to one of jovial surprise, though Hades knew it was likely not because his brother was glad to see him. There was an art to Zeus’s demeanor, and he crafted it carefully so that no one knew his true thoughts or feelings.

“Brother,” Zeus boomed. “To what do I owe this great honor?”

“I have brought you something,” Hades said, though as he reached into his pocket to retrieve the box that held the eye of the Graeae, his stomach knotted. There was a part of him that wanted to hold on to the eye, but a greater part of him needed this leverage for his future with Persephone.

While Hades was still not certain how the eye worked—or even if the vision it had shown him was true—giving Zeus anything with relative power made him anxious. Not to mention the eye was sentient. Would it resent him for this exchange? Would it retaliate by showing Zeus something that would destroy his whole world?

As Hades handed Zeus the box, he said, “I fear I have bad news to accompany it. I found the Graeae dead. They were killed by a hydra blood–tipped blade. I fear it may be the first of many attempts on the lives of the Divine.”

Zeus stared down at the open, black box before snapping it shut and resting his hands atop the club.

“Who was responsible?”

“I suspect this is the work of Triad.”

Zeus did not speak, but Hades knew how he felt about the organization of Impious. As much as he hated them, he did not see them as a true threat.

“We should call Council,” Hades suggested.

“No,” Zeus said suddenly.

Hades glared. “No? You’ve called Council for less.”

Including Helios’s cows.

“For what purpose would I call Council?”

“To warn other gods,” Hades said, angry.

“The Graeae were blind,” Zeus said. “They were at a disadvantage. You do not honestly think another god could fall prey to this parlor trick?”

“Parlor trick? The Graeae are dead, Zeus.”

Hades did not know how often he would need to say this before Zeus understood. The Graeae—Divine beings—had been murdered.

“You cannot honestly think Triad will stop with these three deaths? They will try again, and they will seek more ways to replicate what they’ve done.”

“And who will they target next? Hephaestus, perhaps? Aphrodite will likely thank them.”

Hades ground his teeth until his jaw popped. “So this is your response? To the death of deities?”

Hades usually operated without expectation of his brother, but he had failed to do so here. He had thought the King of the Gods, the one responsible for the well-being of everyone and everything on Earth, would be appalled by the death of the Graeae. Instead, he seemed to think Triad had somehow granted a kindness to the three sisters.

Zeus looked at Hades and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Do not worry, Brother. If it were you, I’d call Council in an instant.”

Hades imagined that was meant to be some kind of compliment and shoved his brother’s hand away.

“Action doesn’t matter once you’re dead, Zeus.”

“If deities are dying, then perhaps they have no business being Divine,” Zeus replied, once more returning to his practice—widening his feet, gripping his club, and manifesting a white ball. He swung and hit the ball with a crack that echoed through the air, shielding his eyes to see how far it flew, but it was already out of sight. Hades wanted to tell him he was supposed to aim for the red flag in the distance, but he had a feeling his brother had decided to play differently—especially when he could not play right.

“It’s survival of the fittest, Hades,” Zeus said at last. “Always has been, always will be.”