Chapter 44

Stefan was only about fifteen feet from the bridge when his heart squeezed so hard that he stumbled—and a wave of blackness rushed up to shrink his sight down to a pinhole. He gasped and went down on one knee, his hands coming up automatically to his chest, as if he could rip out the offending organ and throw it into the ocean. Everything hurt—his breathing, his blood, his muscles and bones—and he pitched forward again, nearly sprawling this time before catching himself.

"Ambassador Mihal!" He vaguely heard the alarmed cry of the sailor, the familiar sound of his own name refocusing him…and suddenly he knew.

"Get away!" He snarled, and surged up so quickly, turning with his arms outstretched, that the small knot of men who were coming to his aid abruptly fell back. His sight cleared, his heart beat freely, but he took no solace in that. For the pain to go away so abruptly, could only mean one thing.

"Nicki."

With the speed allowed only to the fastest of demigods, servants and soldiers of the winged god himself, Stefan raced below decks, so fast he may as well be flying until he reached Nicki's stateroom. He bypassed the lock with a wave of his hand, gaining entry with the skill that had proven useful many times throughout his long years of service to the Crown.

But when he pounded into Nicki's suite and he couldn"t see her right away, panic seized him anew. He couldn"t sense her, couldn"t feel her. He hadn"t realized how much of a presence she had become in his own waking awareness until now, when she"d been ripped away unexpectedly.

"Nicki!" He shouted, but there was no response, and it took another second for him to hear the water of the shower running. He didn"t hesitate further. He sprinted forward, yanking open the bathroom door, and stepping into the steam-filled chamber. Nicki was slumped against the wall of the shower, motionless, water raining over her.

Stefan lunged for her. Sweeping up her compact form in his arms, he whirled back toward the bedroom. Before he'd even completed the full turn, he whispered "Fly," and dropped into the Underworld.

Darkness flooded around him, hugged him close, and he felt the passage of earth and time speed by him, plunging through the planes of existence. The fact that it was so easy gave him no relief. Among his many roles, Hermes was a psychopomp, a ferryman of the souls of the dead across the River Styx. But Nicki wasn't—couldn't be dead. She'd just been examined by a doctor! She'd been cleared. She'd been...

The world around him abruptly brightened, blackness turning to shadows, shadows giving way to rolling mist. He landed in a crouch, Nicki still huddled close to his body, then straightened and turned. At first he could see no one, and he threw his head back in a defiant roar.

"You will not take her, Hades. Not yet!"

"Won't I?"

The response was heavy, cold, and sneering. Stefan turned again to see a large, hulking figure coalesce from the rolling mists, a dark form against the shifting grays. The landscape of the Underworld never got more visible than this, in Stefan's experience, but then again—he'd never had an occasion to spend much time down here. He wasn't planning on doing so now.

Hades drew more sharply into form. His broad, muscular frame was clad in a long robe of inky black over an equally dark tunic and pants. His stark, chiseled features, etched with the harshness of his realm, betrayed not even a hint of concession. Hades met Stefan's gaze across the open space, while in Stefan's arms, a tiny spark of energy stirred within Nicki.

Stefan's knees nearly turned to water. She still lived. He realized for the first time that some small part of him had feared he was already too late.

Hades' smile was cruel, his black, gold-rimmed eyes glittering. "You come down here to my realm, making your demands," he mocked, his words almost a drawl. "Do you know how many demands like this I hear every day? Year after year, millennia after millennia? Why should I grant yours, demigod? You of all people know that human lives are short. They were born so that they die."

"Not her. Not now." Not ever on his watch, if he had anything to say about it.

"Most especially her," Hades countered. "She was given the gift of fragility in this lifetime. She should have taken better care, stewarded her resources. Instead, she did the opposite, stretched too far, too often. Laughed in the face of death." He gestured around him. "My face. Eventually, there's a price to pay for such boldness."

"Not your face," Stefan insisted, willing the tiny leaping flame of Nicki's consciousness to keep flickering, to get stronger. He tightened his hold around her. "If anything, unlike most mortals, she honored you when we discussed your rule—as you well know, I suspect." The tiny shift in Hades's expression told Stefan that he'd guessed correctly. Good. He would be more than happy to tug any lever, push any button in this conversation to get what he wanted.

He pushed on. "What she fights is the fear that's taken down those around her. She fights to live, so that she can do and be everything possible in her life. Unlike most mortals, she fully understands her frailty, or her potential for it, anyway. But also, unlike most mortals, she pushes against it every day, not willing to let it define her until it absolutely needs to. She's bold, yes. She's brash. But she isn't foolish. She takes what precautions she can, then she uses her body to its outer limits, to strengthen it however she can to protect the parts of it that aren't so strong. You could let the cup of mortality pass her this once, should you choose. The fates of mortals aren't written in stone, but in a fabric that's constantly being rewoven. We both know it."

"What I know and what I care about are two different things." Hades shrugged, his gaze once again stony with cynicism. "Humans die."

A surge of panic clawed up the back of Stefan's throat. The gods wanted nothing more than to be feted and honored, and he had never taken the time to honor Hades. Few did. Among all the major gods, Hades had the fewest demigods that agreed to serve him as his emissaries on earth. Would Hades take his anger over that out on him, a mortal who'd spent so many years in service to another god? "This one doesn't have to, not right now," he said.

"Doesn't she though?" Hades's smile was as cruel as his tone. "You gatekeepers have grown smug in your role of guarding the world from us, and arguably, you should. We're the ones who gave up our freedom to roam your world all those centuries ago. We were tired, and we yearned for the separation, the retreat. You built your walls stronger than we expected you to. But if you choose to separate yourself from the pitfalls of our involvement in your lives, why do you think you can pick and choose the graces that we might bestow upon you? Your very ability to stand here and have this conversation is an example of that grace. Is it not enough? Do you pretend to know how the fabric of existence will be woven if I allow the fire of this one woman to burn on in your world instead of mine?" He gestured lazily at the swirling mists surrounding them. "You can't deny that she"d bring brightness to a place that sorely needs it. Perhaps I deserve that brightness more than you."

Fury boiled through Stefan. "I have given my life several times over in service to the gods. I do so willingly, by my choice. You can take anything you want from me, Hades. But you can"t take her simply because you crave her light. It's not yet her time."

"And I say again, how do you know? Perhaps her death is exactly the next stitch that is required. But come." Hades once again waved an indolent hand. "Lay her down more comfortably, and we can discuss this like civilized Olympians. You can't keep clutching her to you like she's a prized goat. Give the woman some air."

"Not hardly," Stefan scoffed back, redoubling his hold on Nicki. No self-respecting demigod of Hermes would miss this trap. "She won't grace your realm with so much as a footfall until it"s by her choice—whether a deliberate choice or the consequence of the choices she makes. That's only fair, Hades."

"And I'm supposed to get lectured about fairness from the demigod of liars?" Hades squared his shoulders, his form growing thicker, heavier, until he appeared nearly seven feet tall to Stefan's eyes. The mists surrounding him rolled back further, and Stefan caught a glimpse of Hephaestus's forge behind Hades, a fire burning within it, a slab of thick stone to the right. "I should rip your tongue out and have Hephaestus forge a new one for you of lead. He owes me a favor, and he'd do it the second I asked."

"Hades, I?—"

"Stefan."

Stefan jerked his gaze down to see Nicki, beautiful Nicki staring up at him, her green eyes bright with tears, her red hair wild from the damp heat of the Underworld. The face that had been etched into his mind so sharply he didn't think he could ever live without it broke into a shaky smile, and her eyes searched his, seeming to focus and steady as he willed his strength into her. Her lips trembled, and a long breath gusted out. She shifted in his arms.

"Please, set me down," she said. "I…have a request to make of Hades."