19

19

Loopholes

I don’t know what I was expecting, but the room Hades pointed me toward is distinctly feminine, mostly in creams set against antique wood furniture with pops of lavender in the form of blankets and artwork. Through the wide-open door to the bathroom, I spy a massive claw-foot tub and actually sigh out loud.

The Order’s den only has a few communal bathrooms shared by all of us with single-stall showers so narrow, I bump my elbows against the walls when I wash my hair or shave my legs, and they regularly have no hot water.

This is luxury. My reward for surviving a shitty day.

I toss the tiara on the bed, strip off the clothes that were never mine to begin with, and within minutes, I’m soaking in beautiful bliss. Heaven.

My muscles, already turning sore from my sprint up the stairs in Olympus, release in the hot water like they are sighing, too. Under the bubbles scented with jasmine and vanilla, I trace the bruises cropping up in interesting purple stripes from my belly flop on those stairs.

“I’m lucky I didn’t break something.” I drop my head back against the rim of the tub.

Being banged up isn’t a whole lot better. The first official Labor is tomorrow, and I’m going in damaged while the other champions are in perfect health. Terrific.

What did I ever do to the Fates, anyway?

Eventually, the water cools, and I force myself to get out of the tub. I pause in the doorway at the sight of lavender pajamas—modest, with long pants and a short-sleeve shirt and even a bralette and underwear—folded and waiting neatly on the bed. The other clothes are gone, but the tiara is still there.

I shake my head. “Hades is a good host. Who knew?”

It isn’t until I’m dressed and pulling back the covers that I finally take a good look at the tiara as I pick it up to move it off the bed. I go marble statue–still, staring at the thing.

“It can’t be…”

Black gold, it is designed to look like butterfly wings spreading from a black jeweled center. The wings are dotted with black diamonds and pearls. And that’s what I’m staring at.

Because the black pearls with their hint of pink are familiar. Too familiar.

I count, then count again.

That’s what I was afraid of. There are exactly six.

I execute an about-face a soldier would admire and march out of my bedroom and through the penthouse. I stop in the middle of the living room, not sure where to go. The sound of a blender, of all things, whirs from off to my left, and I follow it to find Hades in the kitchen. His hair is damp from a shower, that errant pale lock curling on his forehead instead of brushed back. He’s changed into jeans and a faded blue T-shirt that’s seen better days that reads, “Sure, you can pet my dog.”

If I wasn’t still thrown by the tiara, I’d laugh because his dog is Cerberus, the three-headed hellhound who notoriously doesn’t like anyone.

Also, Hades is barefoot.

I mean, so am I, but he’s a god. I have never, in my entire life, pictured gods or goddesses barefoot. In a kitchen, no less.

He glances up. “Smoothie?”

What alternate dimension have I fallen into? I shake my head.

“Help yourself to any food in the fridge, then.” He waves a hand.

Just like we’re regular people. Sharing a space like it’s no big deal. But it is. It’s a big deal to me. I’m not entirely sure how to handle this Hades, who is suddenly all solicitous courtesy, which feels wrong coming from him, like wearing clothes that are a size too small. “Don’t do that.”

He frowns. “Do what?”

“The polite-charm thing.”

“It’s how I put others at ease,” he says.

The god of death tries to put others at ease? There’s a disturbing thought. “Are you sure that actually works?”

“I was until now,” he mutters.

We’re getting off topic. I jerk my hand up to show him the tiara. “Tell me these pearls aren’t what I think they are.”

He glances at the tiara, then goes back to making his smoothie. “They are.”

“Why would you—” I stop, then start again. “What possible reason could you—”

“They might help you.” He says this as casually as if he’s listing off the foods in the fridge.

I lower the tiara to my side. “You already gave me my two gifts. You’re not allowed to give more.”

“I gave you the tiara before the Daemones said I could no longer help you, and it’s not a gift. It’s clothing.”

That’s a flimsy loophole if I’ve ever heard one, and thieves are good at loopholes.

I frown. “So the pearls can help me?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“If I don’t tell you, then it’s definitely not a gift. Just a mystery you figured out on your own.”

I stare at him, something finally sinking in with me that should have much sooner. “You know all the loopholes. Don’t you?”

His eyes crinkle at the corners, though his lips don’t lift. “I decline to answer on the grounds that my words might incriminate me.” Then he turns the blender on, filling the kitchen with noise.

In other words, he does.

I drop onto a stool at the large island, across from where he’s standing. “But…these are Persephone’s,” I point out the second the blender stops.

He doesn’t react to her name like I semi-expect—get all scowly, broody, don’t say her name or else, and so forth. Instead, he shrugs. “They can’t help her now.”

Help her? Legend says he used them to trap her in the Underworld with him, not help her. Right? A thousand questions circle in my head like dogs chasing their tails. But I don’t utter a single one. For once. It’s none of my business.

“They are yours now,” he says.

Mine. My pearls that do something that used to help Persephone. What did the stories say about hers? I mean, to start with, they were pomegranate seeds. “Do I eat them?”

His eyebrows lift slowly in…is that reluctantly impressed from the god of death? “I can’t tell you,” he says.

So, yes, I eat them.

“I thought only four were left.”

He shakes his head. “Mortals always get details wrong.”

No surprise there.

I try to think. “Persephone’s pomegranate seeds kept her in the Underworld.” I’m talking to myself now, turning the tiara this way and that. “Or…maybe they took her there? And I’m protected in the Underworld.” That has to be it?

I glance directly into silver-bright eyes studying me in a manner that makes me want to look away. He’s too intense. Too…him.

“Am I close?” I ask.

“You’re definitely quick, but you’ll have to wait and find out.”

I battle back the warmth of a blush. “Why do I need protection?”

He shrugs. “You seem to gravitate toward danger.” His pause hangs in the air.

Jackass.

But I know I’m close, at least. A way to escape a Labor? Or to protect myself when we’re in Olympus. Does it matter? Twelve Labors, though, and only six seeds. I’d better save these puppies for near-death experiences.

He finishes making his smoothie and carries it into the living room, where he turns on the TV. “Here,” he says. “You should study your competitors.”

I follow him and realize he’s turned on the news coverage of the opening ceremonies. Already the mortal newscasters are discussing and showing clips of the worldwide festivities, the gods, and, of course, their champions, whose stats they are starting to list as they question who we are and why we were chosen.

My face flashes up on the screen—an image of me with a mulish scowl standing at Hades’ side in the temple.

“They haven’t found anything on you yet beyond your pledge name,” he says, sounding satisfied.

They won’t. My existence was erased when the Order took me in, and they are very good at what they do.

“Lyra Keres is a mystery,” the commentator says, “but I think the bigger mystery is why Hades has joined this Crucible.”

I’m staring at the screen, and the words just sort of fall out. “Why me?”

He turns the sound down. “I picked you because when we met, despite being afraid, you didn’t back down or cower, even from a god.” He rests his head back against the couch cushion as if he’s suddenly weary. “Especially from the god of death.”

I’ve seen the way others cower and avoid him. Even the gods, whose fear-filled gazes glaze with a curious kind of desire. I know what he must feel. Not the being-feared part, but being isolated even in a crowd.

Still, did he seriously pick me because he thought I might actually have a chance? Not to punish me, but because he liked my…what? Sass?

A sharp laugh bursts from me. There’s probably an edge of agitation to it, but I don’t really care. “Felix always said my big mouth would get me in big trouble someday.”

“Felix?” he asks.

“My boss in the Order.”

“I see.” His gaze settles on me in a way that makes me want to shift my weight on my feet.

I’m not entirely sure I believe him about his reason for picking me as his champion, but it’s something, I guess. But the fact that he wanted someone who wouldn’t back down from gods is concerning.

“You’re sure you can remove my curse if I win?” I ask.

He nods.

I think about that. I’ve never let myself picture a future without it. If I’m honest, I’ve never let myself picture a future beyond my next meal, really. Not because I worried I’d die at any moment—our lives in the Order weren’t that precarious. There just wasn’t any reason to dwell on what could never be.

I settle onto the other end of the couch and tuck my feet under my legs. “What kind of games?”

“What?”

“The games I am oh so honored to play on your behalf. What are we talking about here? I’m guessing a rousing round of Tiddlywinks is unlikely.”

“Each contest is planned well in advance, lodged with the Daemones, and can’t be changed after the Labors start. And the nature of each isn’t revealed until that god or goddess’s turn.”

Why did that feel like a cagey answer? “What about in the past? What were those like?”

He doesn’t answer right away, like he’s considering how much to tell me. “They vary.”

Vague. “Give me broad strokes, then.”

“I admit I haven’t paid close attention in the past.”

What? “Then why…” Forget it. He’s already answered that equally vaguely. “I’m a planner. I’ll do better if I know what to expect.”

“They will likely be themed around the god or goddess’s virtue and their particular powers.”

Which reminds me… “What virtue will I be associated with?”

Hades cocks one brow at me. “Do you find me virtuous, then?”

Okay, I guess that answers that question.

“What else?” I ask.

He thinks for a minute. “Some will be things like solving puzzles.”

Hmmm…puzzles…depends on the kind, but okay.

“I’ve seen some that are like solving a mystery or rescuing an innocent in peril.”

Cool. Cool. Cool. So far, not so bad.

“A few obstacle courses.”

I wasn’t the best at that during training, but I wasn’t the worst, either.

“And some will be like the labors,” he tacks on.

So I was right about that? “Like fighting hydras and holding up the world for Atlas. Catching a giant boar. Those kinds of labors?” My voice rises as I talk. I’m doing a lot of that today.

He shrugs.

“Gods don’t die,” I point out, anger creeping into my voice, “and demigods are hard to kill.”

“What’s your point?”

The anger bubbles hotter, spiking my blood. “Mortals can’t respawn or use another life or just restart the damned game.” I pick up a pillow off the couch and hurl it at him.

It hits him right in the face before dropping to the floor. He stares at it like he’s never seen a pillow before, then slowly lifts his gaze to mine. I’m expecting smoldering fury, but he only looks confounded.

It’s probably been never since anyone pitched a pillow at Hades. “You’re an ass, just like the rest of them.”

His eyebrows lift, and then his expression and voice soften ever so slightly. “You’ll be fine, Lyra. I will stay by your side through it all.”

He’s not allowed to interfere, which means I’ll be guaranteed an audience at my death. Splendid.

“You’re unbelievable.” I snarl the words.

His smile turns teasing. “You finally noticed?”

Oh. My. Gods. I’m going to kill him if I don’t leave now.

Taking my tiara with me, I cross the living room in the direction of my bedroom, muttering every colorful expletive I learned in the Order along the way.

I’m halfway there when I hear a sinfully amused chuckle. Of course Hades could laugh in the face of certain death. Too bad it’s my looming demise he finds so humorous.