Myths of Immortality (The Sphinx Book 3)

by Wagner, Raye

  He was telling her the things she’d told him when Athan had been with Isa.

  Hope’s eyes lit up. “My mom?”

  Silence fell as they waited. Mere seconds later, Hope gasped. “I remember! I remember my mom . . . and I met my dad.” Her brow furrowed. “What did they say? Are they okay?”

  Athan glanced at Xan, who nodded. “She’s fine. They’re happy, even.”

  Relief washed over her face and then peaceful acceptance. “I remember. She is happy, and she’s with my dad. I came about the curse.” She turned to Athan and asked, “What did I learn?”

  Athan looked to Xan, but this time he shook his head.

  Hope followed Athan’s gaze, and her smile brightened. “Xan, I’m so glad you’re here.”

  He sat on the edge of her bed. He reached forward and grabbed a lock of her hair, twisting it around his fingers. “You remember me now, lass?”

  She laughed. “Of course. How’s Dahlia? Did she come, too?”

  Xan stopped. “She’s not here, luv. But she sends her well wishes.”

  Hades stepped between them all. “Your time is almost up. Better make it quick.”

  Hope’s gaze fell on the gods, and her jaw tightened.

  Xan took a deep breath. “You need to go to Olympus. You found out something about the curse while you were here, and you need to confront Apollo. And make sure you get justice, or have justice with you, when you confront him.”

  Hope drew back from the onslaught of information, and Athan wanted to hit Xan for the rapid dump.

  Grimacing, she closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. “What does that mean? Justice? Gods, my head hurts.”

  Xan shrugged helplessly. “That’s what you told me.”

  It was too much, all at once. Athan had no idea why Hope wasn’t screaming at them all to leave. It was almost like the tonic had a sedative in it or something, something that was blunting her emotions.

  Hope bit her lip, her forehead furrowing in concentration. When she looked up, her eyes were full of tears. “It’s like I know it’s right there”—she pointed at her head—“but I don’t remember.” Her gaze went to Hades. “Why don’t I remember? What trauma did I have? You never told me.”

  “You drank from the Lethe,” Hades answered.

  Her expression morphed into horror. “Why would I do that?” She looked at Athan then Xan. Both shook their heads, Xan obviously taking his cue from Athan. She looked up to Hades, again, expectantly.

  He stared down at her, his jaw set.

  Athan knew he should answer. Was it wrong that he didn’t want to tell her?

  “If it was bad enough that you drank from the Lethe, do you really want to remember what it was?” Xan walked over to her and extended his hand. “Even if he knew, Hope”—Xan indicated Hades—“would you really want him to tell you?”

  Hope sucked in her breath. “You knew. All this time . . . You knew I drank from the Lethe, and you didn’t tell me.”

  Xan ran his hand through his hair then turned to Hades. “All this time? It’s been what”—he checked his watch—“twelve hours since they brought her in?”

  Hope glared at the god, and then her eyes dilated. “But . . .” Her jaw dropped. “If I . . . if I drank from the Lethe . . . am I bound to the Underworld?”

  Athan hadn’t planned to tell her. Not yet.

  “No,” Hades said.

  Athan’s vision tunneled. He’d given his heart, and now his life, for her. And she deserved to hear it from him. “I . . . can’t go with you.”

  Hope’s heart stopped. Surely he couldn’t mean . . . “You can’t go with me where?”

  Athan pursed his lips and held up a finger indicating that she wait a minute. She glanced at Xan, but he refused to meet her eyes and instead studied the dark comforter. Hades met her gaze, and his lips curved into a smile. But he, too, obviously was going to let Athan explain.

  Athan blew out a slow breath. “You drank the Lethe . . . and it was my fault. I saw Isabel here. She . . . She was my girlfriend when I was younger. I gave her a hug.”

  He cleared his throat, as if the words were somehow stuck there, and breaking eye contact with her, he dropped his chin to his chest.

  It was preposterous to think that would drive her to jump in the Lethe. She shook her head. Nothing about that made sense.

  In a voice filled with shame, he whispered, “And I kissed her goodbye.”

  She wrinkled her brow. He kissed his dead girlfriend goodbye? That she could believe, although it sounded weird, really. And if she had seen it . . .

  And she remembered. She had gone to the Lethe. She was upset about Athan. But she’d decided not to drink.

  “That wasn’t your fault. I mean, it was your fault that you kissed Isabel, but . . .” It wasn’t like she owned him or that they had some kind of boyfriend-girlfriend exclusivity. She waved her hand. “It wasn’t your fault I fell in.”

  Xan stood with a huff. “Shite. Do you hear yourselves? It was Thanatos that pushed her in. Let it go already. Both of you quit torturing yourselves.”

  Flashes of the thin god of death ran through her mind. “Where is he now?”

  “Tartarus,” Hades answered. “He committed treason and will spend some time with the Furies.”

  More and more of her memory fell into place with the mention of Thanatos, and she wished it were possible to purge those memories. She’d trusted him, and he’d betrayed her. But he’d also warned her about . . .

  Hope sat up in bed. “Why am I not bound then? Why is Athan?”

  “I traded my immortality for yours,” Athan said with a shrug. As if it weren’t the biggest sacrifice one could give.

  “You are bound?”

  He nodded. “At least this way you can go to Olympus and break the curse.”

  Hope couldn’t believe it. Her thoughts raced with the implications and meanings, and rage filled her. Hades had bound her to go to Olympus when he’d known all along that she was already bound to the Underworld. He’d anticipated Athan’s sacrifice. He’d played them all.

  “How dare you?” she spit out through clenched teeth. Oh gods! She thought of her fatigue, her overwhelming exhaustion, and how her sleep had never been enough. Xan said it had only been twelve hours. “You made it seem that I was . . .” She turned to Persephone. “You kept waking me up.”

  At least the goddess had the decency to look away.

  After nearly drowning, they had deprived her of sleep. No wonder her mind had felt so sluggish. Gods! If Atropos hadn’t come, she would’ve promised anything.

  Realization settled slowly like warm honey pouring over her mind, her chest, and then her heart. She smiled and it morphed into a smirk. She turned to the lord of the Underworld. “What did you hope to gain?”

  He pursed his lips, and his eyes narrowed. Leaning toward them, and with a wide smile he said, “Do you mean what did I gain?”

  Unease crept down her spine. There was still too much she couldn’t remember. Had she promised him more?

  As if he couldn’t contain the news, Hades chuckled. “A psychopomp demigod in my realm, and in my control.”

  Her mind stuttered over the words, as if collectively they made no sense. She looked to Athan, waiting for him to refute it.

  “Not in your control,” Athan said with a shake of his head.

  Hope pushed to the side of the bed and leaned toward the god. “No. I don’t think you get anything. You swore on the Styx . . .”

  Hades’s face blanched. “He did not die for you.”

  Indignation flared. Did he think this was a joke? “He gave his life. That was the deal.”

  “We were talking about your guardian.”

  Hope’s heart galloped and jumped in her chest. Her stomach clenched. This could not be happening! She looked around the room in a panic for help, but not one person, or god here, could make Hades keep his word. Her gaze landed on the bedside table on a familiar-looking yellow tome.

  She reached for the book. �
�What about Priska? How will you return her to the mortal realm?”

  Hades shrugged. “The Fates,” he said with an indication of the book she now held, “will remove her immortal thread. They will find a way to make her strong enough to live without it.”

  As if on cue, the air shimmered and the three youthful-appearing goddesses stood in the room. They were each dressed in traditional chitons of vibrant red, the long flowing skirts puddled on the ground. Clotho was bent over her knitting needles, and Atropos held her elbow. Lachesis wore a leather messenger bag across her chest and held her measuring rod as if a walking stick.

  The primordial goddess offered Hope a smile. “You still have Luc’s book.”

  Hope nodded, but she had no idea who Luc was. She took a deep breath and pointed at Hades.

  “He and I had an agreement.” She filled them in on the details, then asked, “Does he actually change the life of a person, or do you?”

  Silence descended upon the room.

  “We change it,” Clotho said, clenching both needles in one hand. She glared at the lord of the Underworld. “I shall have to weave Priska’s thread with that of another’s. It will bind her life there in the mortal realm.”

  “You bind her to another person?”

  Clotho went to the messenger bag and pulled out several feet of a thread the color of midnight. She held up the frayed end, and it was clear there were several threads all connected together. The goddess pulled at a thread from the center, and the rest of the pieces frayed, tangled, or broke. “Her life would not be strong enough on its own to survive.”

  The goddess pulled another thread out, this one a pale silvery white. She knit the two of them together into a sliver of the night sky while she said, “They will do very well together. Her immortality will be gone, but she won’t be quite human. Immortality is not an easy thread to remove.” She finished and put the thread back in the messenger bag. “There now, all done.”

  With her heart in her throat, Hope asked, “What about Athan?”

  Clotho tilted her head.

  Lachesis frowned.

  Atropos winked at Hope with a small smile.

  “I traded my life in exchange for Hope’s freedom. So she wouldn’t be bound here,” Athan said.

  Hades narrowed his eyes.

  Xan chuckled as he studied the Lord of the Underworld. “Damn.”

  “Were those your exact words?” Lachesis asked.

  Athan’s face clouded over as if he were trying to remember.

  “He traded his life in the mortal realm. He didn’t die. He just agreed to stay here in the Underworld and serve me.”

  “No.” Athan’s eyes dilated at Hades’s words. “I never said I would serve you.”

  Lachesis straightened, and the light danced across her skin. Her young face aged, and then she had no face, only a decaying skull with markings similar to what was on her rod. The light faded, and the woman asked, “What were the words?”

  Hades clenched his teeth and said, “He said he would trade his immortality for hers.”

  Clotho grabbed at the air, and a thin book with leather the color of moss appeared in her hands. She opened the tome and read, “If I trade my immortal life for hers, would that meet the demands of your justice? ” She snapped the book closed, and it disappeared. “If he gave up his immortality, the demands of his oath and your justice will be served, Lord Hades.”

  “That was not the understanding,” Hades said, seething. “It was a trade, not a sacrifice.”

  Clotho pursed her lips.

  “Perhaps we should call our sisters to judge betwixt thee?” Lachesis’s lilting speech was laced with bite.

  Their sisters were the Furies. Hope cringed to think of them joining the throng in her now cramped room.

  Athan and Xan both blanched with the threat.

  Hades stepped up to the goddesses, pushing into their space with his dark presence. “This is my realm. You would do well to remember that.”

  The muscles in the god’s neck tightened. His glare made Hope shrink back but did nothing to intimidate the Fates.

  Atropos drew a pair of dusky crystal shears, the light refracted in their cut surface scattering dark rainbows around the room. With an arched brow and a deadly gleam, she volleyed back, “We do not serve thee, Lord Hades. We never have. And even the lives here will be affected by our shears, as you well know.” She put her arms around her sisters. “You would do well to remember that.”

  Hope held her breath.

  “Fine,” Hades said and stepped back from the three sisters. “He will no longer be immortal though.”

  Clotho inclined her blond head. “As you had agreed.”

  The pale goddess went again to the messenger bag. She replaced the dark thread and extracted one the color of buttery jade. She pulled another thread, the color of wheat in the afternoon sun, and deftly wove the two together. It took only seconds but felt like an eternity.

  Hope let her breath out slowly through pursed lips as the weaver of life put the combined thread back into the messenger bag.

  “It is done.”

  Hades pointed at Hope. “This does not change anything between us. You are still to deliver as promised.”

  “I will.” But if she’d learned anything in her time in the Underworld, it was the power of words, and the exactness of their interpretation.

  Hope turned to Athan. Emotions flashed across her face: confusion, horror, pain. “You saved me.”

  He wouldn’t agree to that. He’d done nothing more than what was necessary. And after the pain he’d caused, it was the least he could do. A small token of recompense. “With a lot of help, you will save yourself.” He nodded to Xan.

  Tears filled her eyes. “I . . . I don’t think I deserved that.”

  “It doesn’t matter if you deserved it. It’s what I wanted.” The sacrifice had felt right.

  “It’s a strange thing, love. It can be so selfish and selfless all at the same time.” Hades twisted a pale gold band on his finger. He glanced at his wife.

  Xan extended his hand to Athan.

  Surprise flitted across Athan’s face, but he accepted the outstretched hand, and Xan pulled him in for a brief one-armed hug. Xan then extended his hand and waved Hope toward them. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Athan couldn’t agree more.

  Xan winked at Hope and Athan then turned to Hades. “I’d like to thank you for your hospitality, and I wish I could say it was a pleasure, but . . .” Xan held his hands up. “I can’t.”

  Hades’s demeanor morphed in an instant and surprised them all. His chuckle was deep and long. His frustration seemed to evaporate. “Demigod of war, you are nothing and everything like your father. I wish you the best of luck in your next adventure. And when it is your time to come here to the Underworld, I will be very glad to have you.”

  Xan backed away from the lord of the Underworld. “Right. I still hope that’s not for a very long time.”

  Hades inclined his head. “That’s understandable.”

  Athan watched the discussion unfold with awe. It was like the god was possessed with multiple personalities or something.

  Hope seemed to share all of his thoughts but none of his reserve when she asked, “Are you always like this? All over the board with your . . .” She waved her hands.

  Hades turned his dark eyes on her. “No, Hope.” He drew in a breath before he continued. “I’m much more tolerable, and tolerant, when I have my wife with me. And I calm much more quickly.”

  He turned to Athan. “Your sacrifice speaks volumes about the depth of your feelings.” He looked again at Persephone. “I understand that, and I will give you a promise: no Skia will harm you, ever. As soon as you cross the threshold to the mortal world, your immortality will be gone. Do you understand?”

  Athan nodded. He had known the cost, and looking at Hope, he would do it again. Even with Hades’s gift, part of his soul ached with his loss. But, this wasn’t the end. “I understand.
”

  “There is nothing else here for you,” Hades addressed them all. “You may leave. My guards will see to your safety until you return to the portal.”

  They acknowledged his command and prepared to go. Athan and Xan left to get their backpacks. When they returned to Hope’s room, she was alone, dressed in regular clothes with her hair pulled up in a ponytail, and slipping on a pair of shoes.

  “Well, that’s it then?” Xan asked. He crossed the room but stopped in front of Hope. “Are you ready to go?”

  She nodded, her gaze flitting to Athan.

  He’d hoped she would forgive him. Trust him. That she’d be able to—

  Hope crashed into him, wrapping her arms around him. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry you had to give up your immortality.”

  He wanted to tell her it was okay. That it didn’t matter. But the words would’ve been false. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. Her body molded to his perfectly, and the hole in his chest, the emptiness that had ached ever since he’d woken up, filled with a warmth he’d never felt before.

  “Let’s go home,” he whispered into her hair. He punctuated the words by brushing his lips over her head.

  As they stepped from the room, two Skia flanked them, guiding them out of Hades’s home.

  Hermes met them outside the palace. His hazel eyes were rimmed in red, and worry lined his features and hung heavy from his shoulders. He said nothing as he pulled Athan close and wrapped him in a hug.

  His father’s sorrow hit him like an anvil. “I’m sorry, Dad.” Athan wasn’t even sure what he was apologizing for. He wouldn’t change it. Hope’s freedom was more important than his immortality. But somewhere deep inside, he felt like he’d let his father down.

  “Nothing for you to be sorry about.” Hermes’s voice was thick with emotion. “No matter what, I will always be your father, and I will always love you. If you need anything . . . anything at all, I’ll always be here for you.”

  “Thanks.” And despite the loss, Athan was at peace with it. “I saw Isabel while I was here.”

  “Really?” Expectation flashed across Hermes’s features. “How is she?”