“Hades.” She said his name and then quieted, hesitating.
“Hmm?” He looked up at her and she held his gaze.
“What did you trade for your ability to have children?”
He stiffened and shifted his eyes to the sky. It was something she’d been thinking about since playing in the meadow. One day, after they’d greeted souls at the gates of the Underworld, Hades admitted that he could not give her children because he’d bargained away the ability. She did not know the details, and in that moment, she’d been more concerned about easing his anxiety. He’d seemed to think that this admission would mean the end of their relationship.
But Persephone was not sure she wanted children, and she was no closer to making that decision now even though she asked.
“I gave a mortal woman divinity,” he answered.
The words made her throat feel tight, and her fingers stalled as they threaded through his hair. After a moment, she asked, “Did you love her?”
Hades offered a humorless chuckle. “No. I wish I could claim it was out of love or even compassion,” he answered. “But…I wanted to claim a favor from a god, and so I bargained with the Fates.”
“And they asked for your…our…children?”
This time, Hades rolled into a sitting position, twisting to face her, eyes roaming her face.
“What are you thinking?”
She shook her head. “Nothing. I just…am trying to understand Fate.”
Hades smiled wryly. “Fate does not make sense. That is why it is so easy to blame.”
The corners of her lips turned upward, but only for a moment as she looked away. Her thoughts were muddled as she tried to sort out how exactly Hades’s bargain made her feel.
He reached to brush his fingers along her cheek.
“If I had known—if I’d been given any inkling—I would have never—”
“It’s alright, Hades,” Persephone interrupted. “I did not ask to cause you grief.”
“You did not cause me grief,” he answered. “I think back on that moment often, reflect upon the ease with which I gave up something I would come to wish for, but that is the consequence of bargaining with the Fates. Inevitably, you will always desire what they take. One day, I think, you will come to resent me for my actions.”
“I do not, and I will not,” Persephone said, and she believed that despite a strange feeling knotting her chest. “Can you not forgive yourself as easily as you have forgiven me? We have all made mistakes, Hades.”
He stared at her for a moment and then kissed her, guiding her backward to the pillowy ground. She relaxed beneath his weight and let him devour her mouth with slow, heated strokes. She drew her knees up, caging him between her thighs as she sought his hard length beneath his robes. Once she had him in hand, Hades pulled back to position himself against her heat. She arched against the feel of him thrusting into her. He settled there for a moment, buried deep and filling, kissing her once more before setting a languid pace. Their breaths were slow to quicken, their moans soft, their words whispered, and beneath the starry Underworld sky, they found release and refuge in each other’s arms.
* * *
“Persephone.” The voice was melodic—a soft whisper across skin.
Her breath caught in her throat as hands drifted up her calves. Her fingers fisted in the silk sheets and her back arched, restless, her body still half-buried in sleep.
“You will like it,” he whispered, his lips brushing her lower abdomen. She twisted and wriggled beneath the breathy touch.
“Open for me,” the voice coaxed. The words were a request, but the hands that forced her knees apart were a command.
She wrenched her eyes open, recognizing the sunken face and bleeding eyes staring into hers.
“Pirithous,” she said, hating the way the name sounded and felt in her mouth—a horrible curse that didn’t deserve the breath it took to speak. She screamed, and his bony hand clamped down upon her mouth. He shifted so that he straddled her, his thighs pressing into her body tight.
“Shh, shh, shh, shh, shh!” he cooed, his face bent close to hers, his dark hair caressing her cheek. “I’m not going to hurt you. I will make everything better. You’ll see.”
She clawed at him, and yet he did not seem to notice.
When he pulled his hand away, she could no longer make sound—he had stolen her voice. Her eyes widened and tears spilled down the sides of her face. This was another one of the demigod’s powers.
He offered a horrible grin that seemed to tear across his face.
“There,” he said. “I like you better this way. Like this, I can still hear you moan.”
There was a sour taste in the back of her mouth, and as Pirithous slipped down her body to settle between her thighs, she began to kick and thrash. Her knee rose, hitting Pirithous in the face, and as he fell back, she lurched into a sitting position.
She scurried back, kicking against the mattress until she was pressed into the headboard. Her body felt hot and cold at the same time, her clothes soaked through with sweat. For a moment, she stared blindly into the darkness, her breath ragged—then she noticed a shadow move toward her and she screamed.
“No!” She jerked back, head thudding against the headboard painfully as vines split her skin, sending a bone-shattering pain throughout her whole body. She screamed, the sound piercing even to her own ears.
“Persephone.” Hades’s voice cut through the darkness—and then the hearth blazed to life, flooding the room with light, illuminating the mess she had made of her body and the bed. There was blood everywhere, and thick vines protruded from her arms and shoulders and legs, flaying her skin. When she saw them, she began to sob.
“Look at me,” Hades snapped, and the sound of his voice made her flinch. She met his gaze, her face stained with salty tears.
There was something in his eyes, a glint of panic she had never seen before. It was as if, for a moment, he did not know what to do. He grasped the thorns and they dissolved into dust and ash, then his hands were on her skin, sending warmth and healing through her body. The flesh she had mangled with her magic fused together into a pink puckered line until it smoothed. When he was finished, he stood.
“I will take you to the baths,” he said. “Can I…hold you?”
She swallowed thickly and nodded. He scooped her up gingerly and left the bloodied bed.
They did not speak as Hades wandered down the corridor. The smell of lavender and sea salt was comforting. Instead of taking her to the main pool, Hades navigated along a separate path, down a hall with walls that glistened. As he eased her to her feet, she found that they had come to a smaller room with a round pool. The air was warmer here and the light easier on her tired eyes.
“Can I undress you?” he asked.
She nodded, and yet it took him a moment to move, to slip his fingers under the straps of her bloodied gown and draw it down her arms. His robes followed. He stared at her for a moment and then reached to brush a piece of her hair over her shoulder, and she shivered.
“Do you know the difference?” he asked. “Between my touch and his?”
She swallowed and answered honestly. “When I am awake.”
He paused a long moment before asking, “Can I touch you now?”
“You don’t have to ask,” she answered, and Hades’s jaw tightened.
“I wish to,” he said. “In case you aren’t ready.”
She nodded, and he scooped her up and entered the pool, holding her against him. The blood upon her skin colored the water crimson as it danced away in ribbons. He did not ask about her nightmare, and she didn’t speak until the tension in his body had lessened.
“I don’t understand why I dream about him,” she whispered. Hades stared down at her, frowning. “Sometimes I think back to that day and remember how afraid I was, and other time
s I think I should not be so affected. Others—”
“You cannot compare trauma, Persephone.” Hades’s tone was gentle but firm.
“I just feel like I should have known,” she said. “I should have never—”
“Persephone,” Hades said, his voice gentle, and yet there was an edge beneath it, a frustration that made her eyes burn. “How could you have known? Pirithous presented himself as a friend. He played upon your kindness and compassion. The only person who is wrong here was Pirithous.”
Her mouth began to quiver, and she covered her eyes with her hands. Her body shook hard, and Hades shifted, holding her against his bare skin, her head tucked beneath his chin. She was not sure how long she cried, but they remained in the pool until she was finished. They dressed and returned to bed where Hades poured two glasses of whiskey. He handed one to Persephone.
“Drink,” he said.
She accepted and downed the alcohol.
“Do you wish to sleep?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“Come sit with me,” he said and took a seat beside the fire. He guided her into his lap, and she rested her head against his chest, comforted by the heat at her back and the smell of Hades’s skin.
Sometime later, Persephone felt Hades’s magic stir the air. She opened her eyes, realizing she had fallen asleep and now lay in bed. She rolled and rose into a sitting position, startling when she saw Hades. There was something completely feral about him—as if he’d been able to drown his humanity in the depths of his darkness and all that remained was a monster.
This is a battle god, she thought.
“You went to Tartarus,” she said, her voice low.
Hades did not speak.
She did not need to ask what he’d done there. He’d gone to torture Pirithous, and the evidence was all over his face—streaked with blood.
Again, Hades was silent.
After a moment, Persephone rose and approached him, placing a hand on his face. Despite the wild look in his eyes, he leaned into her touch.
“Are you well?” she whispered.
“No,” he replied.
Her hand dropped, slipping around his waist. It took Hades a moment, but he finally moved, arms wrapping around her, holding her tight against him. After a moment, he spoke, and his voice sounded a little more normal, a little warmer.
“Ilias and Zofie found the woman who assaulted you,” he said.
“Zofie?” Persephone asked, drawing back.
“She has been helping Ilias,” he answered.
Persephone was curious about exactly what Hades meant by that, but it was a conversation for another time.
“Where is the woman?”
“She is being held at Iniquity,” he answered.
“Will you take me to her?”
“I’d rather you sleep.”
“I do not want to sleep.”
Hades frowned. “Even if I stay?”
“There are people out there attacking goddesses,” Persephone said. “I’d rather hear what she has to say.”
Hades cupped her jaw and then threaded his fingers through her hair, grimacing. She knew he was worried, wondering if she could handle this confrontation so soon after the horror of her nightmare.
“I’m okay, Hades,” she whispered. “You will be with me.”
That only seemed to make him frown more. Still, he finally answered.
“Then we will do as you wish.”
Chapter XII
A Touch of Enlightenment
Persephone had not returned to Iniquity since the first time she’d visited. She’d come with the hope of saving Lexa and had left with nothing but the knowledge that she did not know Hades or his empire very well.
The club was a speakeasy-style accessed by members with a password. This space was neutral territory, and behind these walls, deals were made with balance in mind. After learning about the evil Hades was willing to let exist in the world, Persephone often found herself wondering the same—what malevolence would she allow if the results brought peace, if they prevented war, for instance?
They manifested in a room that looked similar to the one where she’d met Kal Stavros, the owner of Epik Communications, a Magi and a mortal who had offered to save Lexa in exchange for Hades and Persephone’s story. She hadn’t had a chance to refuse before Hades arrived and ended the bargain, permanently scarring Kal’s face.
The accused sat beneath a circular pool of light. Her long, dark hair was silky and straight. She kept her head pressed against the back of the chair. A black snake slithered slowly around her neck while two others made their way around her arms; another six slinked in a circle around her feet. Her hatred was palpable as she glared at them, her mouth set in a hard line.
Persephone inched forward until she stood at the edge of the light.
“I do not need to tell you why you are here,” she said.
The woman glared, and when she spoke, her voice was clear, not a hint of fear or even rage. Her calm put Persephone on edge. “Will you kill me?”
“I am not the Goddess of Retribution,” Persephone said.
“You did not answer my question.”
“I am not the one being questioned.”
The woman stared.
“What’s your name?” Persephone asked.
The woman lifted her chin and replied, “Lara.”
“Lara, why did you attack me in the Coffee House?”
“Because you were there,” she answered, nonchalant. “And I wanted you to hurt.”
The words, while not surprising, still stung.
“Why?”
Lara did not reply immediately, and Persephone watched as the snake paused its slithering to lift its head from her neck to hiss, exposing venomous fangs. Lara jerked, squeezing her eyes shut, preparing for the bite.
“Not yet,” Persephone said, and the snake stilled. Lara looked at the goddess. “I asked you a question.”
This time, as the woman answered, tears rolled down her face.
“Because you represent everything that is wrong with this world,” she seethed. “You think you stand for justice because you wrote some angry words in a newspaper, but they mean nothing! Your actions are by far more telling—you, like so many, have merely fallen into the same trap. You are a sheep, corralled by Olympian glamour.”
Persephone stared at the woman, knowing her anger had grown from something—a seed that had been planted and nurtured by hate—so she asked, “What happened to you?”
Something haunting bled into Lara’s eyes. It was an expression that was hard to explain, but when Persephone saw it, she knew it for what it was—trauma.
“I was raped,” Lara hissed in a barely there whisper. “By Zeus.”
Her admission came as a shock despite Zeus being known for this behavior—a fact that should not be fact at all. Power had given Zeus, and so many others like him, a ticket to abuse for no other reason except that they were male and in a position of authority.
It was wrong and the behavior was at the core of their society. Even among the goddesses, who were equal or, in some cases, more powerful, assault was used as a means of control and oppression. Hera was a prime example—deceived and raped by Zeus, she was so ashamed, she agreed to marry him. As his queen, even her role as Goddess of Marriage had become Zeus’s.
Beside Persephone, Hades stiffened. She glanced at the God of the Dead, whose jaw ticked. She knew Hades punished those who committed crimes against women and children severely—was he motivated by his brother’s actions? Had he ever punished Zeus?
“I’m sorry this happened to you,” Persephone said.
She stepped toward Lara, and the snakes that had kept her firmly in her seat vanished into tendrils of smoke.
“Don’t,” Lara snapped. “I do not want your pity
.”
Persephone halted. “I am not offering pity,” she replied. “But I would like to help you.”
“How can you help me?” Lara seethed.
The question hurt—it felt the same as when the woman had approached her in Nevernight and rebuked her. Still, she had to do something. She had never experienced the extent of Lara’s nightmare, but even then, Pirithous haunted her in a way she never imagined.
“I know you did not do anything to deserve what happened to you,” Persephone said.
“Your words mean nothing while gods are still able to hurt,” Lara offered in a painful whisper.
Persephone could not speak because there was nothing to say. She could argue that not all gods were the same, but those words were not right for this time—and Lara was right. What did it matter that not all gods were the same when the ones who hurt went unpunished?
It was then that Persephone remembered something her mother had said.
Consequences for gods? No, Daughter, there are none.
The words made her sick, and she clenched her fists against them, swearing that one day, things would be different.
“How would you have Zeus punished?” Hades asked.
Both Persephone and Lara looked at him, surprised. Was he asking because he planned to do something about this? Persephone’s gaze shifted to Lara as she spoke.
“I would have him torn apart limb by limb and his body burned. I would have his soul fracture into millions of pieces until nothing was left but the whisper of his screams echoing in the wind.”
“And you think you can bring that justice?” Hades’s voice was low, a deadly challenge, and Persephone realized that while she’d been here to sympathize, he was here to get to something else—her loyalty.
Lara glared. “Not me. Gods,” she said. “New ones.”
Her eyes took on a glassy, almost hopeful look, as if she were imagining what it would be like—a world with new gods.
“It will be a rebirth,” she whispered.
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