She glanced to her left, finding Athena’s passive, golden face, her mother’s empty throne, and then Apollo and Artemis. Apollo inclined his head a fraction. It was the only acknowledgment she received—there was no light in his eyes or tilt to his lips. She tried not to let his mood disrupt her as she looked to her right, where she found Poseidon staring openly and hungrily. Then Hermes, Hestia, Aphrodite, and Ares.
Hermes smiled, his eyes gentle.
“You have caused a lot of problems,” Zeus said, drawing her reluctant attention. She met his lackluster gaze.
“I think you mean my mother has caused a lot of problems,” Persephone said. “And yet you seem intent upon punishing Hades.”
“I merely seek to solve a problem in the simplest way possible.”
“That might be true if Demeter were only responsible for a storm,” Persephone said. “But I have reason to believe she is working with the demigods.”
There was a beat of silence. “What reasons?”
“I was there the night Tyche died,” Persephone said. “My mother was there. I felt her magic.”
“Perhaps she was there to retrieve you,” Hera suggested. “As is her right by Divine law. She is your mother.”
“Since we are basing our decisions on archaic laws, then I must disagree,” Persephone said.
Hera’s gaze hardened, and Persephone got the distinct impression she did not like being challenged. “On what grounds?”
“Hades and I fuck,” Persephone stated. “By Divine law, we are married.”
Hermes choked on a laugh, but everyone else remained quiet. She looked to Zeus. As much as she hated it, he was the one she needed to convince.
“It was my mother’s magic that kept Tyche restrained.” Persephone said.
The god stared at her for a beat and then looked to Hermes for confirmation.
“Is this true, Hermes?”
Her fingers curled into fists.
“Persephone would never lie,” he replied.
“Triad is a true enemy,” Persephone said. “You have reason to fear them.”
There were a few laughs, and Persephone glared around her. “Did you not just hear what I said?”
“Harmonia and Tyche are goddesses, yes, but they are not Olympians,” said Poseidon.
“I’m sure the Titans thought the same of you,” she shot back. “Besides, Demeter is an Olympian.”
“She would not be the first who attempted—and failed—to overthrow me,” Zeus said, and she noted how he glanced both to his left and right. Despite how the Olympians sat—in this circle, unified—they were divided. There was hatred here, and it permeated the air like smog.
“This is different,” Persephone said. “You have a world ready to shift their alliance to a group of people they believe are more mortal than god, and my mother’s storm will force the decision.”
“So we return to the real issue,” Hera said. “You.”
Persephone glared; her jaw tightened.
“If you return me to my mother, I will become a real issue,” Persephone said. “I will be the reason for your misery, for your despair, for your ruination. I promise you will taste my venom.”
No one laughed. No one spoke. There was only silence. She glanced at Hades, whose gaze burned into hers. She did not sense that he was disappointed with her, but he was on edge. Poised. Ready to act if necessary.
“You speak on what we will not do,” Zeus said. “But what would you have us do? When the world suffers beneath a storm of your mother’s creation?”
“Were you not ready to watch the world suffer minutes ago?” Persephone countered. It was not what she wished for, of course. It was the last thing she wanted, but she felt as though these gods were seconds away from sending her back to her mother, and Persephone would not go. She would have Hades. She would have the world—one way or the other.
“Are you suggesting we allow it to continue?” Hestia asked.
“I’m suggesting you punish the source of the storm,” she said.
“You forget. No one has been able to locate Demeter.”
“Is there no god here who is all-seeing?”
There was laughter.
“You speak of Helios,” said Artemis. “He will not help us. He will not help you, because you love Hades and Hades stole his cattle.”
Still, Persephone stared at Zeus, despite the other replies.
“Are you not King of Gods? Is Helios not here by your grace?”
“Helios is the God of the Sun,” Hera said. “His role is important—more important than a minor goddess’s obsessive love.”
“If he were so great, could he not melt the snowstorm that ravages the earth?”
“Enough!” Zeus’s voice echoed in the chamber, his eyes gleaming as they fell upon her. Persephone felt her insides shake. She did not like Zeus’s gaze, did not like whatever thoughts were churning inside his head. Still, when he spoke, she was pleased by his words.
“You have given us much to consider, goddess. We will search for Demeter—all of us. If she is in league with Triad, let her admit it and face punishment. Until that point, however, I will defer judgment on your wedding to Hades a little while longer.”
Hera glared at her husband, clearly unsatisfied with this choice.
“Thank you, Lord Zeus,” Persephone said, bowing her head.
She hated speaking the words or thinking too long upon why he’d made this decision. She had a feeling he hoped to somehow gain her favor.
Persephone’s eyes shifted to Hades as Zeus continued.
“On this night, we will say goodbye to Tyche.”
One by one, the gods vanished from the room.
“See you later, Sephy!” Hermes said.
Hades left his throne, and Persephone spoke as he approached.
“I’m sorry. I know you asked that I stay hidden, but I couldn’t. Not when they wished—”
He silenced her with a kiss. It seared her lips and her mouth, and when he pulled away, he held her face.
“You were wonderful,” he said. “Truly.”
Her eyes watered. “I thought they would take me from you.”
“Never,” he whispered, and he spoke the word over and over again like a prayer—a desperate plea—until she almost believed it.
Chapter XXI
A Touch of Fear
The pyre upon which Tyche rested was beautiful—marble, set with emeralds and rubies and dusted with gold. Upon it were stacks of wood, and atop that, Tyche herself. Her face and limbs were pale white, bathed in moonlight. Her body was draped in black silk. Her hair, as dark as midnight, spilled over the edge of the pyre.
The gods stood several feet away in an arc while other residents of Olympus gathered behind them. There were no words spoken as Hephaestus lit the pyre with his magic. The flames were small at first but consumed quickly, and Persephone couldn’t look away.
My mother has done this, she thought.
Her eyes watered as the air filled with smoke. The sprigs of lavender and rosemary meant to help cover the smell could not mask the overwhelming scent of burning flesh. Hades’s arms tightened around her waist.
“Tyche’s death was not your fault,” he said. She felt the vibration of his voice against her back. She did not feel at fault, but she did wonder who would be next? How soon until her mother and Triad struck again?
“Where do gods go when they die?” Persephone asked.
“They come to me, powerless,” he said. “And I give them a role in the Underworld.”
“What kind of role?”
Persephone was curious, given the bargains he made with mortals.
“It depends on what challenged them in their life as a god. Tyche, though, she always wanted to be a mother. So I will gift her with the Children’s Garden.”
; Something thick gathered in her throat, and it took her several moments to swallow it down.
“Will we be able to speak with her? About the way she died?”
Persephone hated to ask, but she wanted to know Tyche’s story just as they knew Harmonia’s.
“Not immediately,” he answered. “But within the week.”
Persephone did not relish the idea of asking Tyche to relive her death, especially once she was in the Underworld. It was supposed to be a space of renewal and healing, but they could not fight this enemy if they did not know what they were dealing with.
Her gaze lingered on the flames consuming the goddess until they dwindled and nothing but the bright, blurred image of embers remained.
* * *
It was late when Persephone woke. The hazy light of the Underworld filtered in through the windows. She rolled, surprised to find Hades lying beside her.
“You’re awake,” he murmured. He lay on his side, hair down, eyes shadowed.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Have you slept?”
“I have been awake for a while.”
It was his way of answering no.
Hades brushed her lips with his fingers. “It is a blessing to watch you sleep.”
With so much happening, Persephone hadn’t thought much about her nightmares. Since Hades had brought Hypnos to visit her, they’d remained at bay, though Persephone doubted that had much to do with the God of Sleep and more to do with the fact that she had been healing from severe injuries.
They stared at one another for a long moment, and then Persephone let her head fall to Hades’s chest. He was warm and she could feel and hear his heart beating against her ear—a steady rhythm that kept pace for her.
“Did Tyche make it across the river?” Persephone asked.
“Yes, Hecate was there to greet her. They are very good friends.”
That was comforting. Hades’s thumb brushed lightly up and down her lower back. His hands were warm, and the movement lulled her, making her eyes heavy with sleep.
“I would like to train with you today,” Hades said after a moment.
“I would like that,” she said. She had trained with Hades before and always learned something. He was gentle and patient in his instruction, and it inevitably resulted in sex.
“I don’t think you will,” Hades said.
Persephone pushed away just enough to meet his gaze.
“Why do you say that?”
His gaze bore into hers. A darkness lingered there as deep and as ancient as his magic.
“Just remember that I love you.”
* * *
Persephone felt a deep sense of dread as she stood opposite Hades at the center of her grove. It was the way he was looking at her—as if he’d buried all his warmth. He was dressed in a short, black chiton that showed off his powerful arms and thighs. Her gaze drifted over his skin, the rise and fall of his muscles, and when she found her way back to his eyes, a deep ache settled in her chest. He stared back, emotionless, when desire would normally ignite his eyes.
Then he spoke, his voice low and gruff, shivering down her spine.
“I will not watch you bleed again,” he said.
“Teach me,” she breathed.
She’d requested the same of him the night they’d met, when she had invited him to her table to play cards. Then, she hadn’t understood what she was really asking. She wasn’t sure she understood now, but the difference was this god loved her.
“You love me,” she whispered.
“I do.”
But the truth of it wasn’t written on his face. He looked severe, the hollows of his cheeks deep and shadowed. Then the air around them changed, growing heavy and charged. She had felt this before, in the Forest of Despair when Hades’s magic had risen to challenge her own. It raised the hair upon her arms and made her heartbeat feel sluggish in her chest.
Then everything went silent.
Persephone hadn’t even noticed the noise before; she just knew there was an absence of it now. She glanced at the silvery trees that surrounded them, at the dark canopy overhead—and then she noticed movement to her left and right. Before she had time to react, something shadowy passed through her, shaking her very bones, jarring her soul. It wasn’t exactly painful, but it did steal her breath. She fell to her knees, her stomach churning. She wanted to vomit.
What the fuck.
“Shadow-wraiths are death and shadow magic,” Hades said, matter-of-fact. “They are attempting to reap your soul.”
Persephone struggled to catch her breath, lifting her eyes to meet Hades’s. His expression sent a strange current of fear through her, and the most unnerving part about the feeling was that she had never feared him before.
“Are you…trying to kill me?”
Hades’s cold laugh chilled her to the bone.
“Shadow-wraiths cannot claim your soul unless your thread has been cut, but they can make you violently ill.”
Persephone swallowed, still tasting the sour film at the back of her throat as she rose to her feet on shaking legs.
“If you were fighting any other Olympian—any enemy—they would have never let you up.”
“How do I fight when I do not know what power you will use against me?”
“You will never know,” he said.
She stared at him for a beat, and then something emerged from the earth beneath her feet—a clawed, black hand. It closed around her ankle and jerked. She fell forward as it pulled, dragging her into the pit from which it had emerged. She shoved her hands out to break her fall and felt a sharp pain in her wrist as she landed.
“Hades!” Persephone cried, clawing at the dirt in an effort to anchor herself, her heart racing with fear and adrenaline. She rolled and sat up as quickly as possible, her hands going for the strange claw that held her ankle like a vice, but when she tried to pry it away, sharp thorns jutted from it, piercing her skin.
Persephone jerked back, growling before summoning a huge thorn from her skin and stabbing the creature that held her. Black blood oozed from it, but it let go and disappeared into the Earth. Before she could turn, another shadow passed through her. This time, she arched, screaming as she fell to the ground. On the floor of the grove, she struggled to breathe, and her vision blurred.
“Better,” she heard Hades say. “But you gave me your back.”
He loomed over her, a true God of the Dead, a shadow darkening her vision.
She hated feeling like he was the enemy. She turned her head so he couldn’t see the tears threatening, her fingers curled into fists. Thorns sprouted from the Earth, but Hades vanished before they had a chance to entangle him. She rolled onto her hands and knees and found him across the clearing.
“Your hand gave away your intentions. Summon your magic with your mind—without movement.”
“I thought you said you would teach me,” she said, her voice quivering.
“I am teaching you,” he said. “This is what will become of you if you face a god in battle. You must be prepared for anything, for everything.”
Persephone stared down at her hands. They were bloodied and dirty, and she had only been training five minutes, but in that time, Hades had succeeded in illustrating just how ill equipped she was to handle any kind of battle. She remembered Hecate’s speech—Mark my words, Persephone. You will become one of the most powerful goddesses of our time. She laughed humorlessly. How was she supposed to become that powerful, that controlled when faced with gods who had spent lifetimes honing their power?
Except that she had possessed such power. In the Forest of Despair. She had used Hades’s power against him, and it had felt cruel and agonizing, and it tasted like sorrow—bitter and acrid.
“Up, Persephone. No other god would have waited.”
I will coax the darkness from you he’d w
hispered before he had explored her body for the first time, and right now, those words dug into her, unraveling threads of darkness. She stood, shaking. Not from the battering her body had taken but from frustration, from anger.
The earth began to shake, and pieces of rock rose from the ground. In response, Hades’s magic surrounded her—an army of smoke and shadow. It should feel wrong, contrary to her own magic, but Hades had never been the enemy.
Except right now, she reminded herself. Right now, he is.
As the rock and pieces of earth rose, Hades’s shadows did too, barreling toward her. She watched them, focused on them, forced them to slow, and held out her hand—not to stop the magic but to harness it. The magic seeped into her skin. It was a strange feeling, tangible, as it twined with her blood, and when she opened her hand, black claws protruded from the tips of her fingers.
Hades smiled.
“Good,” he said.
And then Persephone hit her knees.
Her chest felt as though it had imploded—all her breath stolen by whatever invisible force had hit her. As she struck the ground, every fear she’d possessed over her short life was suddenly clawing its way from her throat.
All of a sudden, Demeter stood before her.
“Mother—”
She yanked Persephone up by her wrist. It was still sore from her fall earlier, and the jerk sent a sharper pain through her.
Crying out, Demeter laughed.
“Kore,” she said, and Persephone winced at the name. “I knew this day would come.”
Persephone struggled to free herself, to grasp her power, but it would not rise to her call.
“You will be mine. Forever.”
“But the Fates—”
“Have unraveled your destiny,” Demeter said and teleported. The smell of Demeter’s magic made Persephone want to vomit. She manifested inside the walls of a glass box. Outside was Demeter. Persephone charged the glass, hitting and kicking, screaming at the top of her lungs.
A Touch of Malice Page 24