Persephone’s brows rose. “You would do that?”
“I would do anything if it meant protecting you,” he said. “And since you will not agree to being locked away in the Underworld, this is the alternative.”
She smiled at him.
“I’m sorry I left,” she said.
“I do not blame you,” he said. “It is not very different from what I did when I took you to Lampri. Sometimes, it’s very hard to exist in the place where you experience terror.”
Persephone swallowed hard. That was exactly what it had been, and it had all felt so real.
“Are you angry with me?” Hades whispered.
Persephone looked at him again. “No. I know what you were trying to do.”
“I would like to tell you that I will protect you from everyone and everything,” he said. “And I would. I would keep you safe forever within the walls of my realm, but I know what you wish is to protect yourself.”
She nodded, and within his gaze, she saw the conflict of his soul. He would have to let her hurt so that she could be powerful.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
He smiled faintly, and then her eyes shifted to the copy of New Athens News on her desk, darkening.
“I assume you have already read this,” she said.
“Ilias sent it this morning,” Hades said. “Theseus is playing with fire and he knows it.”
“Do you think Zeus will act?”
Last time Zeus had spoken out against Triad, many Faithful mortals had organized to hunt down its members. The problem was, not every person who identified as Impious was a member of Triad. Still, they were slain.
“I do not know,” he admitted. “I do not think my brother sees Triad as a threat. He does, however, see your mother’s association as dangerous, which is why he shifted his focus to her.”
“What will become of her if Zeus can find her?”
“If she ceases her attack upon the Upperworld? Probably nothing.”
Again, she heard Demeter’s voice.
Consequences for gods? No, Daughter, there are none.
“You mean she will get away with the murder of Tyche?”
Hades did not speak.
“She must be punished, Hades.”
“She will be,” he replied. “Eventually.”
“Not only in Tartarus, Hades.”
“In time, Persephone,” Hades said gently, and his touch shifted from her knees to her hands, which she had curled into tight fists. “No one—not the gods, certainly not me—will keep you from retribution.”
There was silence, and then Hades rose.
“Come,” he said, slipping his fingers between hers and drawing her to her feet.
Her brows drew together. “Where are we going?”
“I just wanted to kiss you,” he said, bringing his mouth to hers. His magic surfaced, and she felt the familiar pull of teleportation. When they drew apart, they stood in the middle of a clearing in the Upperworld. It was covered in snow and surrounded by thick trees, bent with ice. Still, it was beautiful. When she turned, she found a building—Halcyon. It was still under construction, just a skeleton of the structure it would become, but it was clear it would be magnificent.
“Oh,” Persephone breathed.
“I cannot wait for you to see it in the spring,” he said. “You will love the gardens.”
“I love it all,” she said. “I love it now.”
She looked at Hades then, at the snow in his hair and on his lashes.
“I love you.”
Hades kissed her before guiding her through the labyrinth that would be Halcyon. The walls were up, the drywall in place. He named each room as if he knew the layout by heart—reception and dining, community and residents’ rooms, and spaces for various types of therapy. Finally, they came to a space on the top floor after climbing several sets of stairs. It was a large room that overlooked the garden that would be dedicated to Lexa. In the distance, all the way around the room, Persephone could see the misty skyline of New Athens.
It was breathtaking.
“What room is this?” she asked.
“Your office,” Hades said.
“Mine? But I—”
“I have an office at every business I own. Why shouldn’t you?” he said. “And even if you do not work here often, we’ll put it to use.”
Persephone laughed, and Hades smiled in return. They stared at one another for a moment. There was a tension between them she wanted to mend. It did not come from their anger or their distance but from something far more primal. She felt it within her—a pull tied so deep, it made her bones ache.
She shivered.
“We should return,” Hades said.
Still neither of them moved.
“Hades,” Persephone whispered his name, an invitation. In the next second, their mouths collided. Hades pressed into her, his erection hard between her hips as she hit the wall. His hands curled around her wrists as he pinned them beside her head.
“I need you,” he breathed, kissing down her jaw and neck. His hands moved, fingers pressing firmly into her ass, bunching her skirt. Persephone’s breath came fast, fingers fumbling for the buttons of his shirt. She wanted to feel the heat of his skin against hers.
“Stop that!”
Apollo appeared only a few feet away. He looked annoyed, as if he were the one who was interrupted. He was dressed casually, in jeans and a white tunic-style shirt that had a laced V-neck. His curls were unruly and fell playfully against his forehead.
“Go away, Apollo,” Hades growled, still working his way down Persephone’s neck to her collarbone.
“Hades.” Her fingers tightened around the lapels of his jacket.
“No can do, Lord of the Underworld,” Apollo said. “We have an event.”
Hades sighed—which sounded more like a growl—and pried himself from Persephone. She worked to catch her breath and straightened her skirt and blouse.
“What do you mean we have an event?” she asked.
“Today’s the first of the Panhellenic Games,” he said.
She’d completely forgotten about the games. The chariot races were tonight.
“That isn’t until tonight,” she argued.
“So? I need you now.”
“For what?”
“Does it matter?” he asked. “We have a—”
“Don’t,” Hades snapped, and Apollo shut his mouth. “She asked you a question, Apollo. Answer it.”
Persephone looked at Hades, surprised by his comment.
The god narrowed his violet eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. “I fucked up. I need your help,” he admitted, glaring away from them.
“You needed help and yet you wish to command it from her?”
“Hades—”
“He demands your attention, Persephone, and has your friendship only because of a bargain, and when you needed him before all those Olympians, he was silent.”
“That’s enough, Hades,” Persephone said.
She did not fault Apollo for not speaking up at Council—what was there to say?
“Apollo is my friend, bargain or not. I will speak to him about what bothers me.”
Hades stared at her for a moment and then kissed her again—deeply and far longer than appropriate with an audience. When he pulled away, he said, “I will join you at the games later.”
When he vanished, she turned to Apollo.
“He really doesn’t like you.”
He rolled his eyes.
“That’s nothing new. Come on. I need a drink.”
Chapter XXIII
A Lover’s Quarrel
“Vodka?” Apollo asked as he poured himself a glass. He stood on the other side of the island in his pristine kitchen. Persephone had only been to Ap
ollo’s penthouse once, when she was helping Sybil move. It was a modern space with large windows and a monochrome color scheme. If she didn’t know how regimented Apollo was, she’d assume no one lived here, but the god was known for discipline, and that extended to his surroundings. He kept everything perfectly organized and clean—even his stainless-steel appliances were unmarred, a feat that deserved an award.
“It’s ten in the morning, Apollo,” Persephone pointed out, sitting at the breakfast bar opposite him.
“Your point?”
She sighed. “No, Apollo. I don’t want vodka.”
He shrugged.
“Suit yourself,” he said, downing the glass.
“You’re an alcoholic.”
“Hades is an alcoholic,” Apollo said.
He wasn’t wrong.
“So you need my advice?” Persephone asked, changing the subject.
Apollo poured another drink and consumed it. She watched him, waiting, noting how much he looked like Hermes in this moment. It was in the set of his jaw and the puckering of his brows—they could not deny their shared blood.
“I fucked up,” he admitted at last.
“I figured,” she said mildly, maintaining his gaze even as he narrowed his violet eyes in annoyance.
“Rude,” he shot back.
Persephone sighed. “Apollo, just tell me what happened.”
She knew he was stalling, and she wanted him to spit it out before he polished off that bottle of vodka, not that it would faze him much. She just wanted him to hurry this along before she decided she needed a drink.
“I kissed Hector.”
Persephone blinked, a little shocked by his admission. “I thought you liked Ajax.”
“How did you know about Ajax?”
“At the palaestra, you kept looking at him,” she said. She didn’t mention that he had smelled different when he’d come to Aphrodite’s. Some other scent had been mixed into his magic, and she’d recognized it as Ajax’s when he’d helped her in the field.
Apollo frowned.
“Why did you kiss Hector?”
He scrubbed his face with his hands. “I don’t know,” he moaned. “I was angry with Ajax, and Hector was there, and I thought…why not…see what this is about…and then Ajax walked in.”
“Oh, Apollo.”
She could see his misery—it was so blatant within his gaze, it hurt her heart.
“I don’t even know why I care. I swore I would never do this again.”
“Do what again?”
“This! Love!”
Suddenly she understood. Apollo was referring to Hyacinth, the Spartan prince he’d fallen for ages ago. The mortal had died in a horrible accident. Later, Apollo went to Hades and begged the God of the Dead to throw him in Tartarus so that he would not have to live in a world without his love, but Hades refused, and Apollo sought revenge in the arms of Leuce.
“Apollo…”
“Don’t…pity me.”
“I’m not. I don’t,” she said. “But Hyacinth’s death wasn’t your fault.”
“Yes, it was,” he said. “I was not the only god who loved Hyacinth, and when he chose me, Zephyrus, the God of the West Wind, grew jealous. It was his wind that changed the trajectory of my throw, his wind that resulted in the death of Hyacinth.”
“Then his death is Zephyrus’s fault,” Persephone said.
Apollo shook his head. “You do not understand. Even now, I see it happening with Ajax. Hector grows jealous every day. The fight he picked with Ajax at the palaestra was not the first.”
“What if Ajax likes you?” Persephone asked. “What if he’s willing to fight for you? Will you decide not to pursue him out of fear?”
“It is not fear—” Apollo started and then looked away angrily.
“Then what is it?”
“I don’t want to fuck this up. I’m not…a good person now. What happens when I lose again? Do I become…evil then?”
“Apollo,” Persephone said as gently as she could. “If you are worried that you will become evil, then you have more humanity than you think.”
He gave her a look that begged to differ.
“You should talk to Ajax,” she said, and though she offered the advice, she knew how hard it was to communicate. It had been her greatest challenge when it came to her relationship with Hades. In part, she blamed her mother. Over the years, Persephone had become accustomed to staying quiet, even when she had an opinion or a desire, fearing the consequences, namely her mother’s scorn. Hades was the first person who welcomed her insight, and she had to admit, it was still hard to believe that he actually wanted to know what she thought.
“He doesn’t want me.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do because he said so!”
Persephone just stared at the god. A deep frown pulled at his mouth, and his eyes held a pain she could only compare to what she’d felt when she’d been in the Forest of Despair.
“What exactly did he say?” she asked.
He sighed, clearly frustrated. “We were kissing, and everything was great, and then he pushed me away and said…I can’t do this and left.”
Persephone lifted a brow—he was definitely leaving something out.
“You’re sure that’s what he said?”
“Yes,” Apollo hissed. “He might be deaf, but he can definitely speak, Persephone.”
“That doesn’t mean he doesn’t want you,” Persephone said.
“What else is it supposed to mean?”
“You were supposed to…I don’t know…chase him!”
“The last time I chased someone, they begged to be turned into a tree.”
“This is different!” Persephone said, frustrated. She paused a moment and then sighed. “Did Ajax kiss you back?”
A pink tint made its way to Apollo’s cheeks, and Persephone had to bite her cheek to keep from giggling. It was strange to see the egotistical God of Music embarrassed.
“Yes, he kissed me back, which is why I don’t understand…how…how could he not want me?”
“He didn’t say he didn’t want you. He said he couldn’t do this, which could have meant anything. It could have meant he couldn’t do this right now. You don’t know until you ask.”
“Well, now I can’t ask because I kissed Hector.”
“That’s exactly why you need to talk to him!” Persephone argued. “Would you have Ajax think you do not care for him?”
“Why should I care what he thinks?”
She recognized his response as a defense mechanism—anytime something didn’t go his way, he immediately decided it wasn’t worth his time or energy.
“Apollo, you are an idiot.”
He glared. “You’re supposed to be my friend.”
“If you’re looking for someone to praise your every decision, turn to your worshippers. Friends tell you the truth.”
He didn’t look at her, choosing instead to glare at the wall, so she continued.
“Talk to Ajax, Apollo, and Hector.”
“Hector? Why?”
“Because you owe him an explanation too,” she said. “You kissed him, which means now he has reason to believe there’s more between you than before.”
The god frowned, and after a moment, he mumbled, “I said I’d never do this again.”
“You cannot help how you feel.”
“I knew better,” he argued. “I am not good for anyone, Seph.”
She sat there, shaking her head, feeling defeated for him.
“Hyacinth didn’t think that,” she said, her voice quiet. “I’m betting Ajax doesn’t either.”
The God of Music scoffed. “What do you know? You’re only here because of a bargain, and you’re only in that bargain because you refused to communicate wit
h Hades.”
Persephone’s lips flattened, and her chest ached at Apollo’s words. She knew that well enough. She was reminded of it often—every time she wanted to call and talk to Lexa or go to lunch with her best friend, every time she entered Elysium. She managed to blink enough to keep her tears at bay and cleared her throat.
“A decision I will regret for the rest of my life.”
She gave no clarification before she vanished from Apollo’s sight.
Chapter XXIV
The Chariot Races
Persephone arrived at Talaria Stadium with Sybil, Leuce, and Zofie. From the outside, the arena looked more like a marble building with stacked columns and archways of reflective windows. On a normal August day, they would mirror the beauty of the setting sun. Instead, they were packed with ice. Despite the weather, people were everywhere, making their way through the snow toward one of many entrances around the stadium.
“It says here there are eight heroes competing,” said Leuce, looking at her phone. The glow made her white eyes spark. “Three women and five men.”
“There should be more women,” Zofie said, who sat beside Leuce and still towered over them. “We handle pain far better.”
They laughed.
“Does Hades have a hero in the games, Persephone?” Sybil asked. Her hair was pulled back into a curled ponytail, and she’d changed into something a little less formal after work, now sporting jeans and a pink New Athens University hoodie.
“Not that I’m aware,” Persephone said. Hades had never chosen a hero—not in the games and not in battle—though he had resurrected them.
“Chariot races were never my favorite,” Leuce said, wrinkling her nose. She was probably recalling something from her life in the ancient world.
“Why?” Persephone asked.
“Because they’re bloody. Why do you think they begin the games with them?”
“To weed out competitors,” Zofie said, a menacing gleam in her eyes.
That filled Persephone with a sense of dread, and she worried for the competitors, in particular Ajax. She knew he was skilled, but if anything happened to him, Apollo would be devastated.
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