A Touch of Malice

by Scarlett St. Clair

  “To be fair…you were having sex in the middle of the Underworld,” Hermes pointed out.

  “And I have thrown you just as far,” Hades said. “Need a reminder?”

  “Ah, no. If you are going to be angry at anyone, be angry at Zeus. He sent me.”

  Persephone’s stomach dropped.

  “Why?” she asked.

  “He’s called for a feast,” he said.

  “A feast? Tonight?”

  “Yes.” Hermes looked at his wrist, which Persephone noted had no watch. “In exactly an hour.”

  “And we must be in attendance?” she asked.

  “Well, I didn’t just watch you have sex for nothing,” Hermes said mildly.

  Persephone rolled her eyes. “Why must we attend? And why at such short notice?”

  “He did not say, but perhaps he has finally decided to bless your union.” Hermes paused to chuckle. “I mean, why would he call for a banquet if he was going to say no?”

  “Have you met my brother?” Hades asked, clearly not amused.

  “Unfortunately, yes. He’s my father,” Hermes responded, then he clapped his hands together. “Well, I’ll see you two soon.”

  Hermes vanished.

  Persephone turned fully to Hades.

  “Do you think it is true? That he is summoning us to bless our marriage?”

  Hades’s jaw visibly relaxed before he answered, “I will not venture to guess.”

  To Persephone, that translated to I will not hope, and she would have been lying if she didn’t admit that it only made her feel more uneasy.

  “What do I wear?” Persephone asked.

  Hades looked down at her. “Let me dress you.”

  She smirked. “Do you really think that is wise?”

  “Yes,” he said, drawing her close with an arm around her waist. “For one, it will not take long, which means we have approximately fifty-nine minutes for anything you may desire.”

  “Anything?” she asked, leaning close.

  “Yes,” Hades breathed.

  “Then I desire…a bath.”

  While she’d just left them, she had spent the last few minutes rolling around in the grass with Hades. Needless to say, she felt a little dirty.

  Hades chuckled. “Coming up, my queen.”

  Chapter XXX

  A Feast upon Olympus

  Hades walked a circle around Persephone.

  She stood still, the center of his world, wearing a gown he had manifested with his magic. It was soft and black, accentuating the curve of her body. An elegant sweetheart neckline and long, capped sleeves created a regal silhouette. A shiver vibrated down her spine, causing her shoulders to straighten and her back to arch slightly. She thought that Hades might have noticed when he spoke, because his words came out in a low, sensual growl.

  “Drop your glamour,” he said.

  She obeyed without hesitation, letting her glamour slip away to reveal her Divine form. Like Hades, she didn’t use this form often, save for events in the Underworld. It felt most natural here, among the people who recognized and worshipped her as a goddess.

  As Hades came to a stop before her, the force of his presence stole her breath. He was stunning, robed in black and crowned with iron. His bright blue gaze trailed from her horns to her feet, snagging on her breasts and the curve of her hips.

  “Just one more thing,” he said, lifting his hands, and as he did, a crown appeared. It matched his—all jagged black edges.

  Her lips curled as he placed it upon her head. She was surprised by how light it felt.

  “Are you making a statement, my lord?” she asked as his hands fell to his sides.

  “I thought that was obvious.”

  “That I belong to you?”

  Hades placed a finger beneath her chin as he spoke.

  “No, that we belong to each other.” He kissed her, and as he pulled away, his gentle gaze connected with hers. “You are beautiful, my darling.”

  She traced the shape of his face, the curve of his nose, the bow of his lips. She was certain she had memorized every dip and hollow and curve, but suddenly, she felt the need to be sure she had internalized all parts of him for fear of never seeing him again.

  Hades’s brows drew together, and his fingers brushed down the side of her face.

  “Are you well?”

  “Yes. Perfect,” she replied, though they both knew she wasn’t being completely honest. She was afraid. “Are you ready?”

  “I am never ready for Olympus,” Hades said. “Do not leave my side.”

  She would have no problem with that—unless, of course, Hermes pulled her away.

  Her grip tightened on his arm as he teleported, her heart stuttering in her chest, anxious at returning to the home of the gods, even though a few of them were friends.

  They arrived in the marble courtyard on Mount Olympus, where an arc of twelve statues rose before them, each carved to resemble the Olympians. Persephone recognized it as the space where Tyche’s body had been burned. It was the lowest part of Olympus—the rest of the city was built into the mountainside and accessed by a number of steep passages. Stories above them, there was a loud clamor of voices and music. At the very top of the mountain was a temple where warm light streamed from the arched columns of an open porch.

  “I am assuming that is our destination?” Persephone asked.

  “Unfortunately,” Hades replied.

  The walk was pleasant—a winding stair that took them past pretty doors and exceptional views. Up this high, the clouds were close, the stars brilliant, the sky inky blue. She found herself wondering what the sunrise and sunset looked like from here. She could just imagine—the burning bronze of the sun probably bathed the marble in gold, and all around would be clouds of the same color. It would be a gilded palace in the sky, beautiful and unworthy of those who ruled it.

  The final ascension to the temple was a wide set of stairs flanked with two large basins of fire that led to an open porch. At the top, Persephone found a room crowded with gods, demigods, immortal creatures, and favored mortals. She recognized all the gods and a few of the favored—Ajax and Hector in particular, who wore short white chitons and gold circlets in their hair. Other guests were dressed more extravagantly and more modern—in gowns that glittered with sequins and beads, suits with velvet or a sleek sheen.

  There was laughter, excitement, and an electricity charged the air that had nothing to do with magic—until they appeared.

  Then, one by one, heads turned to stare, and silence swept through the crowd. There were a number of expressions—intrigue, fear, and disapproving frowns. Though her heart hammered in her chest and she squeezed Hades’s hand tight, she kept her head held high and looked at him, smiling.

  “It seems I am not the only one who can’t help staring at you, my love,” she said. “I think the whole room is enthralled.”

  Hades chuckled. “Oh, my darling. They are staring at you.”

  Their exchange encouraged a wave of whispers as they made their way onto the floor. The crowd parted for them, as if they feared the brush of either god would turn them to ash. It reminded Persephone of a time when she’d been frustrated with Hades for letting the world think he was cruel. Now she considered that it was probably his greatest weapon—the power of fear.

  “Sephy!”

  She turned in time, releasing Hades’s hand as she did, to find Hermes zipping through the crowd. He was wearing the brightest suit she’d ever seen—in a shade of yellow that resembled the skin of a lemon. It had black lapels and flowers embroidered on the jacket in colors of teal, red, and green.

  “You look stunning!” he said, taking her hands into his and lifting them as if to inspect her gown.

  She grinned. “Thank you, Hermes, but I should warn you—you are complimenting Hades’s handiwork
. He made the dress.”

  There were a few gasps—the crowd, still quiet since their arrival, was listening.

  “Of course he did, and in his favorite color,” Hermes observed, a brow raised.

  “Actually, Hermes, black is not my favorite color,” Hades said, his voice quiet but somehow resonant, and Persephone felt as if the room was collectively holding their breath.

  “Then what is it?” The question came from a nymph Persephone did not recognize, but judging by her ashy hair, she’d guess she was a melia, an ash tree nymph.

  The corner of Hades’s lips lifted as he answered. “Red.”

  “Red?” another demanded. “Why red?”

  Hades’s smile grew, and he looked down at Persephone, his hand settled on her waist. She imagined he did not like this attention, but he was doing well under the scrutiny.

  “I think I began to favor the color when Persephone wore it at the Olympian Gala.”

  She blushed—she couldn’t help it. That night had been the night she’d given in to her desire for him, and in the aftermath, she’d felt life for the first time—a faint heartbeat in the world around her.

  A few people sighed longingly while some scoffed.

  “Who would have thought my brother to be so sentimental?” The question came from Poseidon, who stood nearly halfway across the room. He wore an aqua-blue suit, his hair was thrust back into a wave of blond, and corkscrew-like horns jutted from his head. On his arm was a woman Persephone knew to be Amphitrite. She was beautiful, regal, with bright red hair and a delicate face. She clung to Poseidon, and Persephone could not tell if it was from devotion or fear of his wandering eye.

  Once Poseidon spoke, he offered a laugh, devoid of any humor, and drank from his glass.

  “Ignore him,” Hermes said. “He’s had too much ambrosia.”

  “Do not make excuses for him,” Hades said. “Poseidon is always an ass.”

  “Brother!” boomed another voice, and Persephone cringed as Zeus’s large frame barreled through the crowd. He was dressed in a light blue chiton that clasped over one shoulder, leaving part of his chest exposed. His shoulder-length hair and full beard were dark in color but threaded through with silver. Persephone could not help thinking that his boisterous manner was all an act of deception. Beneath the surface of this god was something dark. “And gorgeous Persephone. So glad you could make it.”

  “I was under the impression we did not have a choice,” Persephone said.

  “You’re rubbing off on her, Brother,” Zeus laughed, jabbing Hades in the side. His eyes ignited, angry by the touch. “Why wouldn’t you come? This is your engagement feast after all!”

  Persephone thought that was ironic, given their quiet welcome.

  “Then that must mean we have your blessing,” Persephone said. “To marry.”

  Again, Zeus laughed. “That is not for me to decide, dear. It is my oracle who will decide.”

  “Don’t call me dear,” Persephone said.

  “It is only a word. I mean no offense.”

  “I don’t care what you intended,” Persephone countered. “The word offends me.”

  Stark silence stretched between all the gods, and then Zeus laughed. “Hades, your plaything is far too sensitive.”

  There was a blur as Hades’s hand moved to grip Zeus by the neck. The whole room went silent. Hermes grasped Persephone’s arm, ready to pull her away the second these two went to battle.

  “What did you call my fiancée?” Hades asked.

  Then Persephone saw it—the look she’d been waiting to see. The truth of Zeus’s nature beneath the facade. His eyes darkened, burning with a light so fierce and ancient, she felt fear in the very depths of her soul. The jovial expression he usually maintained melted into something evil, darkening the hollows of his cheeks and the space beneath his eyes.

  “Careful, Hades. I still rule your fate.”

  “Wrong, Brother. Apologize.”

  A few more seconds ticked by, and Persephone did not think Zeus would cave. He seemed more like the kind of god who would go to war over a few words than what really mattered—the death and destruction her mother was wreaking on the world below.

  But after a few moments, the God of Thunder cleared his throat.

  “Persephone,” he said. “Forgive me.”

  She did not, but Hades released his throat.

  Zeus regained his composure easily, his rage melting away into his usually jovial expression. He even laughed, energetic and full. “Let us feast!”

  * * *

  Dinner was held in a banquet hall adjacent to the porch. A large, horizontal table rose above the rest on the far side of the room at which most of the Olympians were already seated.

  Persephone looked at Hades.

  “It appears we will not be sitting together,” she said.

  “How so?”

  She nodded toward the front of the room.

  “I am not an Olympian.”

  “Being one is overrated,” he said. “I shall sit with you. Wherever you’d like.”

  “Won’t that make Zeus angry?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you want to marry me?” Persephone asked. Making Zeus mad didn’t seem like the best way to gain his blessing.

  “Darling, I will marry you despite what Zeus says.”

  Persephone did not doubt that, but she did have a question.

  “What does he do when he does not bless a marriage?”

  “He arranges a marriage for the woman,” Hades said.

  Persephone ground her teeth, and Hades placed his hand on the small of her back, directing her to a chair at one of the round tables on the floor. He helped her sit and then took his place beside her. There were two others at the table Hades had chosen—a man and woman. They were young and looked similar, like siblings—their hair curled in the same pattern, golden in color, and their green eyes were wide. Both appeared to be petrified and awed by their presence.

  Persephone smiled at them. “Hi,” she greeted. “I’m—”

  “Persephone,” the man said. “We know who you are.”

  “Yes,” she said, her voice a little high, unsure of what to make of the man’s words or his tone. “What are your names?”

  They hesitated.

  “That is Thales, and that is Callista,” Hades said. “They are children of Apeliotes.”

  “Apeliotes?” Persephone did not recognize the name.

  “The God of the Southeast Wind,” Hades replied mildly.

  Again, their eyes widened.

  “Y-you know us?” Callista asked.

  Hades looked annoyed. “Of course.”

  The two exchanged a look, but before they could say anything else, they were interrupted.

  “Hades, what are you doing?”

  The question came from Aphrodite, who had paused at their table. She was dressed in a beautifully pleated gown with an empire, belted waist. The fabric was gold and glistened beneath the light as she moved. Beside her was Hephaestus, who stood stoic and quiet, dressed in a simple gray tunic and black trousers.

  “Sitting,” Hades replied.

  “But you are at the wrong table.”

  “As long as I am with Persephone, I am right,” he replied.

  Aphrodite frowned.

  “How is Harmonia, Aphrodite?” Persephone asked.

  The goddess’s sea-green eyes shifted to meet her gaze. “Fine, I suppose. She has been spending much of her time with your friend Sybil.”

  Persephone hesitated. “I think they have become very good friends.”

  Aphrodite offered a small smile. “Friends,” she repeated. “Have you forgotten I am the Goddess of Love?”

  With that, the two departed. Persephone watched as Hephaestus walked Aphrodite to the Olympians’ table, helped
her sit, and then left to find a table for himself.

  She turned to Hades. “Do you think Aphrodite is…opposed to Harmonia’s choice of partner?”

  “Do you mean is she opposed because Sybil is a woman? No. Aphrodite believes love is love. If Aphrodite is upset, it is because Harmonia’s relationship means she has less time for her.”

  Persephone frowned, and for a moment, she thought she could understand how Aphrodite felt. Harmonia’s attack had brought the goddess back into her life, and that had meant companionship, and as much as Aphrodite liked to pretend she did not mind her independence, Persephone—everyone—knew she craved attention, specifically the attention of Hephaestus.

  “Do you think Aphrodite and Hephaestus will ever reconcile?”

  “We can all only hope. They are both completely unbearable.”

  Persephone rolled her eyes and nudged him with her elbow, but the God of the Dead only chuckled.

  Dinner appeared before them—lamb, lemon potatoes, roasted carrots, and eliopsomo, a bread baked with black olives. The smells were savory and made Persephone realize just how hungry she was.

  Hades reached for a silver pitcher on the table.

  “Ambrosia?” he asked.

  She raised a brow. “Straight?”

  Ambrosia was not like wine. It was stronger than mortal alcohol. Persephone had only had a small amount in the past—and that had been due to Lexa, who had bought a bottle of Dionysus’s famous wine, which had been mixed with a drop of the divine liquid.

  “Just a little,” he said and poured a small amount in her goblet.

  Hades filled his own to the brim.

  “What?” he asked when he noticed Persephone staring.

  “You are an alcoholic,” she said.

  “Functioning.”

  Persephone shook her head and sipped the ambrosia. The taste filled her mouth with a cool, honeyed sensation.

  “Do you like it?” Hades asked. His voice was low, almost sensual, and drew her attention.

  “Yes,” she breathed.

  Callista cleared her throat, and Persephone turned to look at her.

  “So how did you two meet?” Callista asked.