A Game of Fate (Hades Saga #1)(21)

Beneath the brightness of the blue sky, Hades settled the soul beneath the leaves of a pomegranate tree, heavy with crimson fruit.

“Rest well,” he said, and in the next second, the shade transformed into a swath of red poppies.

***

Hades traded the peace of Elysium for the horror of Tartarus, teleporting to the part of his realm affectionately known as The Cavern. It was the oldest part of his realm, boasting towering stone formations, shimmering draperies, and crystal pools of icy water. The natural beauty was marred by the desperate pleas of the souls who were tortured here; part of the misery was the echoing cries that carried through the vast ceilings.

Hades approached one of the stone slabs, where Duncan was stretched out, wrists and ankles chained. He had been stripped down, and a cloth covered his groin. His chest rose and fell quickly, a mark of his fear. His textured skin was coated in sweat. He turned his head and met Hades’ gaze, beady eyes desperate.

“My lord, I’m sorry. Please—”

“You put your hands on a woman,” Hades said, cutting him off. “One who caused no harm, save for a few biting words.”

“It will never happen again!” The ogre began to struggle against his restraints, panting as hysteria settled in.

Hades’ lips curved into a fiendish smile.

“Oh, of that I am certain,” he replied as a black blade manifested in his hand. The King of the Underworld leaned over the ogre, pressing the blade to his bulbous stomach. “You see, the goddess you touched, the one you attempted to choke, the one you left a mark upon, will be my wife.”

Just as Duncan bellowed his final rebuff, Hades plunged the knife into the ogre’s stomach.

“I did not know!” Duncan cried.

Hades dragged the knife down, cutting deep with the intention of exposing the creature’s liver and summoning vultures to feast upon it, but the more Duncan repeated himself—I did not know, I did not know—the angrier Hades became. The more he thought of Persephone, lithe and powerless, suspended by the throat from the ogre’s very hand, the more his rage blossomed. He plunged the blade into the ogre’s stomach once, twice, then over and over, until he no longer spoke, until blood pooled from his mouth. Until he was dead.

Last, Hades cut off his hands, and when he was finished, he stood back, breathing hard, face splattered with blood.

This had not been torture.

It was a slaying.

Hades dropped the blade as if it burned and drew his hands behind his head. He closed his eyes and took deep breaths until he felt calm again. He was insane, sick, and violent. How could he possibly think he might one day be worthy of love?

The thought was laughable, and his hope was selfish.

And he knew then that the only way he would ever keep Persephone was if she never discovered this side of him. The one that craved brutality and bloodshed.

***

Later that evening, Thanatos found Hades in his office and offered a bundle wrapped in white cloth.

“Atropos’s shears,” he said.

Hades would take them to Hephaestus so the God of Fire could restore them.

The two were quiet, each lost in their own thoughts.

After a moment, the God of Death spoke. “What sort of power would destroy the Fates’ magic?”

“Their own,” Hades replied.

Which meant more than likely, Sisyphus de Ephyra had found a relic.

After The Great War, scavengers collected items from the battlefield—pieces of broken shields, swords, spears, fabrics. They were items that contained residual magic, items that could still pose a threat if they fell into the wrong hands. Hades had worked for years to extract relics from circulating in the black market, but there were thousands and sometimes it took a disaster to figure out who was in possession of one.

A disaster like Sisyphus de Ephyra.

Hades would be damned if he let a mortal like him cheat him out of love.

Ilias had delivered a file earlier. It confirmed what Hades had suspected—Alexander Sotir was addicted to Evangeline and in debt to his dealer, Sisyphus, but making the connection did no good until Hades located the mortal.

“What will you do?” Thanatos asked.

“Visit Olympus,” Hades replied, shuddering.





CHAPTER VII – MOUNT OLYMPUS




Olympus was a marble city upon a mountain. It was bright, beautiful, and vast. Several narrow passages branched off from a courtyard rimmed with statues of the Olympians, leading to homes and shops where demi-gods and their servants lived.

Like the gods and the world below, Olympus had also evolved. Zeus had ordered the installation of a stadium and theater in addition to the existing gymnasium, where gods trained and mortals fought or performed for them. It was one of Zeus’s favorite pastimes and a practice that had not changed, even though the God of Thunder now lived on Earth.

Hades did not often venture to Olympus. Even before The Great Descent, it was a place he preferred to avoid, much like he preferred to avoid Olympia, the new Olympus, but there were a few gods who still resided in the clouds, among them Athena, Hestia, Artemis, and Helios.

It was Helios Hades wanted to see now—Helios, God of the Sun, one of few Titans who did not dwell in Tartarus.

Hades found Helios resting in the Tower of the Sun, a sanctuary made of white marble and gold that rose over the other buildings on Olympus, a pillar cutting through the clouds. The surface gleamed with its own internal light, like the sun shining on water. It was the tower from which he launched his four-horsed golden chariot across the sky and where he returned at night.