A Game of Fate (Hades Saga #1)(41)

“Says the witch who uses poison to solve all her problems,” Hades grumbled.

“It’s far more effective than moping.”

“I am not moping!” Hades snapped and then sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry, Hecate.”

She offered him a half-smile. “Tell me what you fear, Hades.”

It took him a moment to find the words, because he did not really know himself.

“That she is right,” he said. “That she will see no more within me than her mother.”

“Well, lucky for you, Persephone is not her mother. A truth that is just as important for you to remember.”

He supposed it was just as unfair to keep comparing her to Demeter as it was for Persephone to compare him to Demeter’s words, but there was a part of him that wondered why he agonized. It was just a matter of time before the Fates took their scissors to these threads that held them entwined.

“If you want her to understand, you must share more.”

“And give her more fodder for the articles she wants to write? I think not.”

He was still frustrated by her visit to Nevernight, only to discover she was there to accuse him of destroying mortal lives.

Hecate raised a brow. “I have never known you to care what other people think, Hades.”

And now he knew why he never bothered before—because caring was a nuisance.

“She is to be my wife,” Hades said.

“And does that not give her a right to know you differently than anyone else?” Hecate asked. “Overtime, she will learn you—how you think, how you feel, how you love—but she cannot if you do not communicate. Start with Orpheus.”

***

When Hades returned to the castle, he found Thanatos waiting for him in his office. The God of Death appeared paler than usual, his vibrant eyes dull, his red lips drained of color. Normally, he had a calming presence, but Hades could feel his unease, and he shared it.

“We’ve had another,” Thanatos said.

Somehow, Hades knew what the god would say, even before he opened his mouth. It was as Hades anticipated—Sisyphus had not been content with merely avoiding imminent death. He wanted to avoid death altogether.

“Who this time?” Hades asked.

“His name was Aeolus Galani.”

Hades was quiet for a moment, crossing the room to his desk. It was an attempt to walk off some of the fury he felt toward the mortal who was defying death and harming others.

“His soul?”

Thanatos shook his head.

Hades slammed his fists on the desk. A fissure appeared down the center of the perfect, shining obsidian. The two gods stood in silence for a moment as each of them processed how to move forward.

“What connection does he have to Sisyphus?”

“There is only one. They were both members of Triad,” Thanatos replied. “Our sources say Aeolus was an elevated member of the organization.”

Hades brows lowered. He understood Sisyphus’ motives for killing Alexander. He had been an underling, someone whose addiction had led to a debt. Sisyphus had seen him as disposable, but a high-ranking member of Triad was different. His death was like declaring war. What had motivated Sisyphus? Had he learned about Hades’ encounter with Poseidon? Was he hoping to send a message? Did he think himself invincible now that he was in possession of the relic?

“The Fates?” Hades asked after a moment.

“Furious.”

He was not sure why he asked, he knew they were in an uproar. He had not visited their island since he had returned Atropos’ scissors, and even that had been an ordeal. As soon as he had entered, the three began lecturing and threatening. He could only imagine how they sounded now, wailing in a horrible refrain, threatening Hades in the only way they knew how—to unravel what he had always wanted.

He was already doing a fine job of that on his own.

“What will we do?” Thanatos asked, and his voice was quiet, full of a melancholy Hades felt in his chest.

He turned, straightened his tie, and buttoned his jacket.

“Summon Hermes,” Hades answered.

Thanatos’ pale brows furrowed. “Hermes? Why?”

“Because I have a message to send,” Hades said.

Lucky for Hermes, it would not even require words.

***

Hades left the Underworld and teleported to Nevernight. He had expected to go about his usual rounds, wandering unseen among the mortals and humanoids crowding the floor below, sending his staff to deliver passwords to the lounge above, before ascending to bargain, except when he arrived, he was summoned to the balcony by Ilias.

“My lord,” the satyr said as Hades approached.

“Yes, Ilias?”

He nodded to something in the distance, and Hades’ eyes narrowed as he followed.

“That nymph. I believe she’s one of Demeter’s, here to spy on Persephone.”

Demeter had all types of nymphs in her employment—alseids, daphnaie, meliae, naiads, and crinaeae—but this one was a dryad, an oak nymph. She wore a glamour, probably hoping that she would go unnoticed, but Hades could see her green skin beneath the magic. Even if her nature was not apparent, it was obvious she was up to something. Her eyes roamed the crowd, seeking and suspicious. She was clearly looking for someone.

“Has Lady Persephone arrived?” Hades asked, keeping his tone neutral, and yet after the embarrassing conversation he’d had with Hecate in his garden, he could not help being hopeful.