A Game of Retribution (Hades Saga #2)(27)

“That was not a few things,” he said.

“Relative,” she said. “Besides, you’re the one who was explicit about being involved in the project. I am only following your instructions.”

He did not always need to have control, especially if he found people he trusted to see his visions through, and while he did trust Katerina, the Halcyon Project was personal. He wanted it to capture the essence of Persephone, and he felt like the only one qualified to do so.

He nodded to the folder. “Let Ilias know as soon as you find something.

He’s on the case too.”

Katerina nodded grimly, and there was a part of him that hated to have given her something so heavy. Katerina was a fierce advocate for women, having her own history with domestic violence.

“Will you be okay?”

“I will,” she promised. “I’d just like to find them.”

Hades agreed and, with that, left to return to the Underworld. Persephone would be off work soon, and he did not wish to break his promise of seeing her tonight. There was an ever-present thought in the back of his mind that at any point, he could be drawn away to deal with some threat. If not ones that already existed—Hera, Leuce, Dionysus—it would be something new.

Because of that, he used this time to unwind, wandering into the fields and summoning Cerberus, Typhon, and Orthrus, only as the dogs approached, he found they had morphed into their singular form—a single body that shared three similar heads. Despite this, the three always maintained distinct personalities, which were very evident even now.

Cerberus, the middle, had a stoic expression. Typhon, on the right, was calm, though his ears were up and alert. Orthrus, on the left, had his tongue lolling out of his mouth, and the right foot of their large body bounced.

Hades raised a brow. “Were you part of Hecate’s punishments today?”

The three Dobermans took whatever form they pleased, but Hecate often used this one—their monstrous form—to chase deserving souls across Tartarus. In some cases, she allowed the three to devour their prey.

In answer, the three barked.

“I see,” Hades replied. “Does that mean you are too tired for a bit of fetch?”

All three perked up, and Hades smiled, manifesting their favorite red ball.

“I thought not,” he said, throwing the ball up and down. Their eyes followed. “Question is, will you three work together or not?”

Hades reared back.

“Not yet,” he ordered and tossed the ball clear across the Underworld.

Three pairs of eyes watched him, body wiggling in anticipation of chasing their new target.

He smirked. “Go.”

The three let out a growl as they twisted, kicking up dirt as they took off in the direction he’d thrown the ball, and as he watched them bound across the green fields, dipping into rolling hills and parting tall grass, they broke apart, departing into their three bodies once more.

It looked like it was going to be a competition.

While Hades’s strength meant he could throw far, his dogs were monsters, and they had their own power, strength, and speed, which meant that while it would take a normal animal hours to retrieve the ball he’d thrown, it took seconds for them to return. As he stared across the horizon, he saw Orthrus in the lead, red ball clasped in his jowls, yet neither Typhon nor Cerberus were ready to lose. They kept on Orthrus’s heels, nipping at his feet to trip him up.

Still, Orthrus managed to make it to Hades without sabotage. He sat dutifully and dropped the ball at his feet. Typhon and Cerberus took their places beside him, waiting once more for another round.

Hades continued the game until his body glistened with sweat and the light in the Underworld was fading. He returned to the palace through the garden and found himself choosing flowers that made him think of Persephone either in color or beauty—irises and lilies, aster and bellflower —until he had a substantial bouquet.

He had to admit, until Persephone, he had not paid much attention to flowers, especially these—the ones he’d created via illusion. They were for the pleasure of the souls and staff and only managed to remind him of how he’d been born into this world, the war that followed, and the many dark days after. He built feeble walls around the darkness and decay, and while it looked nice enough, what lay beneath was never far from his mind, and he found himself wondering how he could manage to disclose such things to Persephone. How did one communicate lifetimes of turmoil and strife, mistakes and regrets?

“What are you doing?” Hecate asked.

He had been so lost in thought, he had not sensed her approach. He refocused and continued choosing flowers. “What does it look like?”

“Like you are about to add datura to your bouquet,” she said, and Hades’s hand hesitated over the white, trumpet-like flower. “It’s a nasty nightshade.

Best leave it be.”

He straightened and turned to face the witch goddess.

“I’m ridiculous,” he said.

“You are ridiculous often,” Hecate said. “But you are not ridiculous for picking flowers for your lady love, if that is what you are insinuating.”

Hades wasn’t certain. He wasn’t even sure why he’d begun this. Why would the Goddess of Spring want a bunch of soon-to-be-dead flowers?

“I am going to fuck this up,” he said.