A Game of Retribution (Hades Saga #2)(41)

Still, he hesitated at her door. What if she did not wish to see him? He frowned, imagining what she might say.

Ensuring I remain in your prison?

He took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

There was no answer.

For a moment, he thought that perhaps she was ignoring him, but then he went in search of her presence and realized he could not feel her.

He opened the door.

It was dark, but he could see that the bed was untouched.

“Persephone?” he called and moved farther into the room, calling forth lights to burn away the darkness, leaving no part of the room in shadow.

But she was not there, so he searched the baths, then the library, then the entire palace, and when he could not find her, he turned to the garden.

He walked the winding path that seemed never-ending the longer he went without finding her beneath the branches of the willows or hiding among the flowers. Hysteria burned his throat when he came to the end of the garden where Cerberus, Typhon, and Orthrus waited, as if they sensed his discontent.

“Find Persephone,” he ordered.

The dogs took off, their noses to the ground, but he could tell by the way they moved that they were not tracking her scent, which only made his fear more acute. As he followed their movement across the Asphodel Fields, he closed his eyes, searching his realm for her footprint, but he couldn’t feel her.

On any given day, at any given time, he could feel her here, a soft caress, a burning ember. He could also feel her absence, a great disruption in the fabric of his world. That was how she felt now—gone. His growing unease turned to fear, churning hard in his stomach. Though this was his realm, it was still dangerous, and Persephone had found that danger readily enough in the past, wandering into Tartarus only to come face-to-face with Tantalus, a man who still wished to cause Hades pain, much like many who resided in his realm.

Except then, Hades had been able to track her to Tantalus.

He could not trace her now.

“Hecate, Hermes!”

Their names left his lips, a summoning command. There were no snide remarks or quips from either as they appeared before him. They knew he would not have called them if it weren’t serious. If he did not need them.

“I cannot find her,” he said, his voice shaking, his heart racing. “I cannot feel her.”

They both paled hearing his words, and there was a shared sense of dread between the three.

“We’ll find her,” Hermes said confidently.

But would it be too late?

The two vanished, and Hades stormed across the field. The wind picked up speed, whipping around him, and the elegant stems of the asphodel wilted as he drained the lush ground around him of magic. Then the air rippled and grew warm with the energy of gods as Hades summoned the deities of the Underworld. They came to him disembodied, taking the form of shadow and lightning, whirling around him. He felt them acutely—grief and sorrow, sickness and panic, starvation and want. They whispered to him as they circled, monstrous things they used to infect mortal minds and drive them to madness.

And Hades felt mad.

Now and then, the deities flashed red eyes or gnashed long, sharp teeth.

They were monsters more than they were human, and Hades needed them.

“Find. My. Queen!” he commanded.

The deities circled quicker, and their whispers became faster until they peeled away, dashing across the sky. Hades followed, still leeching magic from his realm as he went, his sole focus on finding Persephone.

His mind knew no bounds when it came to imagining what might have happened to her. His earlier thoughts of battle returned with a vengeance, and all he could think was that she must be hurt and that he would find her broken and bleeding. The images came to mind easily because he had seen many bodies in the same state. He had never allowed himself to think long on loss, not when it came to Persephone, though he’d always promised to end the world if anything did occur.

Now he was certain of it, but he’d not just set it aflame.

He would tear it to pieces.

It was Cerberus who came to him first, then Typhon, and they led him to a grove of poplar trees where Orthrus sat rigid, guarding Persephone, who slept beneath the silver of his strange moon. Even standing before her, he still could not sense her. It was as if, in slumber, she had managed to shield herself.

It took him a moment to move, to settle the chaos her absence had caused, and when he did, the wind ceased to roar and the deities he had called to his aid screamed as they were forced to return to the untamed wild beyond the gates of his realm. Though he managed to quell the external part of his frenzy, inside, he still felt the aftershock shudder through him, but that soon ebbed as he knelt to gather her into his arms.

He cradled her close as he rose, enjoying her warmth and weight and the smell of her hair, which was earthy and sweet, and soon, Hecate and Hermes had found them. None of them spoke, but there was a general sense of relief between the three. Hades moved past them, heading for the palace.

While he could have teleported, he wanted more time with her like this—

when all was well and peaceful, when she forgot that she hated him.

Cerberus, Typhon, and Orthrus led the way, and with each step he took, his world fell into place, and the Underworld became lush once more.



*

Hades took Persephone to his room, tucking her into his bed. She shifted once when he laid her down, moving to her side and curling her hands beneath her cheek, but she did not wake. He bent and pressed a kiss to her forehead, calm in the knowledge that she was safe, and ventured into the night, finding that he was far more disturbed by his behavior than he had expected to be.