A Game of Retribution (Hades Saga #2)(53)

She scrambled off his lap, standing a few steps away. He did not try to reach for her.

“I won’t lose her.”

“You haven’t. Lexa still lives.” She was so afraid, it was like she already considered her dead. “You must give her soul time to decide.”

“Decide? What do you mean?”

He sighed, unable to contain the dread he felt at this oncoming conversation.

He answered as he pinched the bridge of his nose, an ache forming at the front of his head for the second time today. “Lexa’s in limbo.”

“Then you can bring her back,” she reasoned.

That was not how limbo worked.

“I can’t.”

“You did it before. You said when a soul is in limbo, you can bargain with the Fates to bring it back.”

“In exchange for the life of another. A soul for a soul, Persephone.”

“You can’t say you won’t save her, Hades.”

He was saying that, as hard as it was to admit. This was a situation of choice on Lexa’s behalf. To interfere, to bring her back when she was not ready, or worse, did not want to come, would mean a harrowing return to the world of the living. The consequences were endless.

“I’m not saying I don’t want to, Persephone. It is best that I do not interfere with this. Trust me. If you care for Lexa at all—if you care for me at all—you will drop this.”

“I’m doing this because I care!”

“That’s what all mortals think—but who are you really trying to save?

Lexa or yourself?”

She wanted to escape the loss and the grief. She didn’t want to think of a life without Lexa, and while he could not blame her, it was never for the living to decide, though they tried often.

“I don’t need a philosophy lesson, Hades,” she sneered.

“No, but apparently you need a reality check.”

He rose to his feet and removed his jacket, and when his fingers moved to the buttons of his shirt, Persephone snapped.

“I’m not having sex with you right now.”

He scowled, frustration making his body feel tight and warm. He shrugged off his shirt and stood bare-chested before her, dropping the glamour he used to hide the black threads marring his body. The newest was a thick band that wrapped around his arm and went across his back. It was Briareus’s, and it had burned a track into his skin as he’d taken the giant’s soul. They were all painful when they were made, but some hurt worse than others, and this one still throbbed.

“What are they?”

She reached to touch him, but the thought of her tracing such a dark part of his life was alarming, so he captured her hand, halting her movement.

Her eyes snapped to his.

“It’s the price I pay for every life I’ve taken by bargaining with the Fates.

I carry them with me. These are their life threads, burned into my skin. Is this what you want on your conscience, Persephone?”

She wrested her hand from his hold, cradling it against her chest, though her eyes still trailed the fine lines on his skin.

“What good is being the God of the Dead if you can’t do anything?” She sounded very much defeated as she looked away and took a shuddering breath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

He gave a humorless laugh. “You meant it,” he said, one hand pressing against her cheek so she would look at him once more. “I know you don’t want to understand why I can’t help, and that’s okay.”

“I just…don’t know what to do,” she whispered.

“Lexa isn’t gone, yet you mourn her. She may recover.”

“Do you know that for certain? That she will recover?”

“No.”

He saw no reason to lie. The truth was, even Lexa did not know yet. He wished he could offer more comfort. He knew she wanted it, but in the face of death, there were no words that would ease her pain.

Finally, she rested her head against his chest, and her body felt heavy against his, as if she were finally giving over this burden—at least for now.

He took her into his arms and teleported to the Underworld, to his chamber, where he laid her to rest on his bed.

“Do not fill your thoughts with the possibilities of tomorrow,” he said and kissed her forehead, letting his magic send her into a deep, unbothered sleep, hoping she would actually rest, so he could slip away to the palace of the Fates.

He appeared in a flurry of shadows and smoke that peeled away and led him to the Library of Souls where he found the Fates at work. It appeared that Clotho was spinning gold threads, and they glimmered in the air, crisscrossing the breadth of the space. While she worked, Lachesis stood at the center, holding open a large book into which the thread was burrowing, while Atropos waited with her scissors.

Just as she began to cut, Lachesis spoke, “No, no, no, you mustn’t end it there!”

“You are the allotter of life. I am the manner of death,” Atropos said. “I will end this life where I want!”

“You are far too humane,” Lachesis said. “This man has lived an inhospitable life. He should die the same.”

“Trauma is hardly pleasant.”

“It is merciful. Much better to die by disease.”

“Why let him die at all?” Hades asked. “Perhaps the greater torture is continuing to live an unfavorable life?”