A Game of Retribution (Hades Saga #2)(54)

The three snapped their heads in his direction, though with Lachesis distracted, Atropos cut the thread. As she snipped, the end turned black and curled, disappearing into the book. Lachesis slammed the book closed and launched it at her sister. The Fate caught it and tossed it back, but before it could hit, Hades wrenched it from the air, and as it landed in his palm, the three glared.

“What do you want, Rich One?” Lachesis snapped.

“Why have you—?”

“Lexa Sideris,” Hades said, cutting Atropos off. “Is she the soul you chose to complete the bargain?”

The Fates had said that Briareus’s life would cost him dearly. Lexa’s death would have consequences that echoed far beyond Persephone’s relationship with the mortal. After tonight, it was clear it would also impact Persephone’s relationship with him.

“A mortal in exchange for an immortal?” asked Atropos.

“That is hardly fair, Lord of the Dead,” said Clotho.

“Completely unreasonable,” agreed Lachesis.

“No, dear king, the end of Briareus’s life must give life to another immortal. That is the bargain we’ve struck.”

There was a part of him that felt relief at hearing he was not responsible for Lexa’s accident and subsequent limbo, but a new anxiety filled him at the prospect of an immortal life being born or taken as a result of Briareus’s death, though he always knew it was a possibility.

As much as he wanted to ask them who—which immortal they had chosen—he knew the question was futile.

“Do not fret, Good Counselor,” said Clotho.

“Your bargain with Briareus,” said Lachesis.

“Will only ruin your life,” said Atropos.





Chapter XV

Fight Night

Hades returned to his chamber, where Persephone slept, and climbed into bed, though he did not sleep, his mind too active from the day’s events. He could not begin to understand what Persephone was going through. Even having experienced varying degrees of loss, there was no comparing grief.

Hearts did not break the same.

They did not heal the same.

They would not beat the same.

She stirred beside him, eyes peeling open with some difficulty before whispering, “Have you slept?”

“Not quite yet,” he said.

She did not respond, but she seemed more awake as she stared at him.

“Will you”—she paused, hesitating—“show me the threads again?”

He did not want to, not really, but it was a part of him he had shared, and it was not so surprising that she had more questions.

He dropped his glamour, and she lifted herself onto her elbow and reached a hand out, flattening her palm against his stomach. Her touch was gentle, her hand cold, but it still managed to make him feel warm and make the threads crisscrossing his skin burn.

“Why do you hide them?” she asked, her voice remained quiet.

“Very few warrant pride,” he replied.

“If you are so ashamed, why make so many bargains?”

“Because I am self-serving. There was a time when I cared nothing about the consequences of trading souls.”

Persephone’s hand curled on his stomach. “They cannot all be bad.”

He wasn’t sure if she said it because she was hopeful he might find a way to save Lexa if worse came to worse or because she wished to see the best in him in this moment.

“There are only those I regret more,” he said. “And those souls belong to children.”

He called up his glamour, and they spoke no more.



*

An hour later, Persephone was sound asleep once more. Hades lay awake staring at the ceiling, recalling the vision the eye had shown him. He could still remember it in vivid detail—the crowded square, the guttural sounds of sex, the acidic smell of Dionysus’s magic, and the god himself seated with his lover. Perhaps the worst part was how comfortable she appeared to be as a goddess and a queen. Had the eye been trying to tell him something? Or was it merely fucking with him because it did not trust him?

He turned his head, and as he traced Persephone’s features in the semidarkness, he wondered if she were better off without him.

A pulse of magic drew his attention as Hermes appeared at the end of his bed. He raised a brow.

“You could knock,” he said.

“Courtesy is for mortals,” said Hermes.

“And gods who want to keep their teeth.”

Hermes was not amused, but their banter was overshadowed by how quickly his expression changed to something far too serious for the God of Mischief.

“You’ve been summoned, Hades,” he said.

He did not need to ask who had summoned him. He could guess well enough.

Hera.

“Where?” he asked.

“I cannot tell you that,” Hermes said. “I can only take you there.”

Hades narrowed his eyes as Hermes began to draw a line in the air, summoning a portal.

“No teleportation?” he asked.

“Hera does not allow teleportation into her… realm…without consent, much like you,” Hermes replied just as the portal he had summoned yawned open. It was big enough for Hermes to step through without hassle, but Hades would have to bend.

He sighed, a gnawing anxiety growing in his chest. He leaned over and kissed Persephone softly before rising, summoning his clothes, and stepping through the portal.