A Touch of Malice (Hades & Persephone #3)(5)

And it wasn’t just sadness that burdened her—she was also angry. Angry that Lexa had been hurt at all, angry that despite the gods—despite her own Divinity—there was no fighting Fate. Because Persephone had tried, and she had failed.

Her stomach knotted, poisoned by guilt. If she had known what lay ahead, she would have never bargained with Apollo. When Lexa lay unconscious in the ICU, Persephone had just begun to understand what it was to fear losing someone. In fact, she had been so afraid, she had done everything in her power to prevent what was ultimately, inevitable. Her decisions had hurt Lexa in ways that were only repairable with time—and a drink from the Lethe.

Even with her memories gone, Persephone still had hope that the old Lexa would come back. Now she knew the truth—grief meant never going back, it meant never collecting the pieces. It meant that the person she was now in the aftermath of Lexa’s death was who she would be until the next death.

Bile rose in her throat.

Grief was a cruel god.

As she approached the palace, she was greeted by Cerberus, Typhon, and Orthrus who bounded toward her. The three Dobermans halted before her, energetic but obedient. She knelt, scratching behind their ears and moving to their sides. She’d come to understand their personalities more. Of the three, Cerberus was the most serious and the most dominate. Typhon was mellow but always alert, and Orthrus could be silly when he wasn’t patrolling the Underworld—which was almost never.

“How are my handsome boys?” she asked.

They panted and Orthrus’s paws tapped the ground, as if he could barely contain his wish to lick her face.

“Have you seen Hecate and Yuri?” she asked.

They whined.

“Take me to them.”

The three obeyed, ambling toward the palace, towering and ominous, it could be seen from just about anywhere in the Underworld. Its shining obsidian pinnacles seemed to go on forever, disappearing into the bright, grey-toned sky, a representation of Hades’ reach, his influence, his reign.

At the base of the castle were gardens of green ivy, red roses, narcissus, and gardenias. There were willows and blossoming trees and pathways that cut through the flora. It was a symbol of Hades’

kindness, his ability to change and adapt—it was atonement.

When she’s first visited, she’d been angry to find the Underworld so lush, both because of the bargain she’d struck with the God of the Dead, and also because creating life was supposed to be her power. Hades had quickly illustrated that the beauty he had crafted was an illusion. Even then, she’d been jealous that he was able to use his magic so effortlessly. Though she was gaining control daily— through practices with Hecate and Hades—she still envied their control.

“We are old gods, my dear,” Hecate had said. “You cannot compare yourself to us.”

They were words she repeated every time she felt the familiar claws of jealousy. Every time she felt the familiar frustration of failure. She was improving, and one day she would master her magic, and maybe then the illusions Hades had held for years would become real.

The dogs lead her to the ballroom where Hecate and Yuri stood before a table of floral stems, color swatches, and sketches of wedding dresses.

“There you are,” Hecate said, looking up at the sound of the Doberman’s nails tapping on the marble floor. They ran straight for the Goddess of Witchcraft, who bent to pat their heads before they plopped on the floor beneath the table, panting.

“Sorry I’m late,” Persephone said. “I was visiting Lexa.”

“That’s alright, dear,” Hecate said. “Yuri and I were just discussing your engagement party.”

“My…engagement party?” It was the first time she’d heard anything about it. “I thought we were meeting to plan for the wedding.”

“Oh, we are,” Yuri said. “But we must have an engagement party. Oh, Persephone! I cannot wait to call you queen!”

“You can call her queen now,” Hecate said. “Hades does.”

“It’s just so exciting!” Yuri clasped her hands. “A Divine wedding! We haven’t had one of those in years.”

“Who was the last?” Persephone asked.

“I believe it was Aphrodite and Hephaestus,” Hecate said.

Persephone frowned. Rumors had always circulated about Aphrodite and Hephaestus, the most common, that the God of Fire did not want the Goddess of Love. During the times Persephone had spoken to Aphrodite, she’d gathered that the goddess was not happy in her marriage, but she did not know why. When she tried to learn more about her relationship, Aphrodite shut down. In part, Persephone did not blame the goddess. Her love life and its struggles were no one’s business. Still, she got the sense that Aphrodite believed she was very much alone.

“Were you in attendance at their wedding?” Persephone asked Hecate.

“I was,” she said. “It was beautiful, despite the circumstances.”

“Circumstances?”

“Theirs was an arranged marriage,” Yuri explained. “Aphrodite was a gift to Hephaestus.”

“A… gift.”

Persephone cringed. How could a goddess— any woman—be presented as a gift?

“That is what Zeus likes to say,” Hecate said. “But when she was born—a siren of beauty and temptation—Zeus was approached by several gods for her hand in marriage—Ares, Poseidon, even Hermes fell prey to her charms, though he will deny it. Zeus rarely makes a decision without consulting his oracle, and when he asked about marriage to each of those gods, the oracle foretold war, so he wed her to Hephaestus.”