A Touch of Malice (Hades & Persephone #3)(96)

“Does Hades know?” Persephone asked.

“I do not know that Demeter told anyone, save me.”

She wasn’t sure why, but that made her breathe a little easier.

“What do I do?”

Tyche shrugged. “It is hard to know. Perhaps live with the knowledge that Demeter did her best given her circumstances and yet know that does not mean your trauma is invalid. We are all broken, Persephone. It’s what we do with pieces that matters.”

Demeter was using her pieces to hurt, and Persephone knew, in the end, despite her mother’s struggles, she would have to be stopped.

“Thank you, Tyche.”

“It will not be easy, Persephone. The system is broken; something new must take its place but there are no promises in war, no guarantee that what we fight for will win.”

“And yet the chance is worth it…isn’t it?”

Tyche smiled, a little sad and said, “That is hope. The greatest enemy of man.”



***

After leaving the Children’s Garden, Persephone headed for the library, wandering through the stacks, gathering material on Titanomachy, curious about the events that had led up to the defeat of the Titans and the reign of the Olympians. Once she had a few books gathered, she sat curled up before the fire and read.

Most of the texts detailed the bitterness and strife of the battle, but also Zeus’s ability to charm and strategize. He had a history of manipulating and bargaining for the loyalty of both god and monster, promising power to the gods and ambrosia and nectar to the monsters. Persephone did not know this version of the God of Thunder—did he still exist? Was he so comfortable in his position and power he’d lost his edge? Or was his blissful ignorance and indulgent nature more of a ruse?

She felt Hades before she saw him—his presence crept along her neck and down her spine, as if his lips were trailing along her skin. She stiffened. Given their night together, she hadn’t expected to see him today, and yet he appeared in her periphery. The God of the Dead always looked as if he’d manifested from the shadow, but something darker moved beneath his skin and behind his eyes that made her blood run cold.

Persephone lowered her book and they stared at one another for a long moment. He kept his distance, and she felt the strangeness between them, a tension that pressed against her skin and hollowed out her chest. She wanted to say something about last night—to tell him she was sorry and that she didn’t understand why it had happened, but those words were too hard.

“I spoke to Tyche today,” she said instead. “She thinks that the reason she could not heal herself was because the Fates cut her thread.”

Hades stared for a moment, his expression blank. This was a different Hades, one that surfaced when the other couldn’t be bothered to feel.

“The Fates did not cut her thread,” he said.

Persephone waited for him to continue, when he didn’t, she prompted, “What are you saying?”

“That Triad has managed to find a weapon that can kill the gods,” Hades spoke matter of fact, no concerned or anxiety present in his tone.

“You know what it is, don’t you?”

“Not for certain,” he replied.

“Tell me.”

Hades paused a moment. It was like he didn’t know where to begin—or maybe more that he did not want to tell.

“You met the Hydra,” he said. “It has been in many battles in the past, lost many heads—though, it just regenerates. The heads are priceless because their venom is used as a poison. I think Tyche was taken down by a new version of Hephaestus’s net and stabbed with a hydra-poisoned arrow—a relic to be specific.”

“A poisoned arrow?”

“It was the biological warfare of ancient Greece,” Hades said. “I have worked for years to pull relics like them out of circulation, but there are many and whole networks dedicated to the practice of sourcing and selling them. I would not be surprised if Triad has managed to get their hands on a few.”

Persephone let that information sink in before she said, “I thought you said gods couldn’t die unless they were thrown into Tartarus and torn apart by the Titans.”

“Usually,” Hades said. “But the venom of the Hydra is potent, even to gods. It slows our healing and likely, if a god is stabbed too many times...”

“They die.”

That would make sense, why Tyche could not heal herself. After a moment, Hades’ spoke, and the words that came out of his mouth, shocked her—not only because of what he said but because he was offering information and he never did that.

“I believe Adonis was also killed with a relic. With my father’s scythe.”

“What makes you so certain?”

There was a beat of silence. “Because his soul was shattered.”

Persephone understood. Adonis had gone to Elysium to rest for eternity. His soul was the magic with which poppies or pomegranates bloomed.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Again, he was quiet, but she waited for him to speak. “I suppose I had to get to a place where I could tell you. Seeing a shattered soul is not easy, carrying it to Elysium is even harder.”

The look in his haunted eyes told her that she wouldn’t understand what Hades had seen.

Persephone sat her book aside and whispered his name, desperate to soothe, but as she shifted, he seemed to stiffen, eyes moving to the book.