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“Persephone, when you give me your soul, you will never again leave this realm. Never visit earth. Never?—”

“I understand,” I cut him off. Quieter, I repeat, “I understand.”

“This is the only way I can keep you with me. The only way I can ensure your safety.”

I look back to the statue, frowning as I consider the art. “When was this statue carved?”

“It rose from the earth the day you were murdered. I’ve had many centuries to ponder its meaning.”

“But my soul is already connected to yours.”

“It is.” He nods. “But you are still human. The only way I can make you a Goddess, make you immortal with me, is if you give me your soul to protect for eternity. To bind it not only to the Underworld, but to my own.”

“I was a goddess before, Hades,” I say gently. “And I was still murdered.”

“You were.” Hades nods. “But like Atropos said, she did not completely cut the cord of your life. As a Goddess, fraying thecord was possible, and it was that fraying that allowed you to be born again. The same way our daughters’ cords will be frayed. If you die again as a human, I’m not certain what will happen to you.”

“I—I need to think about this.”

His eyes shutter slowly before opening again. “I understand, little goddess. But please, don’t take too long.”

Chapter

Eighteen

Persephone

Wine red wingscrack thunder in the sky as Hydra soars high, so high I feel as though I am moments from touching the stars. I know I’m not, know it is an illusion. But it feels like magic. The magic feels like an overwhelm of happiness building inside me as Hydra dives headfirst for the glittering sandstone mountains that bracket the entrance into the starlit sea. In the last moments, when life should flash before my eyes, she swoops up in a graceful arc that has us racing again for the stars.

Laughter sings from my lungs, tailing a shriek of delight. Happiness, not my own, is a wordless explosion in my mind that bleeds into my heart. Hydra is happy. She is so happy she is unable to contain it, feeding it to me through our bond. I accept it as the honor it is, knowing how deeply she suffered, lonely and misunderstood in the caves below the sinkhole.

Emotion leaks from my eyes even as laughter spills from my lips. Love is so rich and full inside my heart; I feel as though I may burst with it.

Hydra charges for the stars in blinding speed before she suddenly stops her charge, letting the momentum slow her advance on the sky. Around her neck, the coils of the necks of her other heads unwind to spear the darkness in every direction as, in a seamless act, every mouth releases a burst of Tartarus flame that rains down in thousands of tiny sparks around us.

We must look like fireworks in the sky.

Far, far below I think I hear the cheers of Asphodel City.

Hydra coils her heads back into place so that each one is a smaller flare around her primary, much larger head. She reminds me a little of the frilled lizard, only her frill is all her other heads. I am sure to others it’s a terrifying sight, but to me she is simply beautiful.

An image flashes in my mind, shared by Hydra. Usually, she speaks in words, so I’m momentarily alarmed.

“The black mountain is open.”

She angles her body, giving me a view of the black mountain and the mouth of the cave that yawns, now large enough to welcome Hydra. A shiver snakes down my spine, because the invitation isn’t one we can ignore.

“I think we’re meant to go.”

“Hades would have my heads if I took you to the Moirai without him.”

I recoil. “Don’t joke about your heads.” Hydra laughs in my mind. I cringe. “It’s not funny.”

“The story of my heads is so tragic, my Persephone, if I don’t find humor I will always grieve.”

The cave mouth yawns wider. The invitation is clear.

No, not an invitation. A summons.