Page 41 of Gods and Graves
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
THEA
H ades’s palace looms like a monument to the Underworld itself—massive, unyielding, and carved from the very bones of the earth.
The walls are a tapestry of black stone, polished to a smooth sheen, and etched with intricate, swirling patterns—images of death, decay, and forgotten souls.
They’re so detailed they seem to pulse with life.
As we maneuver through the bustling halls, I can’t help but note the lack of warmth. Only a pervasive chill that sinks deep into my bones, as though the very air is touched by the cold embrace of the dead.
The floor beneath me is smooth, like glass, but with veins of gold running through it, twisting like rivers of frozen ichor. It reflects the dim, flickering light that emanates from the torches lining the hallway and the sconces embedded in the walls.
The ceiling above is an endless, starless black—an abyss that feels too vast for anyone to ever truly comprehend. It’s dotted with faint, shifting points of light, but the lights seem very far away. Distant. Unreachable.
Like the souls trapped in the Underworld itself.
At times, I think I see something move in the shadows, but I dare not look too closely.
“In here,” the minotaur snaps in a gruff voice, pushing my shoulder.
Everett growls, Krystian shouts my name, and Zaid asks if I’m okay. Rafe remains quiet—suspiciously so—and when I glance at him over my shoulder, his gaze is fixed on the minotaur, his eyes flaring with a deadly promise.
I try to give him a smile, but the minotaur shoves me again, and my smile shifts into a grimace.
Fuck. Ow.
We finally enter what appears to be a throne room, and I can’t help but gawk, momentarily forgetting the shit show we’ve found ourselves starring in.
“Woah.”
It’s vast, more of an arena than a room, with ornate pillars spread an equal distance apart along the walls.
The throne itself is an enormous, unsettling work of beauty.
The seat appears as if it were crafted from a stone pulled from the depths of the River Styx—black, glimmering, and oddly liquid in its form.
The back of the throne arches up impossibly high, crowned with jagged spires that resemble the peaks of a mountain lost in eternal darkness.
Bones and skulls surround the throne, though I’m not sure if they’re merely for cosmetic sake or if there’s a reason for their intricate arrangement.
Vines of withered, blackened roses crawl up the sides, their petals frozen in perpetual decay.
Hades sits on his throne, his presence dominating the room.
His form is cloaked in shadows—the flickering light never fully illuminating him—yet his molten gray eyes seem to pierce through the dark like the steel of two swords.
The power he radiates is suffocating, a constant, pressing force that makes it impossible to look away.
“Kneel,” he instructs, and the minotaur shoves on my shoulders, forcing me to my knees.
On either side of me, my guys are forced down as well.
Hades watches us calmly from his seat on the throne, his long fingers tapping against his armrest that I’m pretty sure is actually a femur bone.
“I could ask you five why you thought it would be a good idea to sneak into my realm,” Hades begins, his tone almost conversational despite the sharpness in his eyes. “Or why you decided to attack my loyal guard.”
This is directed at Everett, who doesn’t look the least bit repentant. Behind him, Cerberus growls and slams a hand down on Everett’s shoulder, hard enough that Everett grimaces.
“But I have a far more important question to ask…” Hades’s head swivels in my direction. “How are you alive?”
Out of everything I expected him to say, it wasn’t that.
I blink at him, certain I heard him wrong, but Hades’s impassive gaze doesn’t waver. I can’t help but compare him to…Rafe.
And that’s fucking terrifying.
Rafe may be a psychopath, but I know he’s on my side, always.
Hades?
A shiver of fear ripples down my spine.
“I-I don’t know what you mean,” I say, frowning.
Hades’s fingers repeatedly tap against the armrests of his throne. “How.” Tap. “Are you.” Tap, tap. “Alive?” Tap.
Everett snarls. “I won’t let you fucking hurt her.”
“We won’t let you lock her away again,” tacks on Krystian, baring his teeth.
Hades blinks—the only outward sign of his confusion. “Excuse me?”
“We know what you did,” Krystian presses on, ignoring Zaid’s warning look. “We know that you trapped her and forced her to reap souls for you and?—”
“Enough.” Hades doesn’t yell the word, but he doesn’t need to. He could whisper it, and the entire world would drop to their knees in reverence.
Hades waits until the throne room is utterly silent before he speaks again. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, elf.” His upper lip curls away from his teeth. “All I know is that this reaper here disappeared over four hundred years ago. She was presumed dead.”
“Thea,” I interrupt, my heart hammering in my chest.
Hades arches a brow, seemingly stunned by my audacity to speak directly to him.
Well, fuck him. I refuse to be known as “this reaper” or “that reaper.”
“Excuse me?”
“My name is Thea,” I say, hefting my chin in the air and emulating a confidence I don’t truly feel.
“Thea.” His mouth twists downwards in what appears to be distaste, his hands clenching on the armrests of the chair. “How…cute.”
He uses that term as if it’s synonymous with disgusting—which for him, it probably is.
“Did you know me? Before I went missing, I mean?” I venture tentatively, unable to hold his gaze for longer than a second or two at a time.
He really is one of the most powerful gods, isn’t he? I didn’t feel this way around Athena or Aphrodite. I wasn’t drowning in their power.
“Of course I did.” His fingers resume their impatient tapping. “I…created you, after all.”
“You created me?” I ask, blinking.
Hades scoffs. “Of course I did. I created every reaper that has walked this earth, every one that currently does, and I’ll continue to create them long after you expire.”
A muscle in his jaw twitches, and he turns away momentarily, seemingly lost in thought.
When he returns his attention to me, the coldness in his gaze siphons the breath from my lungs. “Now tell me…where were you?”
“As if you don’t know,” Krystian snaps, seemingly unable to help himself.
That big mouth is going to get him killed one of these days.
Hades slowly flicks his eyes in Krystian’s direction. “If you accuse me of harming the reaper one more time, I will skin you alive,” he threatens.
Krystian bares his teeth but wisely keeps quiet.
Thank fuck. I really, really don’t think I’ll be capable of killing a god—but if he harms one of my guys, I’ll certainly try.
“What do you remember before you got…taken?” Hades asks, studying me intently.
“Nothing,” I confess.
My very first memory was waking up in that room, with the inherent knowledge that my one job in life was to reap souls. It was never strange to me that I arrived with the ability to read, write, and communicate. I just thought those were…perks of the job, so to speak.
“What about you four?” Hades asks, swiveling his head to address my guys.
“What?” Zaid’s frown deepens.
“What do you mean?” Everett demands.
Hades waves a hand flippantly in the air, appearing bored with this entire conversation, his eyes languorous and his lips firm.
“I take it that means you four remember nothing,” he says, reclining in his throne.
“They weren’t a part of my life until a few days ago,” I tell Hades, wondering if I should explain the entire situation to him.
It’s not as if I trust him, but at the same time…I don’t believe he was behind my disappearance. He’s difficult to read, but I swear that was genuine surprise in his eyes when we confronted him. And for a man as ancient and icy as Hades to be surprised, even for a second…
He didn’t know about me.
“So none of you remember,” Hades murmurs, sounding confused.
He tilts his head to the side, a strand of obsidian hair catching in the torchlight and giving it blue undertones.
“Umm…?” I simply stare at him, silently urging him to continue.
Hades sighs heavily. “Hundreds of years ago, the five of you grew up together. Trained together. You, my dear reaper, were the fifth and final member of their team.”