Page 45 of Gods and Graves

CHAPTER FORTY

THEA

T he dining room is just as grand and extravagant as the throne room.

A large table that’s easily able to seat twenty dominates the space, constructed out of rich mahogany wood.

A three-tiered chandelier dangles from the ceiling, but on closer inspection, it appears to be made of bones.

The skull in the center emanates a radiant white light.

Only two of the twenty seats are occupied. Hades, of course, sits at the head, with Persephone in the seat to the right of him.

“Oh! You’re here!” Persephone’s hands flutter to her throat as she stares at me. “How did you sleep? Were the beds comfortable?”

Instinctively, I snap my gaze in Zaid’s direction, feeling a blush heat my cheeks.

“It was…great,” I say, forcing my attention back on Persephone.

She appears pleased, her smile broadening. “Fantastic! Do you want it to be your permanent room here? We can add some color to it, if you want! Maybe some nice blinds? Blankets? Decorations? What do you think about?—”

“Seph!” Hades admonishes, though he doesn’t even flick his eyes her way.

His features remain entirely impassive as he sips what appears to be coffee.

Do the gods even need to eat and drink? I suppose I never really thought about it before, but now I wonder?—

“Sit.” Hades waves a hand in the air, and five chairs are pulled away from the table simultaneously.

I exchange a glance with my guys, steely determination bolstering me, and sit in the seat beside Hades, opposite Persephone. Everett glares at me, obviously not pleased with my choice, but I stick my tongue out at him.

Yes, my disappearance impacted all of us, but I was the one locked away for hundreds of years. Tortured, if you think about it. I have questions, and Hades may be the only one who can answer them.

Before I can even begin to voice one of the thousands of thoughts percolating in my head, Hades snaps his fingers.

Seven servants hurry into the room, each carrying a silver tray.

Plates of the fluffiest-looking pancakes I’ve ever seen are placed in front of us, followed by scrambled eggs and strips of bacon.

“We can’t have this conversation on empty stomachs,” Persephone explains, though she doesn’t lift a hand to eat her own food. She just continues watching me, her eyes abnormally wide and doe-like.

It’s…unnerving. A little freaky.

Before I can dig into my breakfast, Zaid stops me, placing a hand on my knee.

“Don’t,” he warns, his voice quiet but his eyes sharp.

But…pancakes.

I must give him a pathetic, puppy-dog look because he sighs heavily. “Certain foods eaten in the Underworld can make it impossible for you to leave.”

Hades scoffs and gracefully cuts off a piece of his pancake. It’s so strange to see. He’s a terrifying, powerful guy, yet this makes him seem almost…normal. Domesticated.

Even if he does eat like a goddamn horse, his teeth nibbling at each bite he brings to his lips.

“As if I want you five here longer than necessary,” he says, his tone carefully apathetic.

“It’s perfectly safe,” Persephone is quick to reassure.

“Isn’t food how Hades trapped you here to begin with?” I ask, narrowing my eyes suspiciously as I recount the legend of her entrapment.

I feel a little shitty when her face falls, her eyes misting.

“Enough!” Hades slams his fist down on the table, causing it to rattle.

He spears me with a penetrating glare that makes fear snake down my spine.

How could I ever think he was normal?

I can practically feel the raw, unencumbered power radiating off him in malevolent waves. The delicate hairs on my arms stand straight up, as if the air is alive with electricity. Every instinct demands that I run away—and run far.

And the most terrifying part of all of this?

I don’t think Hades is truly mad. Irritated, yes, and undoubtedly annoyed.

But mad? No.

I can’t imagine what he would be like if he released all of that festering rage inside of him. I don’t think the world would survive his wrath.

“You do not come into my home and insult my wife,” Hades continues, his tone scathing.

“Our apologies,” Zaid says quickly—ever the diplomat. “We meant no disrespect.”

“Of course you didn’t mean disrespect,” Persephone pipes in, waving her hands at her eyes as if she hopes to dry up her tears. “I’m just sensitive. But I’m fine. It’s fine. Everything’s fine.”

She offers her husband a timid, shaky smile, and he seems to physically deflate.

He may be the most powerful god in existence, but she definitely wears the pants in that relationship. She has him wrapped around her dainty finger, and he doesn’t even seem to realize it. It makes me a little sad to know that his love for her is unreciprocated—at least if the rumors are true.

But at the same time, he did kidnap her and force her into marriage, so fuck him.

“Now,” Hades continues, and the power permeating the room seems to dissipate, at least slightly. I can finally breathe. “Tell me everything.”

I exchange glances with my guys, debating. But at the end of the day, we came here for answers. Like with Athena, we have no choice. Keeping secrets won’t help us in this situation.

Everett nods, and Krystian grins encouragingly. Zaid gives my thigh another squeeze. Rafe doesn’t acknowledge me, keeping his glare fixed on Hades, as if waiting for him to make any sudden movements.

Taking a deep breath, I tell Hades everything.

He listens without interruption, his features carefully blank except for the nearly imperceptible tightening of his eyes. At one point, Persephone cries out, her eyes wide with horror. She places a trembling hand against her mouth as tears stream down her cheeks.

When I’m done, silence permeates the air, stiff with an acrimonious type of tension.

Hades’s long fingers tap against the tabletop.

“This…is concerning.” A frown tugs at his lips. “This could explain the soul imbalance over the last couple hundred years.”

“Soul imbalance?” I ask, confused.

Hades seems surprised, blinking slightly, and I realize he didn’t mean to let that little tidbit slip.

He tilts his head to the side, contemplating me, before seeming to come to some sort of conclusion.

Settling back in his chair, he folds his arms over his chest. “What I’m about to tell you five cannot leave this room. Do you understand?”

There’s an unstated threat in that question, one that promises pain, misery, and death if we don’t agree.

“We understand,” I say, answering for us all.

Hades studies us for another long moment, his eyes piercing, before he blows out a haggard breath, that one sound rife with an eternity of responsibility and pain.

“The Underworld is different from the realm above. The gods created it, yes, but we don’t maintain it.

Up above, every god and goddess has a purpose to keep the world running.

Poseidon is in charge of the sea and the creatures in it.

Zeus took the sky. Demeter allows things to grow.

Apollo is in charge of the sun. I could go on and on.

It takes an entire pantheon of gods to run the living world.

But the Underworld? It’s only me, and it’s just as grand as the world above—if not grander.

It needs more than just my power to thrive. ”

“The power of souls,” Zaid breathes, shock splaying across his face.

Hades nods gravely. “That’s correct. When a new soul joins the Underworld, a tiny sliver of their power goes towards the upkeep of the land. Not enough to make the soul go insane, but enough that the…lights are powered, so to speak.” He turns towards Persephone. “Did I say that right, my dear?”

She beams, her beautiful face spotlighting every insecurity I’ve ever had. Ugh.

“You did perfect,” she coos.

“But I haven’t reaped enough souls to make that big of a difference,” I insist. “How many people die every single day? One hundred thousand? I reap, at most, one thousand a day.”

“One thousand?” Krystian interrupts, incredulous.

Zaid gives me a pained expression, his brows tugged low over his somber eyes.

I know they’re thinking of my…condition.

What they don’t understand is that I've grown used to it. At my prime, I could reap over one hundred souls before I would need to place the dagger on the pedestal, alleviating the effects of insanity.

I don’t need their pity. Not for this. Not for something I survived and will continue to survive, regardless of what’s thrown my way.

“That makes a bigger difference than you think,” Hades says gravely.

“At first, I believed the imbalance stemmed from modern medicine and treatments. Humans found ways to defy the will of the gods.” His upper lip curls away from his teeth.

“But that didn’t explain why the Underworld seemed to…

rebel. Now it makes sense. The Underworld knew souls were being stolen from it, and it became pissed. ”

Krystian tentatively lifts his hand in the air but doesn’t wait to be called upon. “You’re speaking as if the Underworld is sentient. As if it’s…alive.”

Pretty ironic, because it’s the realm of the dead.

“Isn’t it?” Hades quirks a single eyebrow. “The world above is alive, is it not? It has grass and trees and flowers. Is it impossible to believe that the Underworld is too, in its own unique way?”

Errr…

I don’t have an answer to that, mainly because my mind hurts just thinking about it for longer than a few seconds.

“My brain hurts,” Krystian moans, rubbing at his temples.

We truly are soulmates.

“Same,” I agree. “I’m happy I’m not the only stupid one here.”

Zaid, of course, lights up and leans forward. “I think I understand.”

“Of course you do,” Krystian mutters, exchanging a tiny, conspiratorial smile with me.

“Is this why there are no new souls?” I ask, piecing everything together.

Maybe I’m not the dumbest one of the group. Yay!

“You noticed that,” Hades says.

“Kind of hard to miss,” Everett deadpans.

“This power imbalance…” Hades grabs his napkin and dabs at his lips, his gaze far away and distant. “It’s worse than you can possibly imagine. The Underworld is refusing to admit new souls.”

A boulder drops in my stomach. “What does that mean?”

“It’s been steadily getting worse over the last two hundred years, but we reached the breaking point a few weeks ago,” Hades continues.

“A breaking point?” I question.

“One of my reapers was sent to a battlefield. Hundreds and hundreds of souls to reap. But when he tried, it… It didn’t work.” He drops his napkin back onto the table and lowers his gaze.

I can’t quite read the emotion in his eyes.

“The souls couldn’t get reaped?” I ask.

“They got reaped,” Hades corrects, confusing me further. “But they didn’t end up here.”

Ice travels down my spine. “What happened to them?”

“They just…disappeared. Ceased to exist.” Hades’s voice is glacial, his eyes tight. “After that, I sent my reapers out on a few more test runs. It was all the same. So…I forced the reapers to stop.”

“To stop reaping souls?” Everett sounds horrified, and I can’t blame him.

If that’s the case, then there are millions of souls currently wandering the earth, confused and lost and desperate. I wouldn’t be surprised if the humans experienced an increase in hauntings and poltergeist attacks.

“What else was there to do?” Hades explodes, grabbing his coffee cup and throwing it at the wall. It shatters, black liquid raining down like rivulets of tar. “I didn’t really have a choice, did I?”

His shoulders shake as he struggles to get his emotions under control.

Persephone rubs his back soothingly.

It seems to help because he takes a deep breath, his fingers flexing around the edge of the table, and then he slowly reclines back in his seat.

We all watch him warily, realizing he’s a faulty bomb seconds from exploding. None of us want to be in range when he detonates.

“You said the power of the souls transferred to another god or goddess, correct?” Hades says, his voice significantly calmer than it was seconds earlier.

“That’s what we believe,” I say hesitantly.

The last thing I want to do is set Hades off again.

“We need to get the power back into the Underworld,” Hades continues. “It’s the only way to save all of the souls—both here and on earth.”

“How do you suppose we do that?” Everett demands, his jaw clenching.

Hades levels the shifter with a cold, unreadable look. “Figure it the fuck out.”

“Hades!” Persephone admonishes, swatting at his shoulder. “Don’t be an ass.”

I imagine she’s the only person alive—or dead—who can get away with talking to him like that. If I tried, he'd cut me into tiny pieces and feed me to Cerberus.

“We’ll figure it out,” I rush to reassure him, desperate to appease his volatile temper. “Athena’s helping us. She will know what to do.”

“Athena…” Hades’s lips firm. “Yes. She’s intelligent. If anyone has a solution, it’ll be her.”

Relieved that the dangerous god’s temper tantrum is apparently over, I ask the question that’s been gnawing at me.

“The souls trapped in the dagger…the ones without any power… Is there a way to free them?” I ask tentatively, lowering my hand to my hip.

Something akin to sympathy flashes in Hades’s eyes. Sympathy…or pity. I can’t tell which. Either way, the sight has a lump manifesting in my throat.

“Only the power of a god can free them now. All of the power. There are too many for even my magic to work,” he tells me.

“I don’t understand. You said that it takes the power of a god?—”

“In this case,” Hades interrupts me. “I’m speaking of the life force of a god.

The power of a god’s soul.” He must see the shock on my face because his lips twitch upwards microscopically.

“Yes, gods’ souls hold immense power too.

And you’ll need that level of power to free the souls in that dagger. ”

“So even if we restore the Underworld’s power…” I swallow.

“The souls in the dagger will still be trapped. I’m sorry, child. There’s nothing we can do for them.”