Page 24

Chapter

Twenty-One

P ersephone

“I don't have a good feeling about this.” Hesitation twists Maya’s expression as her fingers knot in front of her belly. “I don't think you should go.”

“I don't have a choice.” I sigh, pulling a gown from a hanger and tossing it onto the bench in the middle of the closet.

If the Moirai are right, Ares’ future and the continuation of humanity as we know it, depends on me travelling to Olympus.

Just the thought has a chill snaking down my spine. It erupts over my flesh in goosebumps that are more than visible. They’re a beacon of my discomfort. My fear.

The Moirai say that Ares is at a fork in his path.

That I am the thing that will pull him away from the darkness and into the light.

Not just the facade of light, as is the way of the games Zeus plays, but the true light that lives inside us.

It’s not a light that needs to shine and shimmer, on display for all to see.

It’s a quiet light. It’s doing the right thing even though the right thing is cloaked in shadows and seeping chaos.

For change is never simple or easy. Peace does not sprout from earth that has not been upturned.

One cannot protect another without first tarnishing his armour.

I only have to look at Hades for proof of that.

There is no reward without work. And when one is working for anything that matters—truly matters—work is often hard.

Maya lowers to the bench. “There’s always a choice.”

I roll my eyes at the row of gowns. I don’t know what to pack. “Do you know anything about Olympus?”

Maya’s frown twists into a look of horror. “Why would I know anything about Olympus?”

“Sorry.” I sigh. “It was a silly question.”

Maya harrumphs, but she manages a grumble, “Olympus is an ugly, evil place. It is filled with ugly and evil Gods.”

“Funny.” I finger a pretty, light blue gown.

“What’s funny?” Maya doesn’t sound impressed. “There’s nothing funny about Olympus.”

I swear, I can hear her shiver. I explain, “When I imagine Olympus, I think of it as light and bright. I don't foresee black clothing being in the height of fashion.”

Maya snorts. “It’s not.”

I twist with the pretty, light blue dress. “So, they’d wear something like this?”

“Sure.” She scowls at the gown. “Though I think Zeus favors white and gold.”

I drop the pretty blue dress in favor of an ebony number with a scandalous slit clean to the hip. Then I pluck the dark green one next to it.

I carry the gowns to the suitcase Maya sits beside on the bench. She’s supposed to be helping me pack. She’s not.

I lay the gowns inside and tell her, “When I lived in the human world, before I knew the Gods were real, when I thought of them as myth, I always imagined Olympus was just another way to imagine Heaven. I thought of it as a bright and beautiful place, harmonious music—” I laugh at myself.

At my innocence. My ignorance. “I pictured angels, warmth, and sunlight.”

“There will be sunlight,” Maya admits. “And I suppose what you picture as angels.”

My eyes cut to hers. “What do you mean?”

“I think the angel’s humanity often paints are mostly in Zeus’ image. Hera’s, too.” Her scowl is back, but deeper this time. “And Hercules. Can’t forget about the golden boy with his golden wings.”

“Huh.” I nibble my lip as I consider, bobbing my head to my thoughts. “There’s a lot of crossover to creatures of myth and the Gods.”

Maya laughs, short and sweet. “Sweetie, the Gods are creatures of myth.”

“Interesting.” Maya’s eyes watch my finger as I tap my lips, frowning. “So, where did the perception of Heaven and Hell originate, then?”

“If I had to guess, I’d say Zeus. Very few human souls ever make it to Olympus.

He’s just despicable enough to rejoice in the constant fear humanity lives in as they strive to one day enter the golden gates of his beloved realm.

To let them think that’s where the good souls end up.

When almost all souls end up here.” Emotions blaze in her eyes.

“I would choose Tartarus over the emotional torment that living in Olympus would be.”

My brows snap high. “It’s that bad?”

“Everything you think of the Underworld and Olympus should be flipped.

Except the darkness and light part. There's a lot of darkness here, but it's the good kind of darkness.” She tucks a stray strand of hair behind a pointed ear.

“Olympus is, well, it's light and bright, but it's filled with manipulation.

It's chocked full of backstabbing, self-serving, hideous Gods.”

“There are people there, though, right? Human souls, I mean?”

Maya gives me a frown. “I've never been to Olympus.”

“But you know, don't you?”

A deeper, husky, but still feminine voice answers my question, and I turn to the door of the closet to see Hecate. “There are human souls in Olympus Persephone, but they are not cared for the way the souls in the Underworld are cared for.”

“What does that mean?”

“They are slaves,” she says simply. “In every sense of the word.”

“Slaves?” My belly tightens. Sickness churns.

“They are used to serve and pleasure the Gods. Olympus is not a fair and beautiful place.” She steps into the room, her presence far bigger than mine and Maya’s. “You must guard your back.”

Clearly, Hydra is no longer snoozing on the balcony after her fly, because there is a low growl that echoes in my mind before her voice sounds, “I will guard your back.”

I nod, ignoring Hydra and replying to Hecate. “I will be careful.”

She dips her chin and moves deeper into the room, floating in that way she does. My eyes drop to the canvas she carries. It is painted, though not in Hades’ style.

It is darker than anything I've seen Hades paint, and he can paint some dark stuff.

She sets the canvas down on the bench beside my suitcase, tapping it with a black painted nail.

“I don't paint,” Hecate begins. Maya shifts, looking disturbed by the hideousness that is this artwork of crushed bones.

The center is a shattered skull, the fragments of bone rupturing outward. Blood flies in the way of the skull fractures, and snakes slither from shadows that feel all too real, coiling around bone and peering from broken eye sockets. Spiders crawl.

The painting looks alive and that is horrifying.

“Please excuse the mess of it.” Hecate’s lips curl into a small, slow smile.

I stutter, “Wh-what am I supposed to do with it?”

“Take it with you.”

“Take it with me?” I think my voice just raised at least two entire octaves. I feel my brows climbing even as I try to keep my face neutral. But—well, I just can't hide my shock.

It's not my fault. This is a truly horrifying painting.

“Hecate,” I begin cautiously. “I appreciate the gesture, but I don't think this is going to fit in with the ambience of Olympus.”

“It won't.” Her smile stretches cat-like. “Just as your dresses won’t.”

Understanding settles inside me as she fingers the dark gowns I’ve chosen for my stay in Olympus.

“You don’t want me to fit in.” It’s not a question.

“You don’t want to fit in, Persephone. Trust me.”

“I do,” I say honestly. “Trust you, I mean.”

Hecate’s eyes come to mine, and there’s something there in the depths. Something that says not a lot of people—souls—truly trust in Hecate.

Her chest swells with the breath she pulls in.

“This isn’t just a painting. I’ve enchanted it as I’ve enchanted all the canvasses for Hades.

” My breath catches in my lungs, already burning.

My heart pounds. “The paint is infused with Gods’ bone and the blood of Hades.

This canvas, like all the rest, is a prison.

” Her eyes never leave mine. “Do you understand what I am saying to you, Persephone?”

“I—do you want me to imprison Demeter?”

“If you can. And Zeus, too.”

“I—” A cool shiver rocks me to my core. “I don’t know how I would do that.”

“The canvas is enchanted to take them. All you need to do is push them in.”

“Like, physically push them in?”

“Get them close, and push.” Hecate nods soberly.

“The canvas will do the rest. It will pull them in, sealing them inside.” She lifts her hands to the chain she’s always worn around her neck.

She tugs, pulling an inky black and dark purple stone from the gauzy black material of her gown.

It is caged by an ancient looking melted silver the color of starlight that drips down the crystal.

She places the chain around my throat, fastening it in place before stroking the stone lovingly with one long black nail.

“I may have been birthed by Asteria, but I am a blessed daughter of Nyx, and as such I’ve worn this stone under the protection of her power since my conception.

Her blood is my blood. It lives in my veins as she lives in my heart.

” Hecate’s eyes lift to mine, and there’s a blooming of color in her pale cheeks.

“I give her power now to you, Persephone. My friend and my Queen.” She releases the stone.

“Save us all, and then save yourself. Shatter this stone, and once free, the power inside will bring you back here to my home in the Underworld. It is a portal that can appear anywhere, only once. Use it only when you must.”