Page 47

Chapter

Forty

H ades

My little goddess, my wife, is an extraordinary creature.

Her red hair falls down her back in rich waves that shine like embers under the burning glow of the river Phlegethon.

Beneath her shoeless feet, the flickering heat of hot coals do not dare scorch her flesh.

The hem of the black dress she wears has been burned away by the heat of Tartarus, dancing in the hot breeze against her legs.

The seared hem burns like the ash of a pulled-on cigarette.

On her head, she wears the Crown of Souls.

On my head, it had been a daggerlike piece, ominous and menacing.

On hers, it had transformed to something completely other.

Vines of gold and thorns hold delicate rose-gold roses.

Dagger blades spear upward amid the vines and flowers, their blades carved with stars and moons and flames.

With the crown atop her head, she is the picture of justice. She is both soft and understanding, and yet ruthless.

Her sight into the core of a soul is unprecedented. Her patience is unmeasured. Her love is undying.

And her vengeance is merciless.

Her eyes burn with the light of the universe, a galaxy of stars a sweeping arc of color that pulls from nothing to craft an entirely new orb, a portal of light into a realm that mimics earth and all its pleasures.

After I’d tossed Zeus into the painting, I’d been keeping Uranus prisoner in for centuries—we’d held meetings about how we were going to fulfil our end of the bargain to Uranus.

I’d wanted to craft him a fiery realm of torment, a realm inspired by the hell of Tartarus in which the screams of the tormented crafted a symphony of agony that would bring humanity to their knees if ever it echoed into the land of the living.

Persephone, my brilliant little goddess, had other plans.

Her realm mimicked the earth and all its pleasures. But this new realm in which Uranus had been given the reins to control had a caveat. He could not create what did not already exist and neither he nor the souls placed there could escape it. And it needed sustenance, as all realms need sustenance.

As the realm’s King, all sustenance would flow through Uranus. But it was from the internal suffering of his subjects that he would be fed.

“It is done.” The galaxy in her eyes fades to the green I am familiar with. The green I love.

“Tell me again the system of suffering.”

“The souls incapable of reformation, the souls undesiring of change and remorse, have been divided and placed into physical echoes of those that they harmed in their earthly lives. They will reenact the atrocities they committed against the innocence in which they encountered in their living lives, and they will feel every ounce of pain they commit as though that pain has been committed directly upon themselves. They will know the suffering they have caused, and they will endure it. The man who murdered the family, forcing the father to watch as he claimed the innocence and lives of children and mother, of wife—he will feel every pain he committed to every soul he committed the pain to. He will live as child, mother, and father. And he will feel the pain and desperation as though it were his own. He will suffer a perfect mirror of the agony and thoughts of his victims. All of them. He will experience this, while knowing in the back of his mind that he is the cause of it all. And he will suffer this on a loop for the eternal life of the realm.”

She bows her head before lifting it once again to the portal that shimmers, a galaxy for which only she, bearing the Crown of Souls, can access.

“It is the same for all the others who are incapable or ignorant of remorse. The rapists, child molesters, stalkers, murderers. Again, the same for those whose crimes are more discrete, but no less harmful. Those who place money above the health and well-being of others. Who craft narcotics, and trade in flesh. It is for the truly evil, and it is from their suffering that Uranus will grow stronger, but as he grows stronger, his realm grows hungrier. He will soon realize that the truest form of reprieve from the appetite of his ravenous realm is the blood of the Gods spilled over the altar of sacrifice. Again and again, the Gods will die as they demanded the death of those they were meant to love. Again and again, they will wake. It is an infinite loop of suffering, of death and regeneration. It is the truest personification of a prison realm in which the souls never find escape.”

“You are brilliant.”

She smiles, but it’s soft and pained. “I’ve always wondered about the devil.

About hell. How he could be so evil, if evil was what he punished.

I think now, that was the echo of you in my soul.

The modern collision that is the myth of Hades and the Hell I was taught to fear.

” She laughs softly. “I remember once telling Dad that if I was the devil, I’d make those who hurt others live the lives of those they made suffer.

That I’d have some piece of the attacker live in the minds of his victims, knowing that they were causing the pain and begging for it to stop even as they knew the result, for it was a horror done at their own hand. ”

“I told Dad I’d make the abuser live the life of the family members who were left behind.

I told him, that if I was the devil, he’d be born in hell as every member of the family touched by the pain of his act.

That he’d remember every moment of his sins, while simultaneously experiencing his victims’ life, their dreams and love and memories.

That he would know their agony and understand that he was the source of it.

That when he begged for mercy as his victims begged, he would be ignored, and he would know why.

” She shakes her head, a soft chuff killing the last of her laugh.

“He told me my mind was different from the minds of others. That it was best to keep some things between us.” Her eyes flick up to mine.

“I never told my mom, but Dad never made me feel guilty for my thoughts.”

“They helped craft your soul into the beauty it is now, little goddess.”

“I wish I could see them.” Her hand falls to rub her swollen belly. “I wish I could tell them who I am, that they’re having granddaughters.”

“You will, one day soon,” I promise her.

“Not too soon, I hope.”

“The lives of humans are incredibly fleeting, and so very full.” I pull her into my arms to press a kiss to the hot skin of her forehead. Pulling back, I frown. “Your skin is hot, burning hot. Even to my lips.”

Her eyes flick over the face of my God, burning with veins of magma. I am certain she sees the worry in my gaze as it falls to her belly.

“They are fine, Hades.”

“Are you certain?”

She takes my massive paw in her small hand, placing it claw and all on her belly. I feel the girls moving inside. They’ve been restless as of late.

Her eyes hold mine, and she smiles softly into the flame. “They will be ready soon.”

The closer we come to this moment, the moment of their birth, the more my heart aches. She aches, too. I can scent the dew of sorrow on her skin.

We won’t have long with them.

Persephone sighs, her eyes drifting to the portal. “I hate that Demeter is not in there.”

“She will be,” I vow it.

“She was so distant in Olympus. I thought she would try to talk to me, to know me.”

“Demeter has always been a highly intelligent Goddess. Her manipulations are intricate, and her sense of self-preservation far exceeds that which most Gods and Goddesses possess.” I catch her small face between my big palms, lifting her green eyes to mine.

“Her intuition is unmeasured, little goddess. It is how she played us against each other for centuries.”

“But I’m her daughter.”

“Mythology aside, Demeter has never been a loving mother,” I say as gently as I can. “She loves only what serves her. And you, my Queen, no longer serve her.”

“I just—” Her shoulders fall. “I just wanted her to pay for the ways she hurt me. Hurt us.” She closes her eyes and shakes her head, as though she can shake away the memories that haunt her.

“I can still see the way she used to starve people, watching as they withered to nothing, feeding on their prayers for her mercy before she again let wheat grow, crops thrive—only to take it away again. And still, today, she has no mercy. The food scarcity in the living realm is devastating.”

“The day will come when she answers for the pains she has caused.”

Persephone casts her gaze to the portal. “I will not rest, not truly, until she is in there with them all. Until she is somewhere I know she can’t hurt another soul.”

“Until then, little goddess—” I turn her toward the portal. “You must seal the realm.”

She nods, but the weight of her acceptance is heavy.

I ache to carry it for her, but this is not something I possess the power to do.

The gift of creation has never been mine.

Before my daughters, I did not create at all.

Everything I have and all that I am is because of the woman, the little goddess in human form, who stands before me.

I watch again, marveling at the power of Chaos that surges from her freely and without hesitation. Sweat does not bead her skin; exhaustion does not paint her features. There is peace as she calls upon the gifts of the Mother Goddess.

From the palms of her hands, a ribbon of color shining with the stars and threaded with the light of a full moon stretches toward the portal.

A galaxy of color, like looking at a condensed thread of the milky way, weaves over the face of the portal.

The threads tug the border closed as though sewing the very realm shut.

When the final stitch is tightened and knotted, the threads simply stop flowing from her palms to wrap their final tendrils tightly around the portal that will stand in the center of the burning lands of Tartarus.

When she rises again, the peace vanishes as fear flashes in her eyes. Her hands fall to her belly and her lips part in horror. She gasps, “It’s time.”

For a moment, I hear nothing but the magma rushing between my ears. She keels over as a cry falls from her lips, and I gather her in my arms, ready to run for the border when the sound of wings in the hot air pull my gaze upward.

Hydra lands before us, her eyes on Persephone. There is worry in those mauve eyes as she takes in the scene. How she’d known Persephone needed her, I will never know even as I will forever be grateful for their bond.

“Take her back.” I lift Persephone, who moans again in pain, onto Hydra’s back.

When Hydra growls low, snapping vicious teeth at me, I feel my brows pinch tight together. Persephone flops against Hydra’s back, her hand stretching out to try and grip her neck.

“Go!” I roar.

Hydra hisses a snakelike sound, one of her heads unwinding from the others to stretch for me. Between sharp hisses, her teeth snap.

Persephone groans. “She wants you—” Another cry pulls both mine and Hydra’s gaze back to Persephone. “Ahh! Get on, Hades.”

My eyes snap to Hydra. I’ve never, not once been permitted on her back as Persephone is permitted. I’ve never even tried.

Hydra snaps her teeth again, and I take a cautious step forward. At the roll of her slitted eyes, I take it she does want me on her back with Persephone and do as I am told.

Beneath me, her scales are hot. I waste no time gathering Persephone in my arms, holding tight to her as she cries out again. “Oh God, hurry.”

I find the ridge between Hydra’s shoulders and grip tight with my other hand as her wings flap violently beside us, and we rise into the night.