Page 22 of Love and Death (Tempting the Fates #4)

Cerberus’ eyes briefly flicker warily to the goddess before returning to me. “I can no longer sense its presence ... In fact, I can no longer sense any mortal qualities in him.”

“What are you trying to tell me?”

“We cannot say for certain, but—”

“I believe his soul has faded,” Cerberus cuts her off, unable to hold it in any longer.

“It tends to happen when a mortal has been kept too long in the Underworld, lost, and unable to move on to the afterlife. I was worried about it when I first brought him into the arena, but now … I am quite certain of it.”

“Then why have I not met the same fate? I have been here far longer than he has.”

Cerberus’ mouth opens and closes, his brow furrowing as he fails to come up with a response to this.

“You must remember, Hazel,” Persephone says, stepping in to help him, “that your body does not lie in the mortal realm where time and decay hasten such things. Nor were you physically harmed in the taking of your life.”

I want to be furious, but all I can do is quietly ask my next question, “What does this mean for him? If his soul has faded, as you so claim, then who … or what, is he now?”

“It means that he is becoming trapped within his own mind. Within his own memories of life before death. It means—”

“No more riddles, please,” I beg, my head swimming. “I do not want your gentle turn of phrase. I want the truth.”

Persephone turns to Cerberus pleadingly, her eyes edged in sorrow.

“It means he is now entirely at odds with himself. Who you see and what he is experiencing within, are no longer compatible. I believe your kind calls these beings wraiths,” he says bluntly, the word sounding wrong in his mouth, before nodding to the queen. “Release her.”

My next breath pushes the saccharine scent of flowers from my lungs. The moor’s earthy air rushes in to fill its place, bringing with it all the bitterness of emotion.

“No,” I sob, the hellhound’s hold on me the only thing keeping me from falling to my knees. “How can that be true? If he’s a wraith, then why does he still look like my father?”

“That is where we find ourselves at a loss,” the goddess admits.

“I may no longer be able to sense it, but it is possible that there is a remnant of himself still holding on,” Cerberus says, uncertainty lacing his voice.

“There may even be a moment or two of lucidity left in him. I have to admit that I have never seen a soul turn into a wraith so quickly. At least, not one of his nature.”

“Neither have I,” agrees Persephone.

I blink up at Cerberus through a blur of tears. “Then can we not still save him?”

He shakes his head slowly before answering, “He would have to be brought before the judges, but at this rate, there is simply not enough time. Even if it were possible, I do not think there is enough of him left to pull back.”

“Then, at least let me go to him in his final moments,” I say with a heavy heart. “Let me say goodbye. Is that not why you brought me here?”

Cerberus sighs deeply, nodding once as he releases his hold on me. Turning, I waste no time stepping past the queen and onto the thick bed of moss that encircles my father.

As I draw closer, the damage that’s been done to him reveals itself to be even more gruesome to behold than I already thought.

I can hardly look at him; my mouth goes dry, and I suddenly turn to heave, but nothing comes up.

The next thing I know, my nausea is replaced with burning anger as I whirl on Cerberus and Persephone.

“Who did this to him?” I demand, my eyes fixing on the hellhound and his own bloodied clothes.

“What? You cannot possibly think,” he starts, holding his hands up in surrender, “Hazel, I swear on my life, I did not inflict those injuries. He did that to himself.”

“I don’t believe you, Father would never—”

“Look at his hands, Hazel.”

I glare at him for a second longer before slowly turning to look, and my heart sinks at what I find. My father’s knuckles are raw, his fingernails jagged and stained with blood.

“Becoming a wraith is no easy task,” Cerberus says, absentmindedly running a thumb over a long, half-healed cut I hadn’t noticed before. “It took everything in me just to get him here in one piece.”

It suddenly dawns on me that the hellhound’s injuries must have been caused by my father and not the other way around, as hard as it is to imagine given the sheer frailty of his current state.

“And thank the gods your father wore himself out in the process, or I do not know that there would be anything left of him,” adds Persephone.

“The gods have little to be thanked for,” Cerberus mutters.

“Wait, my father wasn’t being kept here? ”

He hesitates before answering, “No.”

“Where was he being held?”

“Perhaps some things are better left unknown,” the queen says.

“I need to know.”

“He, your father,” the hellhound starts before closing his mouth. He frowns, his jaw working for a moment before he finishes, “Persephone found your father in an unguarded pit outside the city.”

“I could not move him myself,” the goddess hurries to explain. “So, I-I sought Cerberus out to ask for his help.”

Emotions of every kind collide within my chest, before finally settling into sorrow.

Trembling, I drop to my knees with a soft thud, the lush greenery rising up to cushion the fall.

“Father—”

I can barely get the word out before I fold forward onto the moss, clutching tight fistfuls of it in my hands as grief racks me, body and soul.

As I continue to curl inward on myself, a heady wave of crushed vegetation washes over me, earthy and sweet. I take a deep breath in, saturating myself in it as I try to ground myself once again.

Gradually, my mind numbs, and despite the ache in my chest, I ease myself back up until I’m sitting on my heels.

Cerberus moves to kneel beside me, his presence somehow steadying as he speaks to me in a low, gentle voice. “I am sorry, Hazel. Truly.”

Still, I can do nothing but stare ahead, not yet trusting myself to speak .

“I did try to tend to his wounds,” Persephone says, once again breaking the silence, “but they would not take to my magic.”

I suppose that might explain the half-healed cuts on Cerberus, too.

“How long does he have?”

“I cannot presume to know—”

“How long?” I press.

“Hours.” The goddess looks away as she says this, her voice barely a whisper now. “At best.”

“And, that is without taking Deimos into account. I doubt it will be long now before he is informed of my whereabouts, if he has not been already,” Cerberus says.

“It is quite odd,” Persephone muses, something in her voice sending a chill across my skin.

“What is?” Cerberus and I ask in unison.

“The fact that he has not done anything since you brought her father here, and even now, with Hazel here as well, nothing … I half expected the palace to be in an uproar at this point.”

She’s right. I hadn’t even considered what it must have taken for Cerberus to bring Father all the way back here. It would be silly to think no one saw or heard anything, but why didn’t they stop him?

My stomach twists sickeningly as Florence pops into my mind. She still has yet to return from her search; what if she’s the reason no one has cared to come?

Maybe something terrible has happened that we are not yet aware of.

“Florence,” I start, surprised by the steadiness of my voice, “she may be in danger. ”

“How so?”

“I asked her to search the palace for my father and Death’s body,” I say, looking up at Cerberus with marked defiance, only to find his own expression to be one of concern.

“Why did you not tell me this? How long was she gone before I returned?”

“All night.” The fight in me dies as dismay flashes within his eyes, despite his now stoney expression. I’d expected him to lash out, to chide me for my foolishness, but somehow this is far worse.

Guilt pits in my stomach as Cerberus straightens, a look of determination settling on his features.

“Persephone—”

“Go,” she says. “I can handle things here for the time being. The girl will be safe.”

Cerberus wavers, glancing uncertainly between us. Of course, I would rather him not leave me alone here with the queen, but not at the risk of Florence coming to harm.

“She’s right. Go, before it’s too late,” I say, and he nods once.

Persephone motions for him to follow as she turns to make her way back across the mire, an entirely new path gradually appearing before her this time.

I suppose it only makes sense that she would safeguard her room with a different way in and out. I carefully study her movements, willing my mind to memorize the way back, until I can barely see them through the fog.

Just in case.

It isn’t until they reach the doors to Persephone’s chambers that I finally turn my attention back to my father.

Worry shapes my brow as my gaze travels over him once again, taking in the faint flutter of his breaths, the bruises blooming across blood-spattered features, and the deadly pallor of his skin as his veins strain against it.

I tilt my head slightly to one side at this last thought.

Maybe Cerberus was right. Maybe, just maybe , whatever remains of Father is still putting up a fight and just needs a little encouragement.

“Father,” I start, my mouth too dry as I inch closer, “Father, it’s me. It’s Hazel, your daughter. I’m here.”

He does not respond.

Refusing to give up, I continue, the words suddenly spilling from me, “Please, stay. I’m so sorry.

This is all my fault. If only I’d obeyed.

If only I hadn’t gone against Merelda, none of this would have happened.

I was a fool to think that I could defy fate.

I tried to save you, but I see now that I have only made things far worse. Please … please, forgive me.”

I reach out to touch his hand, desperate for him to know that I’m here. That he’s not alone in what may be his final moments.

“Father,” I breathe, choking on the word as my hand finally finds his.

It’s bitterly cold, not entirely lifeless, but close. I squeeze his hand, willing warmth back into it. For a second, I imagine that his finger twitches against mine, and I can only hope that he is reliving a far kinder time in our lives .

Leaning forward, I cup the side of his face with my other hand, tenderly stroking him with my thumb.

“Don’t worry, Father,” I whisper, bending forward to press my forehead to his, hot tears dripping from my cheeks to dapple the dried bloodstains upon his own. “I’m here. I found you.”

Closing my eyes, I place a soft kiss upon the grief-stained canvas of his face.

My father’s hand spasms, twisting to grab hold of my wrist. Without thinking, I move to jerk my hand away, only to find that I cannot move, cannot speak … cannot even open my eyes.

My body refuses to listen.

A chill whispers across my skin, followed by a shiver that prickles its way up my arm and down my spine, goosebumps rising in its wake.

Then, the frost comes. It burns, creeping deep into my veins as it threads jagged, crystalline trails slowly through each and every inch of me.

Searching.

Hungry.

Desperate .

I wince, sucking air in sharply through my teeth, and can almost hear the crack of ice in my chest as it begins to encase my heart.

Its beat pounds, frantic, in my ears, and then falters.

Once.

Twice.

And then, stillness.