“He was a stupid boy who did a stupid thing,” Helios said, dismissing Hades’ threat.
“This mortal is a murderer, Helios,” Hades said, trying again.
“Aren’t we all?”
Hades glared. He should have known that appeal would not work. Helios had no real sense of injustice, having helped his granddaughter, Medea, escape to Corinth after she had killed her own children.
“Is it a bargain you want?” Hades asked.
“What I want is to be left alone,” Helios snapped with more vigor behind his words than anything he had said since Hades arrived. “If I had wanted to get involved in mortal affairs, I would have descended with the rest of you.”
“And yet you use their land for your cattle,” Hades pointed out, noting the shadow that passed over Helios’ amber eyes.
He had found the Titan’s weakness.
“Perhaps I was wrong to set my sights on your son when you care more for your animals.”
Helios’ hands tightened on the arms of his throne. For the first time since Hades had arrived, the god straightened.
Helios coveted his cattle—also called the Oxen of the Sun. They were immortal, and he kept them on the island of Sicily, guarded by two of his daughters. Anyone who harmed them would incur his wrath. Odysseus and his men had learned that the hard way.
But Hades did not fear Helios’ wrath, not when it came to a mortal who dared to cheat death and not when it came to facing the unraveling of his fate with Persephone.
“You ask for blood, Hades.”
“If you are asking me if I will slaughter a few heads of cattle to get what I want, then yes, I ask for blood,” Hades replied. “I will revel in the thought of your agony as I sit upon my throne with fifty of your cattle in the Underworld.”
Tense silence followed Hades’ threat, and he could see and sense Helios’ anger. It burned his eyes and raged between them, as hot as the sun’s rays.
“The man you seek is being protected by your brother.”
Hades already knew that was not Zeus; the God of Thunder would never protect a mortal who had broken one of his most coveted laws.
“Poseidon,” Hades hissed.
He did not get along with either of his brothers, but if he had to choose one to sacrifice, it would be Poseidon. The God of the Sea was jealous, power-hungry, and violent. He did not like sharing power over the Upperworld with Hades or Zeus and had tried more than once to overthrow the King of the Gods, but all attempts had failed.
“You will not disturb my cattle,” Helios said. “Are we clear, Hades?”
Hades narrowed his eyes but said nothing. As he turned on his heels and left the Tower of the Sun, he heard Helios called.
“Hades!”
***
Hades returned to his office at Nevernight. He considered going straight to Atlantis, his brother’s island and home, and demanding to know where he was hiding Sisyphus, but he knew his brother, knew the violence that swirled inside him was greater than the anger Hades attempted to keep at bay. Any accusation leveled at his brother, even if it held truth, would infuriate the god. By the end of the encounter, thousands would be dead.
Hades could not help thinking of Alexander’s soul, broken beyond repair. One soul taken before its time was too many, and the god knew there would be more like him if he did not act fast. He had to come up with an alternative plan, something that would gain Hades the truth he needed and prevent destruction. His eyes fell to the white bundle he had left on his desk—Atropos’ sheers.
Perhaps Hephaestus would have a solution. He gathered the bundle in his hands and started to teleport, when Minthe knocked at his door and threw it open, strolling into his office.
“Entering before being invited defeats the purpose of knocking,” Hades said tightly, frustrated by the interruption. “I’m busy.”
“Tell your side piece,” Minthe countered. “She’s downstairs.”
Hades brows furrowed. “Persephone is here?”
She was not due to arrive until this evening for her tour of the Underworld. A strange feeling unfurled within his chest. It felt exciting, almost like hope, but as he moved to the windows that overlooked the floor of Nevernight, those feelings darkened. Persephone had brought a companion, a man he recognized immediately as Adonis, Aphrodite’s favored mortal.
His eyes darkened.
“I told you this would happen,” Minthe was saying. “You encouraged her, and now she thinks she can demand an audience with you. I will tell her you are…indisposed.”