“Will only ruin your life,” said Atropos.
Chapter XV
Fight Night
Hades returned to his chamber, where Persephone slept, and climbed into bed, though he did not sleep, his mind too active from the day’s events. He could not begin to understand what Persephone was going through. Even having experienced varying degrees of loss, there was no comparing grief.
Hearts did not break the same.
They did not heal the same.
They would not beat the same.
She stirred beside him, eyes peeling open with some difficulty before whispering, “Have you slept?”
“Not quite yet,” he said.
She did not respond, but she seemed more awake as she stared at him.
“Will you”—she paused, hesitating—“show me the threads again?”
He did not want to, not really, but it was a part of him he had shared, and it was not so surprising that she had more questions.
He dropped his glamour, and she lifted herself onto her elbow and reached a hand out, flattening her palm against his stomach. Her touch was gentle, her hand cold, but it still managed to make him feel warm and make the threads crisscrossing his skin burn.
“Why do you hide them?” she asked, her voice remained quiet.
“Very few warrant pride,” he replied.
“If you are so ashamed, why make so many bargains?”
“Because I am self-serving. There was a time when I cared nothing about the consequences of trading souls.”
Persephone’s hand curled on his stomach. “They cannot all be bad.”
He wasn’t sure if she said it because she was hopeful he might find a way to save Lexa if worse came to worse or because she wished to see the best in him in this moment.
“There are only those I regret more,” he said. “And those souls belong to children.”
He called up his glamour, and they spoke no more.
*
An hour later, Persephone was sound asleep once more. Hades lay awake staring at the ceiling, recalling the vision the eye had shown him. He could still remember it in vivid detail—the crowded square, the guttural sounds of sex, the acidic smell of Dionysus’s magic, and the god himself seated with his lover. Perhaps the worst part was how comfortable she appeared to be as a goddess and a queen. Had the eye been trying to tell him something? Or was it merely fucking with him because it did not trust him?
He turned his head, and as he traced Persephone’s features in the semidarkness, he wondered if she were better off without him.
A pulse of magic drew his attention as Hermes appeared at the end of his bed. He raised a brow.
“You could knock,” he said.
“Courtesy is for mortals,” said Hermes.
“And gods who want to keep their teeth.”
Hermes was not amused, but their banter was overshadowed by how quickly his expression changed to something far too serious for the God of Mischief.
“You’ve been summoned, Hades,” he said.
He did not need to ask who had summoned him. He could guess well enough.
Hera.
“Where?” he asked.
“I cannot tell you that,” Hermes said. “I can only take you there.”
Hades narrowed his eyes as Hermes began to draw a line in the air, summoning a portal.
“No teleportation?” he asked.
“Hera does not allow teleportation into her… realm…without consent, much like you,” Hermes replied just as the portal he had summoned yawned open. It was big enough for Hermes to step through without hassle, but Hades would have to bend.
He sighed, a gnawing anxiety growing in his chest. He leaned over and kissed Persephone softly before rising, summoning his clothes, and stepping through the portal.
He found himself in a room—an office. He recognized where he was only because the wall of windows opposite him overlooked a familiar part of New Athens.
This was the Diadem Hotel, and it was owned by Hera. The goddess herself stood in front of a black-and-gold desk that looked more like an art piece than practical furniture. A set of gold peacock statues flanked it while a three-piece canvas hung behind it, depicting a prowling black panther with emerald eyes.
“Hades,” Hera greeted with a nod. Her brown hair was pulled back into a tight bun, and she wore a white jumpsuit and tailored jacket. The goddess usually chose gold accessories, and today was no different—a large gold chain hung around her neck, paired with a stack of gold bracelets on her left wrist.
Hades always felt that the goddess’s choice to wear white was symbolic.
She was communicating her innocence, in contrast to her husband, who was