A Touch of Chaos (45 page)

Hades had an idea, but no one was going to like it.

“What about surrender?”

“You cannot be serious,” said Aphrodite.

“As the dead,” he replied.

“You keep using that joke, and it's not even funny,” said Hermes.

Hades ignored him. “Theseus would open the gates if he thought I was surrendering.”

“No,” said Persephone. “He would kill you the moment you stepped over his threshold.”

“He will want to gloat before he does that,” said
Hades. “It is a valid plan. I will go tonight and offer an alliance. By the time you arrive at his gates, I will have them open.”

“And if you don't?” Persephone asked. He could feel her fear and her fury. “What do we do then?”

“You fight until they open,” he said.

“That all sounds well and good,” said Hephaestus. “But what about Cronos? The Titan can manipulate our world, make us see things that are not there.”

“He will have to be distracted so he cannot use his power again,” said Hecate.

“I can manage that,” said Ares.

“You cannot,” said Hephaestus.

Hermes snickered.

“Are you trying to challenge me, metal leg?” asked Ares.

“Shut up, Ares,” Aphrodite snapped.

“I am warning you,” Hephaestus said. “You do not know Cronos's capabilities because you were not there today.”

There was a beat of silence, and then Persephone spoke. “What about Prometheus?”

“He would certainly distract Cronos,” said Hades. “There is no love between the two.”

“Will he join our side?”

“He will not exactly join our side,” said Hecate. “But he will help if mortals are under threat. We will not have to ask him for that. He will just appear as he did today.”

Prometheus was the creator of man, and he had sacrificed a lot to see them thrive—namely his quality of life.

“I hope you aren't wrong,” said Ares.

“I am never wrong, Ares,” she said.

“Hmm, debatable,” Hermes said.

Hecate elbowed him in the ribs.

“Ouch!” he cried. “Motherfucker!”

With their plans set, the gods dispersed. Hephaestus, Aphrodite, and Ares left to arm the mortals who had agreed to fight tomorrow. Hades had hoped Persephone would stay behind so they could talk about his decision to surrender to Theseus, but she left his office with Hermes in tow.

He knew she was upset but also scared. With Cronos's reality fresh on her mind, all she could think about was the possibility of his death, and he could not blame her. It was the same for him.

“Are you well, Hades?” Hecate asked.

She had yet to return to her duties—whatever they were. Harvesting organs, apparently.

He took a breath and then stood. “I think I need fresh air,” he said.

“I will join you,” she said.

Together they made their way to the floor of Nevernight and stepped just outside the entrance.

Hades stared up at the sky.

“I have never known you to stargaze,” said Hecate.

“I am not,” said Hades. “I am looking at what isn't there. The ophiotaurus has not returned to the sky.”

Hecate looked. “Hmm. You are right. Pity.”

Hades's gaze fell to her. “I know that voice.”

“Of course you do,” she said. “It is mine.”

“I mean, I can tell you are disappointed,” he said. “What did I do? What did I miss?”

“I am not disappointed,” she said. “But your creativity is lacking.”

“I admit I am only creative in one area of my life,” he said.

She snorted. “That is because nothing else interests you.”

“You are not wrong.”

“Tell me the prophecy, Hades.”

He had thought of it so often over the last month, he knew it by heart.

“If a person slays the ophiotaurus and burns its entrails, then victory is assured against the gods.”

“Victory,” she said. “What is victory, Hades?”

“Victory is winning,” he said.

“Very good,” she said, and though Hades glared, she continued. “And what can you win?”

“A battle,” Hades said. “A war.”

It was the obvious first choice.

“You are almost there,” she said.

He stared at her for a moment and then answered, “A game.”

“And there it is,” she said.

“You are saying I can fulfill the prophecy by losing a game to Theseus?”

“I am saying that he has won a lot of battles against the gods, and still the ophiotaurus remains absent. Is it not worth a try?”

Hades supposed anything was worth a try.

“I do not just want to sabotage his future,” Hades said. “I want him dead.”

“Ah yes. Too bad he is invincible.”

“You know you are not helping.”

She shrugged. “Aphrodite was right. Even Achilles had a weakness. You already know Theseus's.”

He did, although it was obvious for anyone to see. The demigod was arrogant.

It is not hubris if it is true
, he had told Hades, though his comment was just another example of his excessive pride.

Hades was determined that it would be his downfall.

There was silence for a moment, and in the quiet, Hades thought he could hear the shuffling of feet. He turned to look down the street, and his heart seized when he met Dionysus's gaze. The God of the Vine had returned. He looked exhausted, angry, and devastated. Beside him was a woman Hades did not recognize, but he guessed she must be Medusa.

“Dionysus,” Hades said, turning to face the god.

“My maenads,” Dionysus said and stopped.

“I know,” Hades said. “Come.”

He led Dionysus and Medusa inside to Hecate's infirmary. When he pulled the curtain back, he was surprised to see Naia awake, propped up with pillows. She looked pale, and there was a cloudiness to her gaze that Hades attributed to her grief.

When she saw Dionysus, she burst into tears. He went to her and knelt beside her, taking her into his arms.

“He has Ariadne, Dionysus,” she wailed. “He took her and her sister and the baby. There was nothing we could do.”

“Shh,” Dionysus soothed. “You did everything you could, Naia. Everything.”

Hecate took Medusa away, and Hades left the two to reunite and grieve together.

Hades was surprised when he found Persephone standing with Artemis, though as he approached, the Goddess of the Hunt departed. Hades watched her go before turning his attention to his wife.

“What was that?” he asked.

“A truce,” she said. “Did I hear correctly? Dionysus has returned?”

He nodded. “Naia is also awake. She says Ariadne, her sister, and the baby were taken by Theseus and the other demigods, which means they are likely behind the wall of Theseus's fortress.”

Persephone paled. It was evident that breeching the wall would be an important element to winning this war, but now it was necessary to rescue the three.

“I know you are angry with me,” he said.

“I am not angry,” she said. “But it is hard to think of you walking into Theseus's territory. It is like the labyrinth all over again.”

“If I felt there was another way, I would take it,” he said.

“I know,” she said.

There was a quiet pause, and then Hades spoke. “I wish to show you something, but I do not know if you are ready to return to the arsenal.”

She shivered as she took a deep breath. “I suppose that depends on what you wish to show me,” she answered. “Is it a memory that will overshadow what happened there before?”

“I'm not sure anything can do that,” said Hades. He pressed his forehead to hers. “There is no wrong answer here, Persephone.”

“I will go,” she said. “If I cannot face what I have done, do I really deserve to heal?”

Hades tilted her head back. “Everyone deserves to heal, if not in life, then in death. It is the only way the world evolves when souls are reborn.” He paused. “If it is too much, you will tell me?”

She nodded, and then he cradled her in his magic and took her to the Underworld.

He did not appear inside the arsenal, hoping that entering it from the hallway would prove to be far less overwhelming. He pressed his hand to the pad beside the door, and it opened.

“You repaired it,” said Persephone, standing at the threshold.

“Yes,” he said. He had done so when he had brought Hephaestus's weapons to the Underworld.

He watched her as her eyes scanned the room, halting when she spotted the armor at the center. Without a word, she left his side and went to it. He had displayed it beside his own, a smaller version of what he wore on the battlefield—layers of black metal, embellished with gold. Elaborate details decorated the breastplate. She traced the design with her fingertips.

“It is beautiful,” she said and then met his gaze. “Thank you.”

“I have something else for you,” he said and produced the bident Hephaestus had made for her.

It had been his weapon for centuries, a symbol of his rule over the Underworld, and now she would have one too.

“Hades,” Persephone whispered, wrapping her
fingers around the handle. “I…but I don't know how to use it.”

“I will teach you,” he said. “It is not for this battle.”

She met his gaze. “Not for this battle but for others?”

“If we have lifetimes ahead of us,” he said, “there is sure to be another.”

“When I think of our future, I do not want to think of war,” she said.

“What do you want to think of then?” he asked, tilting her head back.

“I would like to think of all the things we will celebrate with our people and our friends,” she said. “Endless ascensions, the opening of Halcyon, your first birthday.”

“My first birthday?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said. “You've never celebrated, have you?”

“I don't exactly know when I was born,” he said. “Even if I did, it isn't a day I would wish to celebrate.”

“That is why I have chosen a new day of birth for you,” she said.

“Oh? And what day is that?”

“November first,” she said.

He stared down at her, curious. “What made you think of this?”

“Other than you, it was the only good thing that came out of the labyrinth.”

Hades chose to dress in his usual black, tailored suit.

When he appeared before the gate of the House of Aethra, he did not want to do so in armor. He was not going to fight; he was going to make a deal—perhaps the greatest bargain of his life.

“Are you ready?” Persephone asked.

He turned to look at her, dressed in Hephaestus's fine armor. She was beautiful, a warrior in her own right.

“Are you?” he asked. He touched her chin, his thumb brushing over her bottom lip.

“I am ready for it to be over,” she said. “So we can start our life.”

He gave her a small smile and then kissed her, his hand slipping into her hair. He held her close and tight, tasting her until she was the only thing that filled his senses.

When they parted, Persephone touched the pocket of his jacket, and there, a red polyanthus flowered.

Her eyes lifted to his. “I will look for you at the gates,” she said.

He took that as a promise, and with a final kiss, he left.

Hades was not surprised to hear the groan of several bows nocking when he appeared before the gate of Theseus's house. He stared up at the mortals who aimed at him, the tips of their arrows gleaming beneath Selene's moon.

He said nothing as he waited. He was not often anxious, but today the feeling burned his chest and churned in his stomach. Despite believing this was the right course of action, he knew it would be difficult. He did not like the idea of surrendering to a man he hated, even if it was only to gain entrance and proximity to his target.

He hoped he could maintain the act.

As he expected, Theseus kept him waiting under the threat of his archers. When he finally appeared, it was on the wall at the very center of the gates.

He looked down at Hades, eyes glittering with amusement.

“What a surprise,” Theseus said. “To what do we owe the honor of your presence, Lord Hades?”

The demigod was already testing his patience. Hades worked not to show his frustration—or his hatred.

“I have considered much and consulted many,” said Hades. “I hoped we might speak.”

Hades wanted the demigod to be intrigued by the vagueness of his statements and let his imagination run wild with possibilities of what had brought Hades to his
gates in the middle of the night, but if that was the case, Theseus did not let it show. Instead, he tilted his head to the side and offered a single word. “Speak.”

“I have convened with the Fates and borne witness to your future,” said Hades, though it was a lie. “The promise is great.”

“You have told me nothing I do not already know,” said Theseus.

“No,” said Hades. “You have always been certain of your destiny.”

“It is hard to argue with prophecy,” said Theseus.

That was not true, but Hades would not disagree.

“So you have come to what?” Theseus asked. “Do not dance about, Hades. Neither one of us has time for that.”

“I have come to surrender,” said Hades. “To offer my allegiance to your side.”

He was not prepared for how horrible those words would taste. He wanted to spit the moment they left his mouth.

There was a pause, and then Theseus chuckled. The mortals surrounding him followed until great peals of laughter filled the night. When it ebbed, Theseus spoke.

“That must have been so hard for you to say.”

“It certainly took practice,” said Hades.

“A waste for sure,” said Theseus. “You see, I cannot accept your allegiance when I have accepted your father's. It would be…unbecoming since you two are enemies.”

Hades stared at Theseus for a few long moments before he said, “If you are going to refuse me, then we should at least make it fun.”

“Oh, I am having a blast,” said Theseus. “But do proceed.”

“A game of your choosing,” said Hades. “If I win, you accept my offer.”

“So eager to join the winning side,” said Theseus. He looked to his left and then to his right. “What do we think? Shall we accept the god's offer?”

His army cheered, although Hades did not know if it was meant to encourage or dissuade. Though if Hades had to guess, Theseus had already made his decision. He merely enjoyed performing. His intention here was to humiliate—and it was working.

“Well, Hades,” he said. “It looks like you have a deal.”

Despite his acceptance, Hades did not feel any relief. In fact, he only became more anxious as the gates creaked open. He did not immediately cross the threshold.

“What's wrong, Hades?” asked Theseus. “Are you afraid?”

“You never gave me your terms,” said Hades.

“My terms do not matter,” said Theseus. “Because if I win, you will not live to take your next breath.”

“You expect I will go down without a fight?”

“I hope not,” said the demigod. “That would be very disappointing.”

“Quite,” said Hades, and then he moved forward, through the gates, and into Theseus's territory. Inside the gates, there were more mortal soldiers.

“I assume your brethren are still on the way?” said Theseus.

“They will fight until the bitter end,” said Hades.

“Bitter indeed,” said Theseus. “Come. Let us play this game.”

The demigod turned, and Hades followed him across the stone courtyard and up the steps, but as he came to the top, he faltered.

“Hera?” Hades whispered.

It was not her, of course, but her soul. She stood trembling, her eyes wide with fear. She muttered things, though Hades could not hear the words.

Theseus stopped too. “Does she linger here?” he asked.

Hades looked at the demigod. “She will until she is laid to rest.”

Not all souls needed funeral rites, but there were some who could not move on until they were performed.

“Oh, well, that will never happen,” said Theseus. “I am afraid she is being fed to her followers at this very moment. Cronos is quite vengeful when it comes to the Olympians.”

Hades could not hide his disgust.

“I would have thought you would consider it a fitting end for her, given your history,” said Theseus.

“I would not wish such an end for anyone,” said Hades. “Not even you.”

“How noble of you,” said Theseus as he made his way inside.

Hades's eyes lingered on Hera a moment longer before he followed the demigod into the house. He had half expected to hear Ariadne screaming from somewhere in the home, but the only noise was the sound of a child crying, which did not seem to bother Theseus as he led him to an office.

It was a dark room, open to the outside. The only light came from the fireplace and two large braziers
blazing on the porch where there was a table and two chairs. It almost seemed as though Theseus had been prepared for him, but then Hades noticed the area looked out over the battlefield beyond the wall.

“Expecting someone?” Hades asked.

Theseus grinned. “Just preparing to enjoy the view. Have I ever told you I am not a card person?” Theseus asked as he crossed to the fireplace, though he knew the answer. They had never had any conversations beyond challenging each other.

“What do you prefer?” Hades asked, eyeing Theseus.

“Dominos,” said Theseus, picking up a black box. He turned, lifting it. “I hope you don't mind.”

“I did say it was your choice,” Hades replied.

“You did,” said Theseus, and Hades was unnerved by the amusement glittering in his eyes. The demigod gestured to the porch. “Please.”

Hades exited the room and took the seat on the right. He felt as though he had walked out on a stage. He knew Theseus's men watched from the wall and the courtyard below.

Theseus followed. “Do you know how to play?”

“I am familiar,” said Hades.

“Good,” Theseus said. “Then you know the game moves fast and is won when there are no tiles left. What do you say to four rounds? Best out of four?”

“As you wish,” said Hades.

Theseus turned the box over, spilling the ivory pieces onto the table. As Theseus turned over the tiles, a servant appeared with a silver tray. She set two glasses down.

“Drink?” Theseus asked.

“I have my own,” said Hades. “If you don't mind.”

“Be my guest,” said Theseus.

Hades took out a black flask from his jacket pocket and poured a small amount of whiskey into the glass. He was not eager to drink, but he thought that perhaps the smell would offer comfort.

While he filled his glass, Theseus mixed the tiles on the table. When he was finished, they each chose seven. Hades looked at his hand, recalling that the player with the highest double laid down the first tile, which appeared to be Theseus, who laid down a double six.

“I heard congratulations are in order for more than just your recent victories,” said Hades as he laid down a six-two.

“You are referring to the birth of my son,” said Theseus, who laid down his next tile. The game did move quickly. “Yes, I suppose that is an accomplishment. Progeny are so important. Critical to carrying on a legacy. Oh, apologies. Am I right that you cannot have children?”

As Theseus spoke, he laid down his final tile, winning the first round.

Hades was still. His eyes rose to Theseus's face, seeing his lips curled in amusement. He clearly thought his comment was funny. Hades considered asking how the demigod knew something so personal, but he remembered that Poseidon had been present when Zeus's oracle had spouted her prophecy about his marriage to Persephone. He had been forced to reveal that the Fates had taken his ability to have children.

They transitioned into a new game, mixing tiles once more and choosing their pieces as they spoke.

“It is unfortunate that those who do not appreciate
children are able to have them while those who desire them cannot,” said Hades.

The jab did not affect Theseus. “But you did not always desire them. You traded your ability to have them to give divinity to a mortal woman. Why was that?”

Theseus was not wrong. Hades had given a mortal woman divinity. In fact, it had been Dionysus's mother, Semele, who had died after she demanded to see Zeus in his true glory—a form that no mortal could look upon without perishing. Though she had only done so because Hera had tricked her.

After her death, Zeus took Dionysus, still only a fetus, and sewed him into his thigh so he could be born again. It was how the God of the Vine had come to be called the twice-born.

Later, Dionysus came to Hades, and when he could not rescue his mother from the Underworld on his own, he had begged for her release.

“I wanted to extract a favor,” said Hades. He had seen potential in utilizing Dionysus's ability to inspire madness whenever he pleased.

Theseus chuckled and slid his final tile into place, winning this second round. “We are not so different, Hades.”

“We are worlds apart, Theseus,” said Hades as they moved seamlessly into the third round of the game.

“Perhaps we are now,” the demigod said. “I like to think that I am what you could have been if you had not grown soft.”

Hades slid a tile in place, the sound grinding against the wooden table.

“Are you saying my love for Persephone makes me weak?”

“Is she not the reason you found yourself locked in the labyrinth?”

“If Persephone is a weakness, what does that make Ariadne to you?”

It was the first time Hades noticed Theseus hesitate.

“Nothing at all,” said Theseus.

“Nothing at all,” Hades repeated. “Yet you flooded all of New Athens just to flush her out of Dionysus's tunnels.”

“If you think I flooded New Athens for a woman, you are a fool.”

“Did you not marry her sister to maintain control over her?”

“I married her sister because she
could be
controlled. Ariadne is untamable.”

“Yet you keep trying,” said Hades.