Ungodly: A Novel (The Goddess War) (18 page)

Death would be kinder if they forgot. But death was rarely kind.

“The edges still touch,” Athena said once more, to make herself believe it. She should’ve said that they weren’t dead. Being there so long, even she had begun to despair of ever getting loose. She couldn’t imagine what it was like for Odysseus, a living mortal, to sit there stuck. He’d only been conscious for a little while, and already seemed halfway to tearing free of his own skin, just to be free of something.

“Tell me we’ll get out,” he said.

“We’ll get out.”

He smiled. “I almost believe you.”

“Believe me. You’ve been here before. You know there are ways.”

“This time feels different.” He scratched at his wrist. “This feels … like it won’t end.”

This time was different. This time the way was shut. Wherever Uncle Hades was, he knew they’d toyed with his boundaries. They’d taken back Odysseus without permission. So now they had to sit until they paid for their transgression. Or until they struck a decent bargain.

Athena felt Persephone’s dead eyes on them, dead eyes made eerier by the fact that Persephone was, in fact, alive.

“God,” Odysseus whispered, barely moving his lips. “I wish she would blink.”

Athena snorted. “I’m just glad she’s tied up.” Persephone sat silent, a good little bargaining chip, all bones in a black, rotten shroud, wrists bound loosely with strips torn from Aphrodite’s dress. At first it had seemed like a waste of time. But Persephone’s stillness wasn’t a beaten stillness. She’d move quick enough if they weren’t looking. A dead-eyed doll sneaking up behind the rocks.

Hades would come for Persephone soon. Athena wondered how he would be when he got there. Would he arrive in a cloud of rage and disease, bleeding filth?

This is his place. He can come however he likes.

“Hey,” Odysseus said, and pushed Athena’s hair back over her shoulder. She’d seen him do the same to Cassandra, and to Calypso. It shouldn’t bother her that he did the same thing to her. It shouldn’t make her feel so strangely jealous.

“I need to walk.” She stood.

“I’ll keep an eye on the undead princess.” Odysseus made a face. “Don’t be gone long.”

She nodded and went, not sure where or how far she intended to go. But walking didn’t feel as good as she’d hoped. Passing by the strangely shadowed walls and listening to the hateful whisper of the Styx should have felt better. Even the complete lack of wind across her face and arms should’ve felt amazing, because Odysseus was alive.

Alive for the time being. And not of her doing, but Ares’. Ares, and Aphrodite, and she’d probably been a fool to accept their help.

Except for maybe the first time in his life, Ares had been a gift, and you didn’t look a gift god in the mouth even if he was a treacherous, violent, hateful ass. No matter how many problems it was going to cause with Cassandra. No matter how little Athena actually trusted them. Even the traitorous feeling she got every second she allowed Aphrodite to live was worth it for Odysseus.

“You shouldn’t wander so far. Not with Hades on his way.”

Athena turned. Aphrodite stood a few steps behind. She’d always been light and quiet on her feet.

“I didn’t wander far,” Athena said, but in truth she had no idea. Distance played tricks in the underworld, just like time did. She shouldn’t have gone off by herself at all.

Aphrodite stared into her face, big blue eyes steady and somehow just as disturbing to Athena as if they’d been rolling and mad.

“What?” Athena asked.

“There are too many emotions running through you. Set some down.”

“Just because you got a few of your marbles back doesn’t mean you can psych me,” Athena said. “Be careful what you say now.”

“I’m only trying to help,” Aphrodite said, and frowned. “You need to talk.”

“Not to you.”

“To who then? Dear as he is, Ares doesn’t solve problems with words. And Odysseus you would never show your belly to. I know you, Athena, as sure as I’ve always disliked you. I just never understood you until now.”

Athena narrowed her eyes.

“I fall in love and suddenly I’m relatable.”

“Yes,” Aphrodite said. “Part of you is mine now, and that bothers you more than anything. You’re not above me. Not better than me.” A little heat snuck into her voice. A trace of bitterness. “Part of you wants to turn him away just to prove me wrong. But don’t. I’ve always known about your envy. The same way you always knew about mine.”

“I never envied you,” Athena said. “And you have a one-track mind, as usual.”

“I know that’s not the only thing.” Aphrodite shrugged. “There’s fear, too. And guilt.”

“Fear?” Athena asked skeptically.

“Yes. So many new things for you,” Aphrodite said. “You’re guilty because you dove off of Olympus and left them alone to fight. And you’re afraid because even if you hadn’t, they would have lost anyway. Goddess of battle. You’re not what you once were. None of us are what we once were.”

The words stung. Athena still had so much pride. Even though she knew that it was her pride that had almost cost them everything.

“Those moments outside Olympus,” Athena said. “I replay them over and over. I try to stop myself from running in. Try to make myself listen.”

Aphrodite inclined her head sympathetically.

“I used them like soldiers,” Athena said, “when I had no right to. I still thought of myself as their god. But their fates aren’t mine. I’m not worthy of them anymore, if I ever was.”

“Now we make mortal mistakes,” Aphrodite said, nodding. “Now we have consequences.” She twisted the filthy fabric of her skirt between her hands. “It’s … unpleasant. I don’t enjoy it.”

Athena laughed, and Aphrodite looked up in surprise.

“I’m not laughing
at
you,” Athena said, and they paused. It was as close as they’d ever come to a warm moment. But it didn’t last. Aphrodite was saner in the underworld, but still not sane, and Athena’s laughter put her on edge. Her blue eyes wobbled.

“I’m sorry,” Aphrodite said. “I didn’t know what I was doing, when I killed him.”

“You mean when you killed my brother. Aidan.”

“My brother,” Aphrodite moaned. “Our brother.” She clutched the sides of her head. “It went right through him. But I didn’t know. Forgive me.”

“Forgiveness for that isn’t something you ask for,” Athena muttered. “You either get it or you don’t. And it isn’t up to me. It’s up to the girl you stole him from.”

“I didn’t know,” Aphrodite said again.

“Explain it to Cassandra.”

Athena brushed past Aphrodite to return to the riverbank. Aphrodite seemed about ready to weep, and Athena had no wish to be moved to sympathy. Not about that. Not yet.

But before she could go, Aphrodite grasped her arm.

“You have to protect him,” Aphrodite cried.

“Who?”

“Ares. You promised.”

Athena scoffed.

“He didn’t have to come here,” Aphrodite said. “And he doesn’t have to stay. He can leave whenever he likes and let you deal with Hades. Leave you alone to bargain for Odysseus.”

“Except he won’t,” Athena said, tugging free. “Because he needs me to stand between you and Cassandra.” She paused. “You keep saying ‘him.’ ‘Him’ and not ‘us.’ Not ‘we.’” She looked at Aphrodite, and Aphrodite looked back, imploring her to figure it out so she wouldn’t have to confess. But reading emotion wasn’t a skill Athena had much practice in.

“I’m not going back with you,” Aphrodite whispered. “I’m staying here. Where I’m sane. I want to be sane, for as long as I can be.”

“Down here? With Persephone? Just the two of you, doing what? Playing bridge?” The words didn’t have the heat Athena had intended. They came out gentle and filled with more wonder than malice. To stay in the underworld— to be functionally dead—seemed like torture.

“Up there you can’t trust me. Up there I’m useless,” Aphrodite said. “Up there I’m
mad.
”

“You don’t think we stand a chance. Against the Moirae.”

Aphrodite’s eyes drifted toward Ares.

“I think some of us need to fight to the end,” she said. “And some of us don’t.”

“Does he know?” Athena asked, and Aphrodite shook her head. Ares wouldn’t be happy when he found out. But Aphrodite was right. Without the borders of the underworld to keep her death in check, she was a wild dog.

“You probably think I’m a coward now,” Aphrodite said. “Not that you ever thought I was anything else.”

Athena looked at Aphrodite’s torn dress and the bruises that spotted her skin from ankle to cheek.

“I think you’re conniving,” she said. “And silly. And a bitch.” She watched Aphrodite bite her tongue on every retort. That Athena was cold. Self-righteous. Also a bitch. “But never a coward.”

*   *   *

Persephone gave away Hades’ arrival. Not even her deadest eye could hide its brightness, its happiness at his homecoming. Athena, too, felt something dense and heavy the moment he crossed over, a black hole opening up in the back of her head. Ares leapt quickly to Persephone and dragged her to her feet. His wolves circled around them both.

“It feels different now,” Odysseus said. “Not so empty.”

“It isn’t empty anymore,” Athena said. “He’s home.”

A shadow flashed in her mind: Hades, black as a bat’s wing, titanic as his sister Demeter stretched across miles of desert. In her mind he wrapped them in cold, and spit them out as bones.

“He’ll let us go, right? We’re fighting for his side.” Odysseus drew his sword, for all the good it would do. It didn’t matter that they fought for the side of the gods. It didn’t matter that Athena had been a good niece up till then, and had gone out of her way to keep from pissing him off. She’d stolen one of the dead, and the dead were his. It was his only rule.

When Hades came into view, he looked as young and handsome as Ares or Aidan. Not a walking embodiment of death or disease. It hadn’t taken him over like it had his brother Poseidon. But Athena knew that what she’d seen in the back of her mind was the true Hades: a great, black shadow contained in skin and an expensive shirt. Just the sight of him made her mouth go dry. His voice made her shudder, even though he didn’t address them.

“Persephone. Are you all right?”

Odd thing to ask when she looks six months into her coffin.

“As well as one can be, when one is held prisoner in one’s own home,” Persephone replied.

Hades looked over every inch of his bride with affection in his eyes. He didn’t flinch from a single, terrible bit, not the purplish wrinkles in her skin or the bare red spots in her scalp. His gaze lingered on her face and, finally, on her bound wrists.

We should untie her. We shouldn’t have tied her.

Ares apparently thought the same thing; his hand twitched over the knots where he held her fast to him, like a human shield. Aphrodite went to his side and put a hand on Persephone’s shoulder.

“We haven’t harmed her,” she said sweetly.

“That’s the only reason you’re still wearing your skin,” said Hades.

Athena and Ares exchanged a glance.
Tread carefully. He could burst out from under that boy-shaped mask anytime he wants. And that’s all it is. All it ever was. But what’s underneath it now is far worse than what used to be.

“My dog lies shivering at my palace steps and my wife stands a hostage. And
that
is my dead boy.”

“I was never dead,” Odysseus said quietly.

“You’re still dead. The breath in you is stolen. And dead boys don’t speak to me.” Hades turned toward him, and blood poured from Odysseus’ mouth. He fell before Athena could catch him, and his sword clattered to the rocks.

“Stop it!” She went to her knees. Odysseus’ hands pressed to his eyes and red leaked through his fingers. He bled from his nose and his ears, sprayed blood from his mouth like water from a blowhole. Virus blackened his skin and ate it away as she watched.

Athena grabbed the sword and leapt for Persephone. It was skewered through her side before anyone had time to block Athena’s way. Persephone didn’t cry out. Stabbing her was like running a blade through a loaf of dry bread. But Hades paid attention, and Odysseus stopped bleeding.

“Don’t do that again,” Hades warned.

“Don’t make me.”

“We just want to walk out of here, with Odysseus.” Ares spoke boldly, but his eyes were ringed with white. Seeing a sword shoved through their cousin had rattled him, but what did he think a hostage was for?

“You shouldn’t have taken her,” said Hades.

“It was the only way to get you to bargain,” Athena said.

Odysseus had regained his feet. He spat blood onto the rocks. It still dripped from one ear and blinked from his eyes like tears, but that was just leftovers. Ares’ wolves fussed around him in a circle and stole licks from his clothes and fingers.

“So let’s bargain.” Hades motioned for them to cross the river.

“Not so fast,” said Ares. “Not until a deal’s in place. We walk out of here, and cut her loose at the threshold.”

Hades shook his head. “You can’t trade him for her. She is already mine. He is already mine. Mine for mine. It doesn’t play.”

“We don’t have anything else.” Athena thought of Aphrodite but dismissed the idea quickly. It was going to be hard enough for Ares to leave Aphrodite behind as a voluntary guest, let alone as traded chattel, and Athena didn’t fancy having a brother-sister spat about it in front of their uncle.

“Not a trade at all, then.” Odysseus stepped forward and wiped blood from his nose onto the back of his arm. Athena half wanted to throttle him for opening his mouth, to ask him if he enjoyed hemorrhaging from all the holes in his face. But her other half was proud. Her Odysseus. Bold and two steps ahead of himself, as usual.

“Not a trade,” Athena agreed. “But a task. You’ve been known to lay tasks before, Uncle. They say you did it for Heracles lots of times, and he was only your half-nephew.”

“A task.” Hades smiled. Just enough time passed as he thought about it for Athena to dread putting it into his head. “A task it is. So here are the terms. The way up is through my palace. It is the only way up that will be allowed to you. And Persephone is released to me on the steps.”