“She did have a choice,” said Hades. “But so did you. I am not holding you accountable for Persephone’s actions. I am holding you accountable for your own.”
I turned away. He was right, even if his methods were despicable, even if he wasn’t being fair. I’d made my choices, and I’d suffered the consequences for them time and time again. This was just the final one.
“All right,” I said shakily as I turned back to face him. “Fine. I accept your ruling, under the condition that this is it. You can hate me as much as you want, but this is the last time you hold this over me. Period.”
He tilted his head almost curiously. For one of us to talk to the original six like this—it was crazy, especially when he already couldn’t stand me. But I didn’t care. Enough was enough.
“We’re even. I took Persephone from you, and you took Tuck from me. End of story.”
I brushed my thumb against the pendant as I spoke. I’d never see her again. Not easy to swallow, not by any means, but I refused to break down in front of Hades. I was stronger than this. Tuck had made me stronger than this, and to accept this with anything but bitter grace would be dishonoring her memory. And I wouldn’t do that.
“Very well,” said Hades after a long moment, touching the empty throne beside him. “We are even. Now go.”
I made my way past the pews, aware of the souls who’d witnessed every moment of our conversation. None of them mattered, though. The only soul I wanted to see was one I would never meet again. Hades had seen to that.
Halfway down the aisle, however, I stopped and faced him once more. An invisible fist squeezed my heart. “Is she happy?”
Even from a distance, I could feel Hades’s stare burning into me. “Does it matter, when you cannot do anything to change it?”
“Yes,” I said. It mattered.
He pursed his lips, and at last he sighed. “Yes, she is happy.”
That was all I needed to know. It would never change the past, it would never get me there in time to save her, but at least I could rest knowing she wasn’t in any pain. That was one small amount of comfort Hades could never take from me.
“Thank you,” I said, and without another word, I turned and walked away.
* * * * *
God of Darkness
Calliope’s Offer
As Lord of the Underworld, Hades was feared by the living and revered by the dead. A member of the eternal council of gods, he had unimaginable power at his fingertips, ready to do whatever he must to uphold his duties and laws. And as the ruler of the souls who died, he would live forever, guaranteed true immortality through his duties to them.
But he would have traded it all if it meant he could be mortal.
In his existence, Hades had seen more faces and heard more stories than the rest of the council combined. Eventually every mortal entered his kingdom, and while he only came face-to-face with a fraction of them, he felt each and every presence. He felt each and every moment of their lost lives.
And that was why he envied them their mortality. To have a set period of time to live—to know there would be an end instead of an endless sea of time… It would have been a wonderful thing. That way, even if he wound up alone, he would know it would end someday. Being a god granted him no such relief.
He sat in his throne after a long day of judgment, the silence heavy around him. The number of souls had seemed to grow exponentially over the past few centuries, or perhaps it had only seemed so as he no longer had Persephone. His wife, his friend, his partner—he had depended on her far more than he’d realized. Even knowing she would never love him the way he loved her, he held on to her memory, treasuring it as one would a lifetime of happiness.
He’d kept his promise to himself, however, and had never gone to see her. It was agonizing, knowing she was so close yet so in love with someone else, and he couldn’t allow himself that kind of pain. The wounds had only begun to heal, and while scars were inevitable, to rip them open again would only ensure they would never close.
Instead he allowed himself to dream about her during what little time he did sleep. He allowed himself to dream about a life they could have had if he had not been so wrong in his actions—if he had done what she wanted, said the right thing, never allowed Demeter to talk him into marriage in the first place. If he had asked Persephone herself what she had wanted all those eons ago, before they’d both done irreparable harm to each other. And during those brief hours, he was happy.
Leaning against his throne, he exhaled, his eyes falling shut. Five hundred years today. That was how long it had been since he’d let her go, and it still felt as agonizing as the day he’d watched her die. Forget scars. At that moment he was convinced it would never get better no matter how much time passed.
The doors of the throne room opened, and with a sigh, he stirred. The next batch of souls weren’t due until morning, and James knew better than to bother him. But even though he hadn’t anticipated anyone in particular, he certainly hadn’t expected the girl standing in the archway at the end of the aisle.
“Hera. Calliope,” he said, correcting himself as he stood. “It is good to see you.”
“And you as well, Hades.” As she approached him, she bowed her head, and he did the same. It had been millennia since the two of them had been alone—since before his marriage to Persephone, and the reminder stabbed at him. “I didn’t interrupt anything, did I?”
He shook his head and took her hands, squeezing them in greeting. “No, no. My day is done. I was about to retire.”
“Oh.” Her smile faded slightly. “I was hoping we might talk.”
“Of course.” He offered her his arm, and once she took it, he led her from the throne room. The hallways were lit with everlasting torches, giving the home an eerie feel, but he preferred it. He could’ve easily created a light that didn’t make the shadows dance, but that would’ve only made his loneliness worse.
Once they’d stepped inside a cozy sitting room he never had the chance to use anymore, he glanced around as she did, taking in the room. Funny how a routine could make the once-familiar strange. He summoned tea and poured them both cups, and as he sat beside her on the sofa, he saw her shift closer to him. Perhaps she simply missed him. Or perhaps she sensed how badly he needed some form of comfort.
“This place hasn’t changed much,” she said between sips of tea. “How are you holding up?”
“It has been a long time since anyone asked me that,” he said with a faint smile, though he found no joy in either her concern or his observation. “I have been better, I suppose.”