“No, but apparently you need a reality check.”
He rose to his feet and removed his jacket, and when his fingers moved to the buttons of his shirt, Persephone snapped.
“I’m not having sex with you right now.”
He scowled, frustration making his body feel tight and warm. He shrugged off his shirt and stood bare-chested before her, dropping the glamour he used to hide the black threads marring his body. The newest was a thick band that wrapped around his arm and went across his back. It was Briareus’s, and it had burned a track into his skin as he’d taken the giant’s soul. They were all painful when they were made, but some hurt worse than others, and this one still throbbed.
“What are they?”
She reached to touch him, but the thought of her tracing such a dark part of his life was alarming, so he captured her hand, halting her movement. Her eyes snapped to his.
“It’s the price I pay for every life I’ve taken by bargaining with the Fates. I carry them with me. These are their life threads, burned into my skin. Is this what you want on your conscience, Persephone?”
She wrested her hand from his hold, cradling it against her chest, though her eyes still trailed the fine lines on his skin.
“What good is being the God of the Dead if you can’t do anything?” She sounded very much defeated as she looked away and took a shuddering breath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”
He gave a humorless laugh. “You meant it,” he said, one hand pressing against her cheek so she would look at him once more. “I know you don’t want to understand why I can’t help, and that’s okay.”
“I just…don’t know what to do,” she whispered.
“Lexa isn’t gone, yet you mourn her. She may recover.”
“Do you know that for certain? That she will recover?”
“No.”
He saw no reason to lie. The truth was, even Lexa did not know yet. He wished he could offer more comfort. He knew she wanted it, but in the face of death, there were no words that would ease her pain.
Finally, she rested her head against his chest, and her body felt heavy against his, as if she were finally giving over this burden—at least for now. He took her into his arms and teleported to the Underworld, to his chamber, where he laid her to rest on his bed.
“Do not fill your thoughts with the possibilities of tomorrow,” he said and kissed her forehead, letting his magic send her into a deep, unbothered sleep, hoping she would actually rest, so he could slip away to the palace of the Fates.
He appeared in a flurry of shadows and smoke that peeled away and led him to the Library of Souls where he found the Fates at work. It appeared that Clotho was spinning gold threads, and they glimmered in the air, crisscrossing the breadth of the space. While she worked, Lachesis stood at the center, holding open a large book into which the thread was burrowing, while Atropos waited with her scissors.
Just as she began to cut, Lachesis spoke, “No, no, no, you mustn’t end it there!”
“You are the allotter of life. I am the manner of death,” Atropos said. “I will end this life where I want!”
“You are far too humane,” Lachesis said. “This man has lived an inhospitable life. He should die the same.”
“Trauma is hardly pleasant.”
“It is merciful. Much better to die by disease.”
“Why let him die at all?” Hades asked. “Perhaps the greater torture is continuing to live an unfavorable life?”
The three snapped their heads in his direction, though with Lachesis distracted, Atropos cut the thread. As she snipped, the end turned black and curled, disappearing into the book. Lachesis slammed the book closed and launched it at her sister. The Fate caught it and tossed it back, but before it could hit, Hades wrenched it from the air, and as it landed in his palm, the three glared.
“What do you want, Rich One?” Lachesis snapped.
“Why have you—?”
“Lexa Sideris,” Hades said, cutting Atropos off. “Is she the soul you chose to complete the bargain?”
The Fates had said that Briareus’s life would cost him dearly. Lexa’s death would have consequences that echoed far beyond Persephone’s relationship with the mortal. After tonight, it was clear it would also impact Persephone’s relationship with him.
“A mortal in exchange for an immortal?” asked Atropos.
“That is hardly fair, Lord of the Dead,” said Clotho.
“Completely unreasonable,” agreed Lachesis.
“No, dear king, the end of Briareus’s life must give life to another immortal. That is the bargain we’ve struck.”
There was a part of him that felt relief at hearing he was not responsible for Lexa’s accident and subsequent limbo, but a new anxiety filled him at the prospect of an immortal life being born or taken as a result of Briareus’s death, though he always knew it was a possibility.
As much as he wanted to ask them who—which immortal they had chosen—he knew the question was futile.
“Do not fret, Good Counselor,” said Clotho.
“Your bargain with Briareus,” said Lachesis.
“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.