Which probably meant no magic.
They did not speak as the elevator came to a halt, and when the doors opened, it was into a busy concrete tunnel filled with a muted, blue-tinged light. Hades recognized this as one of the underground tunnels below the streets of New Athens. It seemed many used this particular one to reach Hera’s fight night.
The two gods joined the fray. Many continued forward, down a set of stairs to a large open bar, backlit with blue. An oval sunken floor created stadium-style seating where people gathered.
Hermes and Hades did not descend into the throng, however. They took a right, marching down a hall that was just as crowded with people, some bent over the edge of a metal rail overlooking the bar, while others leaned against the opposite wall, preferring the peace and anonymity the darkness offered.
That was where Hades wanted to be, swallowed by shadow. Instead, he walked unglamoured among both mortals and immortals. He could feel their apprehension as much as he could see it—averted eyes and a body that bent away from his presence.
As if either would keep away death.
He could not help thinking of Persephone at this moment. The woman who pressed close to him, who sought his warmth and even his darkness. The woman who traced the threads on his skin with curiosity, not disgust. She was why he was here, he reminded himself. At the end of the day, this was about her—it was about them. It was to save a future that had barely begun and was already under threat by the Goddess of Marriage.
Hades’s fists curled.
If Hera wanted a fight, he’d give her one. He’d make it unforgettable.
The hallway curved and grew wider, branching off. One part twisted on while the other was a straight, short path to a set of black doors carved with images Hades recognized—the Nemean lion, the Erymanthian boar, the Cretan bull. They were animals that had been defeated during Heracles’s labors, and now they decorated the doors in Hera’s underground fighting ring in gold relief.
How fitting.
Hermes pushed open the doors to reveal a surprisingly simple room. The floor was concrete, and to the left was a narrow pool. A row of lions’ heads were affixed to the wall, and from their mouths poured a stream of steaming water. The wall directly in front of him was an altar dedicated to the Goddess of Women. A gold statue made in her likeness was adorned with offerings, likely prayers made by other—what had Hermes called him?—chosen.
Hades would not be leaving an offering.
There was nothing else to the room other than a privacy screen, and Hades turned to look at Hermes.
“Well?” he asked. “What now?”
“You must bathe,” he said.
“Why?” Hades asked tightly.
“Because…the gold won’t stick.”
“The gold?” Hades repeated.
Hermes sighed. “Look, this isn’t ideal, but have I ever led you astray?”
“Yes, Hermes, you have, in fact, led me astray. This is a prime example,” Hades said, gesturing to the room.
“With fashion,” Hermes countered.
Hades glared. He did not want to do this.
Hermes crossed the room to a stack of folded towels and threw one at him.
“Get wet, Daddy Death,” Hermes said.
* * *
Less than fifteen minutes later, Hades stood dressed in a skirt made of leather strips that hung midthigh and nothing more. Normally he would not mind this, but it was the fact that it was for Hera’s pleasure. Not to mention that Hermes had taken entirely too long dusting gold on his skin with the smallest fan brush Hades had ever seen.
“What are you doing?” Hades asked, itching to cross his arms over his chest.
“Highlighting,” Hermes replied.
“Why?” Hades gritted out.
“To draw attention to your…assets.”
Hades looked down, noting he was almost covered in the gold dust. Hermes, who was bent eye level with his abs, looked up and grinned. Whatever he saw in Hades’s gaze made him hesitate.
“I think I’m done,” he said, clearing his throat and straightening.
Hades glowered. “I don’t see why I have to wear this.”
“Clothing is optional,” Hermes replied. “In fact, the preference is to fight naked.”
“I meant the gold dust, Hermes.”
“Oh,” he said. “It’s fashion.”
Hades raised a brow at that comment. “I’m sure it will look marvelous with the blood of my enemies.”
“Let’s hope it is their blood and not yours,” said Hermes, returning the jar and brush to the altar where he had retrieved them earlier.
Hades tilted his head to the side. “Are you suggesting I will lose?”
Hermes’s eyes widened. “No, of course not. It’s just—”
Hades crossed his arms over his chest at the god’s hesitation.
“Don’t do that! You’re ruining my work!”
“Then don’t lie to me,” Hades replied.
Hermes sighed, and his whole body seemed to slump. He scrubbed his face as he spoke. “It’s not that I don’t think you can win,” he admitted. “It’s just the thought of what you might be up against.”
“And what might I be up against?”
“Your own demons, Hades,” Hermes said.
It was the first time Hades had considered what being in this ring might mean for him mentally, and it hit harder when Hermes nodded toward the wall where an array of weapons hung.
“You only get one,” he said. “Choose wisely.”
Hades stared at them for a long time, unable to bring himself closer. There were swords and sickles, shields and axes.
Taking a weapon in hand would only remind him of the weight of others, ones he had used in battle after battle. With that thought came others, memories tinged with sounds and smells. He let them move through his mind—screams of terror and groans of death, the smell of blood, metal, and sweat.
There was a part of him that wished Hermes had not said anything at all, had not drawn his mind to think of those times, yet he was better off preparing for it if he was to face any opponent.
With the echoes of past battles roaring through his mind, he reached and retrieved a shield from the wall. It carried a symbol of Hera, a panther, and as much as he hated to wield it, the shield itself was an invaluable weapon. It was fashioned from adamant, an unbreakable metal that could injure a god. Its edges were sharp and it was heavy, a weight that seemed to increase the longer he held it and turned it over in his hand. After a few moments, he turned and found Hermes staring, looking very much stricken.