“I know you’re here,” he growled.
A loud yawn broke from behind him, and he turned to find Aphrodite stretching. She was dressed in peach, and her golden hair fell in waves down her back.
“What is it, Hades?” she asked. “I am tired.”
Now that he faced her, he suddenly felt very stupid and wanted to leave.
“This was a mistake,” he said. “I… Sorry.”
He started to leave when Aphrodite’s presence flashed as she teleported closer to prevent him from going.
“Did you just apologize, Hades?” she asked. He did not speak, and a smile curved her lips. “Something must be wrong,” she said. “Come.”
She led him down a walkway that ran parallel to her home and opened to a patio that overlooked the ocean. He had seen the water in all forms throughout his visits to this island—deep blue and green, golden and orange—but today it churned beneath the bright sun, making it gleam like millions of diamonds. It almost hurt to look at it.
Aphrodite made her way to a lounge where it was clear she had been resting before Hades interrupted her. A book lay facedown on a table beside a large hat and some kind of pink drink.
“I would tell you to sit,” she said, “but I doubt you would be comfortable enough.”
She was right. Instead, he remained on his feet, hands in his pockets, standing on the line where the shadow met the light, and stared off at the horizon, squinting against the bright day.
“I know you have not come all the way to Lemnos for the view,” Aphrodite said. “Tell me why you are here so that we might both get back to our day.”
While her words were dismissive, Hades knew she was far too intrigued by his visit to be too impatient.
“As if your schedule was packed,” Hades countered.
“If you are going to beg for my help, you could at least respect my time.”
“I have not come to beg.”
“Perhaps not,” she said. “But if you keep delaying, you will be on your knees before you leave my sight.”
Hades ground his teeth and finally relented. “I fucked up,” he said, and he held his breath as he added, “I need advice.”
Aphrodite’s eyes gleamed, amused, but as he began to tell her what had transpired between him and Persephone—the goddess’s desperate wish to save her best friend, the bargain with Apollo, the aftermath of their anger and pain—that warm glow in her eyes dimmed.
Aphrodite knew the pain of loss, and she understood it from the perspective of love—all love, not just romantic—because love did not end when life did. It carried on in the absence of it.
“I cannot even begin to decide how to make amends. She was right. I could have supported her more, prepared her for Lexa’s decision and Thanatos’s eventual reaping, but I didn’t. I treated her situation like every other mortal, thinking it was no different, but it was different because it was Persephone.”
He dragged his fingers through his hair, frustrated, and it fell from its tie around his face.
“Have you told her that you are sorry?”
He met her gaze. “I tried. She didn’t want to hear from me.” He paused. “I want to do something.”
“Sometimes grand gestures are not as important as words, Hades,” Aphrodite replied.
Hades frowned. He couldn’t deny that he was disappointed in her response. “Odd that you would give such advice when you cannot even bring yourself to talk to Hephaestus.”
Aphrodite’s mouth hardened, then her eyes flashed. It was the only warning he had before a hard hit sent him to his knees. He looked up to find that the Goddess of Love stood inches from him holding a gold rod that was taller than she was. It was the weapon she’d used to knock him off his feet, and now she pointed the sharpened end at his face.
“You don’t have to like what I say,” Aphrodite said, “but you must respect me.”
Hades nodded once. “Fair. I’m sorry.”
It was the second time he had apologized to her today—he was definitely not in his right mind.
She stared at him, as if assessing whether he meant what he said, and after a moment, she nodded, righting her spear.
Slowly, Hades got to his feet. After a moment, he spoke, still uncertain that words were enough to convince Persephone that he was sorry.
“I just…cannot imagine that she wants to hear from me.”
He had no reason to believe otherwise, given their earlier encounter and how it had backfired.
“Perhaps she just needs time,” Aphrodite said. “I will not pretend to know her mind or answer for her. Plan something grand and beautiful, but remember that the only way forward is to ask her what she wants.”
Hades nodded, and after a moment, he met her gaze. “Any chance I can convince you to never bring this up again?”
“Never,” she replied with a wicked smile.
* * *
Throughout the day, Hades returned to his conversation with Persephone and Aphrodite’s words. The two were in such conflict, he did not know what to do, but he hoped that at some point, Persephone would let him explain what had happened with Leuce.
Hades was still deciding what to do about the troublesome nymph. He couldn’t exactly get rid of her. He knew, despite Persephone’s hurt over the article in the Delphi Divine, that she would not approve of him sending Leuce away, and as much as he believed she was working with Demeter, it likely meant that she felt she had no choice in the matter, even with Hades’s offer of protection.
Essentially, Leuce was caught between two gods who could do very brutal things if she disobeyed, and while he considered confronting Demeter about the situation, he knew he’d only make things worse. Not to mention he had other, more pressing matters to attend to, among them ensuring that their plans did not actually succeed in tearing him and Persephone apart.
He’d begun to map out an idea for how he might proceed when Hermes appeared in his office dressed in all white. His shirt was halfway unbuttoned, and he looked very flushed.
Hades raised a brow at the god and was about to comment on his attire when he spoke instead.
“We need you,” he said.
Hades’s brows slammed down over his eyes, and Hermes’s next two words had him out of his seat.
“It’s Persephone.”
He did not need to say anything more, and they were teleporting, appearing before a curtained lounge with white couches. The air was thick with a suffocating white smoke that flashed bright with colors as music roared around them. Hades knew this club. It was the Seven Muses, and it was owned by Apollo, who sat on one of the couches, looking bored while Persephone lay on the one opposite at an odd angle, as if she’d collapsed there. Her eyes were closed and she wore nothing but mesh and gold leaves. While he liked the dress, he would have preferred being the sole person to have seen her in it. She needed a gods-damned blanket, but the best he could do now was call up his glamour to conceal the booth.