“I will have my people help you make the transition into this world,” he said. “But beyond that, never contact me again.”
With that, he left.
* * *
Someone was fucking with him, and he did not like it.
First Kal, then Hera, now Leuce.
He had wanted his confrontation with her to be short, concise, and final, but he knew he’d have to talk to her again. He needed more information on her sudden transformation. He had a hard time believing she didn’t know who was responsible, and her connection to him was too great for someone not to use it against him.
Hades instructed Ilias to find Leuce a place to stay and assign surveillance before returning to the Underworld, and while he’d have liked to return to Persephone, he had one other unpleasant task ahead—visiting the Fates.
Dread pooled low in his stomach, a weight as heavy as the guilt he carried for Leuce. Hades never enjoyed visiting the Fates, but he liked it less when it was personal. They were deities who understood their power and used it to mock, tease, tantalize, and provoke, and he knew that he would not escape their ridicule tonight, which would make the horror of his labor worse.
He manifested outside the Fates’ mirrored palace, the size of which was impossible to detect given that the structure was almost consumed by evergreens and ivy. When Hades had created their isolated realm, the sisters had insisted on many things. Among them, the palace was to be made of mirror and glass.
“To reflect the truth,” Clotho had said.
“To show what is,” Lachesis explained.
“To illustrate reality,” Atropos added.
Hades had no doubt the Fates used the mirrors for more than just truth. They represented possibility, and while possibility could be grand, it could also be devastating. The Fates were supposed to be neutral deities, but truthfully, they had a tendency to favor tragedy.
“The King of the Underworld is troubled.” Lachesis’s voice was the first to reach him, yet the Fate had not yet materialized.
“The Rich One is in despair,” Atropos said.
“The Receiver of Many is bothered.” Clotho materialized as she spoke.
All the Fates looked the same, even in age, though Clotho was the youngest. They had long, dark hair and wore white. They did not have horns but wore crowns that resembled a nest of gold twigs.
“What is it, King?” Atropos inquired, appearing next.
“Tell us why you have come, Your Majesty,” said Lachesis, incarnating last. They stood in an arc before Hades, and he gritted his teeth. They knew why he had come. He needed to know if they had woven Briareus’s fate and if he could fight it.
“I need the thread of Briareus,” Hades said.
“Demanding, aren’t we?” Atropos said.
“Gruff,” Clotho replied.
“Brutish,” Lachesis agreed.
“Ask nicely,” they said in unison.
His jaw hurt as he glared back at the three so hard, his eyes burned.
“Please,” he gritted out.
The three broke into wicked smiles.
“Well, since you asked so politely,” Lachesis sniffed.
“Pleasantly,” Clotho added.
“Kindly,” Atropos said. “What do you wish to know?”
“I must know Briareus’s fate,” Hades said, hating the way the Fates’ eyes gleamed.
“Briareus, you say,” said Lachesis.
“One of the Hecatoncheires,” observed Clotho.
“The storm giants,” Atropos affirmed.
“Why?” they asked in unison.
“As if you do not already know,” he gritted out.
They were all quiet, and Hades recognized his own behavior in them. They would not continue until he gave them the answer they wanted.
“What will it cost me when I kill Briareus?”
He hated asking the question before he’d even tried seeking a loophole, but he knew how this worked. He had seen the cycle repeat over centuries. There would likely be no other way to appease Hera, and the one thing he was not willing to sacrifice was Persephone and their future together.
“You wish to end a life I have spun?” Clotho said.
“A life I have measured?” Lachesis continued.
“A life I haven’t cut?” Atropos asked, affronted.
As they spoke, a gold thread shimmered in the dark, twisting and looping around each of the Fates. He watched it, a thin line of energy that made up the fabric of the world.
“I do not wish to,” Hades said, but the alternative was a price he would not pay, so he had to know this one. “As you are aware, this is Hera’s vendetta.”
“And you she has chosen for the deed,” said Clotho.
The thread morphed into a silhouette of Hera, Persephone, and himself. The Goddess of Marriage stood between them and used her spear to sever the thread that connected them. That was not the end of Hera’s rage, however. The threads continued to depict her pursuit of Persephone until she descended into madness.
Hades closed his eyes at the scene, and when he focused on the Fates again, the threads were gone.
Atropos spoke. “And the consequences of refusing her are so great, you are willing to face our wrath.”
It was not a question, and Hades did not speak.
“A life like Briareus will cost you dearly, King,” said Lachesis.
“The consequences are the same—a soul for a soul,” said Clotho.
He did not bother asking which soul would replace the one he was about to take, though he knew a life like Briareus would come at a great cost. He was an immortal being, a monster, and whatever took his place would have to be powerful.
“Where does this path leave Persephone?” Hades asked, focusing on what was important.
If one path led toward madness, he did not trust that the other would not lead to hardship.
“Oh, dear king,” said Clotho.
“There is no path,” said Atropos.
“That will leave her unbroken,” said Lachesis.
* * *
There is no path that will leave her unbroken.
Those words crowded his thoughts, pressing hard against his skull as he watched Persephone sleep from his position near the fireplace. She lay on her side, draped in black silk. Her hands were curled under her head, her breathing even and undisturbed.
She was safe.
If he were true to his nature, he would never let her leave his realm. It was the life above that would damage her…or would it be him?