When it’s Hestia’s turn, she stands up at her throne. For the briefest of moments, I think she’s going to break tradition and choose this time. There aren’t many names for her to submit to the box—only Clea and I are of age in her house—but that just means the odds are in our favor. Though if I had to compete against Clea, I might just fling myself into the mortal realm to avoid it altogether.
I could never compete against Clea.
But then Hestia gives the crowd a slight bow and says, “I have submitted no names to the box. I wish not to choose.”
I look at Clea. The firelight reflects in her eyes, but I see only relief there.
We’re both safe. We’re both destined to pick flowers for the rest of our lives.
It could be worse, I try to tell myself.
Hades is last to the box.
When he’s finished, the ceremony will be over and we can finally go home. I can’t wait to peel off this dress and put on something more comfortable. That jug of wine is sounding better and better.
Since we worked the ceremony tonight, Clea and I will have tomorrow off. No walking the mountainside! No picking flowers!
I can sleep in.
Oh the joy.
Hades unfurls his first slip of paper and smiles. “Haven Knightfall,” he calls.
The crowd cheers. The loudest, most rambunctious are those from Hades’s House. But everyone else knows that when a Knightfall is before you, you celebrate him. Even if you hate him.
Which most of them do.
Which I do too.
I’m hating him more and more as the night goes on.
Haven walks up the marble steps.
I wish for him to trip.
He doesn’t, of course. He walks with ease and grace and takes his place by Hades’s side. The dark prince standing by his dark god.
Hades calls out eight more names, all of them young men. Hades may father the occasional daughter, but he nor the Fates have ever chosen a girl for the Descendants Trial. Hades’s house is a bastion of male chauvinism.
I’m growing more restless by the minute.
Clea looks at me and plucks a loose flower petal from my shoulder. “Make a wish,” she whispers.
This is a game we play. When we find loose petals on one another, it’s customary to wish and then blow it away.
I’m in no mood for wishes or games, but I am in the mood for distraction.
I close my eyes and grab at the first thought that comes to mind.
I wish for this night to hurry up and be over.
I suck in a breath to blow the petal away when I hear Hades read his last name.
“Anastasha Hearthtender.”
The crowd goes silent.
Clea’s mouth drops open.
I look up.
Hades is searching the crowd for Anastasha. This orphaned descendant. This unwanted, unclaimed daughter.
He’s searching around as though he doesn’t know who he’s chosen and I’m sitting motionless like I’m not sure I heard him right. This is impossible.
Clea nudges me. I want to shrivel into a serpent hole.
“Ana,” Clea whisper-shouts.
I lurch awkwardly to my feet.
“Did you say Anastasha Hearthtender?” I call. It’s not customary for a descendant to address a god. But I don’t know what else to do.
This is not possible.
Surely he said someone else’s name.
Surely I heard him wrong.
Because in order for Hades, God of the Underworld, to have called my name, he would have had to put my name in the box.
Why would Hades put my name in that box?
Oh shit.
Shit.
Clea and I both come to this realization at the same time. I look down at her as she looks up at me, eyes as big as coneflowers.
Is Hades my father?
Hades says, “Anastasha. Please, come join your house.”
I lock eyes with the God of the Underworld and all of the blood drains from my body.
The crowd cheers. I think they’re cheering for the scandal. The drama. I think they’re already placing bets on my impending failure. I wish I was the betting type; I would bet against myself in a heartbeat. It’s a sure thing if ever there was one.
This can’t be happening.
On unsteady feet, I cross the theater and walk up the marble steps. I mean to join the end of the line of the chosen ones, but Haven snatches my arm and shoves aside the boy beside him to make room for me.
We face the cheering crowd together. I’m blinded by the glow of the Eternal Flame in front of me.
What’s happening? How is this happening?
This is a gods-be-damned mistake.
I cut a glance over my shoulder to Hestia, but she’s deep in a whispered conversation with Demeter.
Help me, I want to say. I can’t possibly be a chosen one! For Hades’s House no less! Wasn’t I just ruminating on the lack of female chosen ones in Hades’s House? Wasn’t I just thinking, It could be worse?
Oh gods. It is worse. Things have gone very WORSE.
My stomach twists into knots, my mind whirling with a million thoughts.
Is Hades my father? Why claim me now? Here in front of everyone? Hades has never been one for pomp or performance. Did Hestia know about this? Has she known he’s my father this entire time?
I can’t stop my brain from running over every moment with Hestia to see if there was one time where something that she said or did would prove that she knew and had been keeping the secret from me all along. But my interactions with Hestia were limited and she’s always been extremely unforthcoming to an annoying degree.
My attention is pulled back to the present as the crowd rises to their feet to celebrate those who are chosen. Haven leans in close to me. His breath fans across my neck and a shiver races down my spine. He smells like the dark, heady underworld, like cinnamon and woodsmoke and amber.
I clutch my hands in front of me to stop them from shaking.
“Take it all in, orphan,” he says, his voice dangerously dark. “By this time next week, no one will remember your name.”
Chapter 6
As soon as the ceremony is adjourned, I start running. I run through the woods, not caring that my dress snags on a branch and tears. Not caring that thistles scrape at my legs as I shove through a bit of bramble on the forest’s edge. The pain sings across my skin, but still I run. I run toward the only place I’ve ever known, toward Hestia’s House, the home I’m about to be ripped away from.
What’s happening? I can’t stop my brain from running over the moment again and again. Of Hades shouting my name out to the masses. Of the sneer on Haven Knightfall’s cruel, beautiful face.
When I reach Hestia’s House, I’m out of breath. Unable to hold myself upright any longer, I collapse on the front steps. Now that the night is over, Apollo is back in his chariot to start the daily trek through the sky.
There will be no sun where I’m going. While Hades’s House sits at the lowest point in Olympus and isn’t technically in the actual underworld, it sits in the mountain’s shadow and is constantly shrouded in darkness and mist.
Hades is one of the dark gods and I’m about to move to his house.
I think back over every single time I’ve complained about my role at Hestia’s. Every time I wished for more or for something different. The Fates must be laughing at me now.
I reach out and touch a wild daylily that’s growing next to the stairs. I turn the flower in my fingers, watching it wilt and turn black in my hand until all that’s left is a fine ash on my palm.