Hades and Persephone: Crown of Souls (Gods of Myth #3)

Chapter 23

Chapter

Twenty-Three

H ades

“I am not done with my story, brother.” Poseidon’s face is the picture of mischief. “Not even close. You see, this has been my obsession for centuries.”

I move closer to my little goddess, and my brother. My stance is wide where I stop to tower over her, folding my arms over my chest. “Do tell.”

“When Atlantis sank into my seas, she bound herself to me as so many Gods before me had tried and failed to bind her. It was my acceptance of this bind that allowed me access to the secrets within her heart. And do you know what I learned?”

“I’m waiting,” my reply falls dryly between us. “Apparently, I’ve been waiting for centuries.”

Poseidon chuckles, like the annoying little brother he so often is. “I learned that Persephone carried within her, buried deep, the missing power of Chaos.” Poseidon watches me closely for my reaction. I do not give him one. He narrows his eyes. “You already know this?”

“I suspected, yes.” I give him nothing more. If it weren’t for Persephone between us, we would be in a stare-down for far longer than we are.

She stands, her hands flying to her hips. “I do not have the power of Chaos!” She whirls around to glare—surely—at Poseidon. “That’s what you insinuated when you said the Underworld glowed after Hades spilled—spilled my?—”

She can’t say it. Poseidon does not share her struggle and I fight my flinch when he says, “Your innocence, yes.”

I watch as my brother stands, and I feel a brow climbing on my forehead at the sight of his seaweed skirt . “What?—”

“Your Goddess was offended by the sight.” Poseidon smirks, standing just a little taller.

I let my gaze slide to Persephone, but the barb that falls from my tongue is for my brother. “Too small for you, little goddess?”

Her cheeks flare a lovely shade of red. She huffs, unimpressed. “Even Gods become idiots when it comes to the size of their dicks. Who knew?”

Poseidon replicates my helpless shrug, but it’s him who mutters, “Where do you think human men got it from?”

She rolls her eyes, turning on me. “I’m not discussing other men’s—” Her face couldn’t be more red. It is in effort that I hold my unexpected laugh inside. “Argh. Poseidon, why would you think I possess any of Chaos’ power?”

“Quite frankly, Atlantis told me.”

Silence is a hole in my mind for far too long. I cannot think beyond his statement, but somehow, I manage a tense, “Explain.”

“That is all she said. She has been silent for centuries until,” he steals a breath. “Until recently.”

“And what happened recently?”

“She began to glow again. Nearly twenty years ago, her silent heart lit with light and the sleeping city came alive with power. A new artery formed. A fault line, of sorts, from Atlantis to the coast of Canada, before it withered—unable to reach its desired target.”

“I’m from Canada,” Persephone wheezes breathlessly.

Poseidon slides his eyes to hers. His reply is sober. “Not the coast.”

Shock hitches her breath. “No.”

“And all the times you did touch the water, you were never there long. Atlantis would sense you, first in Mexico.” He shakes his head on a disbelieving chuckle. “The Pacific side, because of course you wouldn’t travel to the Atlantic side. No, that would be too easy. Next, you were in Costa Rica, again the Pacific side.” His eyes narrow on her. “You travelled twice more to Mexico. Both times, you were on the Pacific side, and never for long.”

Persephone gulps. “Dad said the Pacific side is cheaper because the beaches are rougher.”

Poseidon grits his teeth. “Of course, it always comes down to money for mortals.”

This has the little goddesses’ hackles rising. And I watch as she endearingly gives the Sea God a verbal lashing. “That’s what happens when people struggle to get by, and the powerful make money into the ticket for happiness, health, and pretty much everything else that feeds the soul of a human.”

Poseidon ignores her rant. “Every time Atlantis sensed you, I travelled in the hope that I would find you,” Poseidon says softly. His eyes flick to mine. “I was always too late.”

Persephone demands, “What would you have done if you’d found me?”

Poseidon does not blink or hesitate. “I would have taken you.”

Her eyes bug. “You would have taken me?”

“We have waited for your rebirth for centuries. The Glowing City is hungry for sustenance. Sustenance only the power you carry—the power of Chaos—can provide.”

Persephone looks like she’s about to lose her mind, the information overload too much for the fragile confines of her human brain. I take a step closer, bumping her body with my own as I close my arms around her waist.

She sinks into me, giving Poseidon a small, sad shake of her head. “I can’t give her that power. If I had it—if I could—I would.”

“You do.”

She shakes her head. There is desperation in the depths of her voice—a plea of a sort—when she proposes, “You said her power dimmed when Uranus was castrated. Perhaps he truly is her sire, and he could—I don’t know—” Persephone spins in my arms, tipping wide green eyes desperate for a solution, up at me. “He’s in Tartarus. Couldn’t you—couldn’t you talk to him?”

I can feel the weight of Poseidon’s eyes on me as I peer down into the hopeful gaze of my beautiful mate. Not my soul mate, but my mate manipulated by the Fates.

I can’t deny the swell of sadness that rises inside me. A wave to crash down and smother some of the bliss I’ve found in her return to me.

I don’t look away from her eyes as I debate the merits of trusting my brother with all that I know. It seems he’s extended the first branch here, for I know very well he was aware that I’d been listening to the tales he told her even before I made my presence known.

In the end, with Demeter aligning herself with Zeus in the ultimate bid for my demise, it would be good to have a certain ally in him.

Before I can change my mind, I tell her, “Uranus is not in Tartarus.”

A wave surges from the sea, like it’s gasped its very own inhale, before it crashes to the shore in a spray of salty mist that goes entirely ignored in the wake of my confession.

Persephone’s mouth opens and closes and opens again even though no sound escapes. But I know her brilliant mind is working, spinning, weaving truth from the impossible. I see the moment it registers. Watch as her head tips to the side and her eyes widen as they search mine.

Still, she is silent.

She remains silent when Poseidon booms, “Of course, he’s in Tartarus! Where else would he be?”

I say nothing. I wish to know if my little goddess has connected all the dots I’ve placed so carefully for her, for I never hid the truth from her. Not really. It was there, plain for her to see, all the times I painted in her presence. The blood I infused into enchanted canvases—the torment which took life in scenes of gruesome despair I refused to sell, no matter how exorbitant the offer.

Poseidon is still speaking, demanding answers. I ignore him as I study her. The working of her beautiful mind, her confusion and her acceptance of the impossible.

“The paintings.” It’s spoken so faintly, but it’s enough to still the noise that spills from Poseidon as he moves nearer. Her eyes continue to search mine for a truth she already knows. “He’s inside the painting. They’re all inside the paintings…” Trembling hands lift to cover her gasp. Her eyes are so impossibly wide. “Oh, my God, Hades,” her words sound both audibly and inside my mind, a breath in the caverns of my soul. “Oh, my God!”

She takes a stumbling step back, freezing when she bumps Poseidon’s very naked chest. If it’s possible, her eyes widen more. She looses a noise that is half cry and half shriek, peeling her body from his as I fight the urge to rip him to shreds.

How I spent centuries watching her beneath other males, I cannot know. The idea now—even though I know such a fate is unavoidable for she has been cursed with the very same hunger that cursed her in the aftermath of my assault—is a torment greater than nearly all others.

All but the loss of her, or her unhappiness. I would suffer any torment to assuage the pain that is living without her. I would kneel to any suffering if it meant her happiness.

She closes the space between us, her hands flying to the lapels of my jacket. “Tell me it’s not true. Tell me the Titans aren’t in the Living Realm, Hades.”

“I can’t tell you that, little goddess.”

An unhinged laugh fights from the strangle of her throat, but in her eyes, I see the terror. “They—if they broke free—they would decimate everyone.”

“They will not break free.”

Her hands fly to her hair, now a fall of deep red that is streaked with strands of burnished gold. “How can you know that?”

“I’d like to know as well, brother.”

It is a struggle, but I force my gaze to Poseidon’s. His jaw is hard, brow furrowed. “Without Persephone, the Underworld grew weak.”

“The artery of Atlantis still surged power into the realm,” Poseidon grits. “There was power.”

“Not enough.” Shame is a deep blade in my soul, twisting as it gouges. “The realm was withering. It fed from me and the other Gods in the centuries after Persephone’s passing. I was weak—too weak to maintain the binds of Tartarus that contained the Titans.” I continue, as I’ve gone this far, “Hecate enchanted the canvases, and I crafted the worlds of torment, sealing them inside with my own blood.”

Poseidon’s inhale is sharp. “You should have come to me.”

“You knew the Underworld was weak without her.”

“If I’d known the binds that contain our ruin were faltering, I would have found more power.”

“She is the power we needed. She is the life of the Underworld.” I steady the race of my raging heart, attempting, and mostly failing, to calm myself. “I may be King in title of the Underworld, but the crown has always been hers.”

At my words, Persephone’s hands lift to her temples. The tips of her fingers press into the tender flesh, and a small whimper falls from her lips. Worry that mirrors my own flashes in Poseidon’s eyes. I cannot mistake the love that flashes in the depths of his eyes for my wife reborn. It is a love I have seen too often. A love I have never missed, not once.

If she’d choose him, he would happily let the Underworld crumble to possess her, I am certain.

“Persephone?” he calls gently.

“She said something about a crown—” her words are choppy, the press of her fingers to her temples nearing violent. It’s as though she is trying to squeeze the memory from her mind.

Gently, I cuff her wrists in my hands and pull. Her eyes slice to mine and she gasps. “The Crown of Souls. She wanted me to find a way to—to—” Her lips tip in a frown. “She feared you would give it instead to one of the nymphs. Minthe? Leuce?” Her eyes are wild as she searches my face for sense. She shakes her head desperately. “She hated them. Hated that you brought them into our bed—but it wasn’t you, it was me. Wasn’t it?” She doesn’t let me answer before she’s speaking again. “She wanted the Crown of Souls, and I was her path to it. What would she want the Crown of Souls for?”

When my eyes meet Poseidon’s again, there is grave dread darkening the blue depths. “The Crown of Souls is bound to the House of Judgement. To possess the crown is to possess the souls.”

Persephone frowns at Poseidon. “I don’t understand what that means.”

“It means,” I begin darkly. “That the one who wears the Crown of Souls not only possesses the power to cast judgement, but to see that judgement through. With the crown comes complete power over the souls who pass from the Living Realm. In the wrong hands, the crown could be the thing to end the world and all the realms in it.”

“Demeter wants control of the souls who pass?” Horror quickly follows her words as she realizes, “She wants an army. She wants to make an army of the souls of the dead.”

“Why would she want that?” Poseidon growls low and borderline feral.

“That’s what we have to find out.”