17. Theseus
THESEUS
WILLOW
I’ve gotta say, there are disadvantages to being married to the Lord of the Underworld.
Not many, admittedly, and none that are Aiden’s fault.
Aiden is devoted, attentive, terrifyingly protective, and so handsome that I have occasionally lost track of entire conversations because the low flames along the walls caught the sharp edge of his cheekbone in a particularly distracting way.
He also makes sure the kitchens keep a steady supply of my favorite foods for me now that I can eat down here, has threatened at least three dead kings for speaking to me with less respect than his queen deserves, and lets Sir sleep at the foot of our bed each night despite insisting that a three-headed hellhound has no business pretending to be a lapdog.
So, no, I don’t have many complaints.
Still, whenever the dead arrive in numbers too great for the judges to process without Hades personally intervening—or there are certain cases meant specifically for the god of the Underworld—my husband disappears into the megaron for hours.
Sometimes days. And he does that because he knows that—despite accepting that I am Persephone—I don’t like that part of the job.
I’m aware that Hades expects his wife to be an equal partner in his duties, but Aiden accepts that Willow is too much of a such touch to do much good.
If it were up to me, I’d give everyone a second chance, no punishment required.
Well, no. People who rape or kill or do some seriously bad stuff…
yeah, punish away. But the Underworld has strict guidelines about who goes where, and there are certain cases where I think mercy is warranted and Hades disagrees.
Then, of course, Aiden sides with me which means that he has to argue with his god.
I hate when that happens, especially if it’s my fault.
It leaves Aiden on edge after he forces Hades back, and considering Hades throws it into Aiden’s face as often as he can that he should be allowed to be the lead personality—that a Greek-killer doesn’t deserve a bride like Persephone—it does something awful to my husband whenever Hades opens his big mouth.
I don’t want Hades. I want Aiden, and I’ve spent the last six months showing him that I mean it. I know his past. I know his history. I know how he was manipulated by his old boss to kill those who were meant for this realm before they had the chance to discover who they really were.
I doubt it was on purpose. If gods and goddesses don’t awaken until we’re on the other side of the mirror, how did his boss even know who he was sending poor Aiden after?
Only Zeus can cross between worlds easily, and even he found out who the souls belonged to after it was too late.
It was a coincidence, and one my husband has been paying for for the last eighty years.
No one shows him any mercy, and he even spares it for me by letting me off the hook when it comes to dealing with the dead of the Underworld on his own.
He always promises to come back as soon as he can, and I believe him.
Aiden would abandon a meeting with Zeus himself if he thought I needed him.
That doesn’t mean I enjoy watching him pull on his suit jacket woven from shadows before leaving our chambers, his expression gradually losing the softness he only seems willing to show me.
“Busy day?” I ask.
“Looks like.”
He leans down to kiss me, one hand settling against the back of my neck as though a simple goodbye requires enough contact to reassure himself I won’t vanish while he’s gone. The kiss begins gently. It doesn’t stay that way for long.
It rarely does.
By the time he lifts his head, I’m holding the front of his shirt in both fists, and the white light beginning to glow beneath his black irises suggests Hades has opinions about leaving me, too.
“You could tell them you’re unavailable,” I murmur.
Aiden’s mouth brushes mine again. “I could. I want to, Blossom, but—”
Darn it. “But you won’t.”
“No. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. Part of the reason I love you is because you’re so devoted. To me. To those in your realm… I’ll wait for you. You know I will.”
The flash of relief over his features tells me that he doubts that still.
His thumb strokes my cheek. “Don’t stray too far.”
I lift my eyebrows. He has the same warning for me every time, as though I’m going to travel toward Tartarus again—one time, that was one time!
—as soon as his eyes are off of me. These days, I stay to the palace, the gardens, or the gate where I keep Sir company—or maybe he keeps me company—whenever Minth or Leuce are busy doing household chores.
Sir is only allowed to be Sir at night. It’s an agreement the hound of Hades and his master came to. During the day, he’s the three-headed beast, stuck out front to guard the palace gate. At night? He’s back to being my adorable puppy.
I almost tease Aiden, telling him that I was planning on going for a swim through the River Styx, but his shoulders are so tight, the weight of the Underworld so heavy on his shoulders, I know it’ll just make his leaving me harder on him.
So, instead, I turn my head and kiss his inner wrist. “You got it, babe.”
Aiden sighs, touches his forehead to mine, and stands there for one more moment as if he’s trying to decide whether the administration of the dead truly requires his presence.
Then Hades wins.
His eyes turn entirely white. “I will return.”
The god’s deeper voice rolls beneath Aiden’s, but the hand that brushes through my hair still belongs to my husband.
“I’ll be here.”
He steals one last kiss—when he pulls back, I look for the black eyes so that I know it’s my husband and not Persephone’s—before leaving our bedroom, heading toward the megaron.
Once I’m sure he’s gone, I tiptoe out myself.
I have every intention of heading to the kitchen to see if Minthe can sneak me some cookies for a snack—but that’s before I get waylaid by Sir on the stairs.
He’s back in his puppy form. He likes to shrink down while he’s inside the palace, despite the fact that it’s so cavernous, he could fit all three of his heads easily here. I stopped asking questions. Whatever makes him happy, makes me happy.
And, it seems, going through the same old routine—barking at me, then jumping ahead before turning around to make sure I’m following him—is what’s making Sir happy today.
I give him a stern look. “Your dad says that I have to stay near the palace,” I tell him. “You’re not taking me anywhere that’s going to get either of us in trouble, are you?”
Proving that he’s way smarter than I thought when I first met him, he shakes his head, then leads the way.
Sir leads me away from the residential part of the palace and down the broad obsidian steps toward the palace gate where he usually has his post unless the Furies are taking watch.
Once you go through the gate, it takes you to the stone pathway that leads to the dock where Charon ferries all of the shades to the Underworld.
Each one is brought to the three dead kings who act as judges for their afterlife; they have their own space inside the palace of Hades, off the megaron, where they perform their task.
Once they’re done, the shades either get sent to Asphodel Meadows, the Fields of Punishment, Elysium, and, in severe cases, Tartarus.
Because the Other is just different enough from Ancient Greece, there are also the Unmentionables.
Souls who came to this realm, woke up the ancient spirit inside of them, but who died—through misdeed, by suicide, or sheer bad luck—before their story was told, they become Unmentionables: black-eyed shades that float in the fiery Phlegethon, the fifth river of the Underworld, unable to be reborn (or reincarnated) ever again.
Today, the shore of the Styx is crowded.
Lines of shades wait just outside of the gate, some silent, some weeping, others staring around with the bewildered expressions of people who still haven’t accepted that their lives are over.
A few clutch objects they shouldn’t still possess: rings, letters, small tokens held together by memory rather than flesh…
they’ll keep them until the kings decide their fate.
Each one turns their head my way as I pass with Sir.
I’ve learned not to stare back. The newly dead are fragile, and if it’s the only thing I do as queen of the Underworld, I try to keep them comfortable.
Sir slows as we near the ferry landing, his small body weaving between shades without touching them. They part for him anyway. Most recognize him instinctively. Those who don’t sense enough of what he truly is to step aside.
Charon’s boat emerges from the mist.
The ferryman stands at the stern, hood pulled low over a face I have never seen clearly. His pole sinks into the dark water of the Styx without a sound, propelling the vessel toward the shore.
Two shades stand inside his boat.
One is draped in a dark cloak, the hood hiding everything, though I don’t sense that she—because the shape is definitely of a woman—is one of ours. Life still clings to her, but there are those who find their way to the Underworld in that state.
Daphne did. So did Alex. So long as she could pay her fare to Charon, the woman can visit—though she must be careful otherwise she won’t be able to leave.
The shade hovering at the far end of the ferry, as far from the woman as he can, is undoubtedly a man. He’s also very, very dead.
That’s no surprise. What is a surprise, though? Is that I know him.
I glance down at Sir. He barks happily, and it hits me that this… this is the reason why Sir retrieved me to bring me to the dock.
I remember him. The tunic he’s wearing, the pack slung over his back, the curls that are see-through now, but I saw them when they were thick and black and curled around his neck.
Theseus. It’s Aria’s husband, Theo, but here in the realm of the dead, he is Theseus.