32. Chapter 32
Chapter thirty-two
Corre
I f someone were to ask Corre about her journey from the Underworld that day, she wouldn’t be able to tell them. Her mind was gone as her mother led her home. Her body was cold. Everything was numb. Everything except the heavy weight sinking deeper inside her stomach.
Even after her mother tearfully hugged her, kissing her cheeks and telling her to sleep, Corre felt nothing. Yet, somehow, she still ached with pain. She felt both everything and nothing—a simultaneous dance of daggers deep within herself, in a place that couldn’t be reached. Her body hurt the moment it hit the sheets, her ribs a fragile cage that creaked in agony when she breathed against her too-soft mattress.
The room was cold, the air stale. Maybe she’d gotten used to the muggy air ofTartarus. It didn’t feel right to be here.
It didn’t feel right to be without him.
Her hands tightened, coiling as her body curled in on itself. When she wasn’t tensed and guarding her body, she felt too vulnerable, too out of control. It was easier to bear everything when she was balled up. As if not keeping herself like this would expose her to more agony.
Despite her best efforts, the pain only grew. It branched from her stomach into her veins, and soon, her insides were burning, but her skin remained ice cold. She didn’t know how she was supposed to feel, or what she was supposed to think. Was she supposed to believe Markus was the bad guy? Or was her immense anxiety over him being left alone with that monster fully justified?
His smile surfaced in her mind. The way he looked at her when she did nothing special. Whether it was just a laugh, a playful look, or sometimes nothing at all. He always looked at her with such awe. Like she’d just done something spectacular.
Throughout her time there, his eyes had softened. His jaw had clenched less often. His body had become less tense. He’d let himself go more. Not in the way Thanatos wanted him to, or in the way people would expect. He had let the pain go. The expectations. The fear. Even if it had only been in small bursts, in thin slivers of time. When they were together, he let himself be hers and let Markus slip through Theron’s mask. If even just for a little while.
It didn’t matter how hard she tried to peel the image of him from her head. He was still there. Those dark, brooding eyes that lit up when she smiled. The strength of his frame as he trained. As he’d stood up to Thanatos. As he’d tried to protect her.
Corre watched her hand slowly uncoil. Tiny half-moons had imprinted on her palms from her nails. She stared at her fingers, at the lines on her palm, remembering Markus’s touch. Remembering everything she didn’t want to remember. The way he’d held her hands when he’d promised to keep her safe.
She thought of the waves of his black hair, the taste of his mouth, and the feel of his body. But worst of all, she remembered the pain slashed across his face just before she’d left. His limp, almost lifeless body being dragged away.
What would they do to him now?
As she lay there, she couldn’t help wondering what was going on at that precise moment, despite not really wanting to know. Because whatever it was, Thanatos was behind it, and it was likely beyond her comprehension.
Her eyes squeezed shut, and her body curled tighter. “Markus . . .” A tear rolled sideways down her face. What would he go through while she was away? How often would Thanatos rip him apart and sew him haphazardly back together, just so he could rip him apart again?
Eventually, her mind found what it wanted to focus on most, which, naturally, was what she wanted to focus on least. Those final few moments before the cavalry had arrived. Thanatos’s sinister grin as he revealed that Markus had killed her family. The unreadable expression on Markus’s face as his master spoke those words. The sorrow in the young Hades’ eyes when he finally looked at her.
But what he’d said . . .
“I don’t remember you or your parents . . . but I do remember that day. And that song. I’m so sorry.”
She couldn’t take it anymore. She couldn’t stop the sobs barreling through the room. The loudest, hardest cries she’d ever produced. Her body shook violently as the tears continued to flow.
“Corre?” her mother’s voice came through the wooden door.
She didn’t answer. She cried until her body hurt too much to move. Until she was too exhausted to do anything but sleep.
She didn’t know how long she’d cried before passing out, but it had been long enough that the night sky had already shifted to dawn. The light blue beams pooled onto her bed as if the sun was begging her to stop relying on the night.
She couldn’t stay in the darkness forever.
No matter how much she wanted to.
When she woke up for the day, she was miserable. Her body ached. Her eyes were puffy, and her stomach was cramped. She’d barely eaten anything in Tartarus because of the excitement she’d let herself get swept into. But even now, she wasn’t hungry. The thought of food made her sick. When her mother asked what she wanted for breakfast, despite it being late afternoon, Corre mumbled that she didn’t want to eat.
She couldn’t even move. She was still numb, hollow, lifeless. The only times she didn’t feel numb were when the thoughts of Markus resurfaced, and her eyes stung again, and her stomach lurched. The pain was beyond anything she’d ever experienced.
The next day went by like that, too. And then the next.
Finally, on the third day, Berenice let herself into Corre’s room and placed her hand on her daughter’s arm. “Sweetheart, you have to eat something. You’ve barely eaten.”
“I’m not hungry,” she replied. Her voice was hoarse from lack of use. And probably from crying.
Her mother paused, then quietly said, “We never celebrated your birthday.”
My birthday.
She thought of Markus and the joy in his eyes when he brought in that damned pie. There was no way he’d known the fate behind it. He couldn’t have.
Could he?
Tears filled her eyes, and she hated that she couldn’t stop crying. She tried to hide it as best she could, but her shoulders betrayed her.
Berenice rubbed her daughter’s arm. “You poor thing. You must have been through so much down there.”
Corre blinked away the tears and wiped her face before sitting up. She gathered her knees to her chest and rested against them. “I didn’t go through what you think,” she said, sniffing and clearing her throat.
“What do you mean?”
She wanted to tell her mother everything, but how could she understand? How could she tell her that she’d fallen in love with the God of the Underworld?
She studied the floral patterns on her quilt. Her feet were little unmoving lumps beneath the sheets. She took in a deep breath and huffed it out, then rolled her head to the side so she could face her mother.
Berenice smiled. “Hi, sweetie. Are you doing okay?”
“Mother . . .”
“Yes?” Berenice’s voice was light, and guilt stirred in Corre’s stomach.
She must have worried her mother sick these last few days. She opened her mouth, but then her throat went dry.
Her mother frowned. “What is it?”
She took another deep breath, squeezed the last few tears from her eyes, and then asked a question she didn’t want to know the answer to. “What happened the night my parents died?”
Berenice’s eyes fell, her mouth tightening into a line. “I never told you they died.”
“I know. You never told me anything .” She felt a little bad about the indignation in her voice, but enough was enough. “Don’t you think you’ve sheltered me long enough? I’m twenty, Mother. I can handle it.”
There was still a deep sense of worry in Berenice’s gaze. “Who told you they died?”
Something twisted in Corre’s chest. “So they did die.” She puffed out an angry laugh and shook her head. “Thanatos was telling the truth.”
“Thanatos?”
Corre jolted at the sudden rise in Berenice’s voice. “Yeah?”
“You mean the one who took on Hades to train? The current ruler of the Underworld? That Thanatos?”
Corre’s forehead crinkled. “Yes . . . What about him?”
“What did he say?”
Corre’s head jerked back in surprise, and she tried to find the words. “Um . . . Well . . . He said. . .” Her mouth clamped shut. She couldn’t say it. Just thinking about the allegation made her sick. And it brought back the memories.
The one of her biological mother hitting the ground.
She let out a sharp, quick cry and buried her face in her hands.
“What’s wrong? What is it?”
Her breathing quickened, her chest tightening. “I remember it,” she said.
“Remember what?”
“That day.” She looked up. “I remember my mother. My other mother. The one who sang me that song. That . . . that melody. I remember her death now.”
Berenice’s eyes widened. “What?” Her voice was shaky and quiet, and all Corre could do was slowly nod. “How? When did this happen?”
“The day you fetched me from Tartarus. Thanatos told me that . . .” Corre closed her eyes and took a deep breath. As she exhaled, she forced the words out. “That Markus killed them. I mean . . . Theron. Hades. He killed my parents.”
“Thanatos told you that?”
“So, it’s true?” Her heart nearly stopped, the blood draining down her body.
“No. It’s not.”
Chills pricked Corre’s skin. “I don’t understand. Markus didn’t kill them?” The words barely made their way out.
Berenice gave her a sad smile. “You know that he’s Markus.”
Corre gaped at her. “ You know his real name?”
“Of course,” she said. “I was there that day, too. I saw everything.”
Markus
When Markus awoke the day after Correlia left, he was in the most excruciating pain of his life. And to make matters worse, the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes was Nikias standing above him. One of his lackeys had dumped ice water on his face to shock him back to consciousness. He didn’t know what was worse—the pain, the freezing water, or having to see that smug face staring down at him.
It was the pain. Definitely the pain.
It was searing through him like a hot knife peeling through the layers of his flesh. His insides were shocked and jumbled. His blood was like the acidic water of the Kokytus River.
“Get up, you filthy traitor,” Nikias hissed, shoving him before turning to leave. Markus reached out and grabbed him by the arm before Nikias could get far. His hand was large enough to almost completely wrap around the skinny man’s bicep. Nikias scowled at him, but Markus could see the fear in his eyes. The blonde knew he was no match for him, even in this state. “Let go of me!”
“No,” Markus said through gritted teeth. “You took my life from me.” He tightened his grip on Nikias’s arm, and the slender man bent forward in pain. “You will live to regret this.”
“I took nothing from you,” Nikias growled, struggling to free himself from Markus’s grasp. When he managed to snap his arm away, he stumbled back and nearly fell to the floor. “That goddess is nothing.”
“Not to me,” Markus said, sitting up and sliding to his feet. He took a step toward Nikias, who nervously walked back with every move the bigger god made.
The young Hades stalked toward him faster, ignoring that every step was like walking on broken glass. Fear widened the skinny god’s eyes as the Underworld’s successor cornered him and grabbed him by the shirt. Markus pushed him against the wall. “Not. To me,” he repeated in a low growl. “To me, she is everything.” He wished he could kill Nikias. Cave his pretentious skull in. But there was no point, so he threw him to the ground and stepped over him to leave the room.
“Get him!” Nikias cried, and the demons slithered over to Markus and tried holding him down. The young Hades did his best to fight them off. If he wasn’t this injured, he could have pulverized them with no effort at all, but the pain welling inside him was getting worse, and it wasn’t long before he crumpled to the ground, his vision going white.
It was a struggle to breathe, and he still couldn’t see anything when he felt someone pick him up by the back of the shirt. They tore it off him and threw him against the wall of the labyrinth, which was far worse than the one he’d thrown Nikias against back in his room. Every surface of the corridor was rocky. Being smacked against it was like getting scraped with serrated stones, and his body already burned like he’d been doused with fire.
He grunted in pain, then fell to the floor, his head hitting the hard surface. Nikias laughed hysterically, each laugh getting louder as he approached. “Get up, you pathetic excuse for a god.” He kicked Markus hard in the stomach. “You’ll be happy to know that we can’t get a hold of that girl until she’s here again.”
Panic flared in Markus’s chest. “When will that be?” he managed to grumble.
Nikias chuckled. His voice was muffled now, and Markus had to strain to hear the answer. “Three months’ time.”
The fear erupted into flames. Three months? He only had three months? He’d trained for a decade and couldn’t even take Thanatos down. Now he was in a state worse than death. What could he possibly accomplish in three months?
It wasn’t enough time.
If he was to protect her, he needed to be a lot stronger.
“Don’t get your hopes up. You won’t be allowed to see her.”
Markus’s eyes shot open, and though breathing was a struggle, he said, “What are you talking about?”
“Are you stupid? It means you won’t be allowed to touch her!” Nikias’s evil smile lengthened. “Don’t worry. I’ll touch her enough for the both of us.”
A new fire lit in Markus’s soul. He roared and got to his feet, knocking Nikias over and punching him in the face. “Touch her and you’re dead, you pompous bastard!” he yelled, and struck him again. He wound his arm back to land another punch, but Nikias’s lackeys grabbed hold of his arms and restrained him.
Just like when they were boys, Nikias was spared from another punch. Only this time, Markus wasn’t sure he ever would have stopped.
The demons kicked him to his knees and chains were once again placed on his wrists, locking his arms behind his back. Nikias wiped the blood from his nose and strode over, crouching down to get leveled with Markus’s face. “You don’t have what it takes to be Hades.” He spat on his face, and Markus tried jumping at him but only fell to the ground in a blaring bout of pain.
His torso scratched against the rocky ground, burning his skin as the chains on his wrists sent shocks through his bones. Nikias laughed again, but Markus couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore.
Before everything went black, the last thing he heard was the general’s muffled voice. “And now you’ll never get the throne. You’re done.”