The Goddess Legacy

  “You don’t know that.”

  “I do.” He straightened again. “I will not allow it, and if you try to sneak away to find her, I will have her moved around the Underworld as many times as I must to keep her from you. You will never see her again, not as long as I am King of the Underworld.”

  He may as well have reached inside me and ripped out every piece of me that had ever mattered. I stood there, trembling, trying to think of a way around it, but I’d already apologized a thousand times over. I’d already done everything I could to make it up to him. His pride and his fury stopped him from moving beyond this, and now, because of that, we were both stuck.

  My hands tightened into fists. I could hit him. I wanted to hit him more than I wanted to live, but I’d worked too hard to get back on even footing with the rest of the council. Any attack on Hades would only send me spiraling again.

  I couldn’t do a damn thing, and he knew it.

  “Then—could you give her something for me?” I said, slipping my shaking hand into my pocket. The moment my fingertips touched the pendant, however, Hades shook his head.

  “No.”

  Of course. Of bloody course. I raked my free hand through my hair, my vision growing red. “It isn’t my fault, what happened to Persephone,” I blurted. “She’s the one who made those decisions. I just pointed out the fact that she had a choice.”

  “She did have a choice,” said Hades. “But so did you. I am not holding you accountable for Persephone’s actions. I am holding you accountable for your own.”

  I turned away. He was right, even if his methods were despicable, even if he wasn’t being fair. I’d made my choices, and I’d suffered the consequences for them time and time again. This was just the final one.

  “All right,” I said shakily as I turned back to face him. “Fine. I accept your ruling, under the condition that this is it. You can hate me as much as you want, but this is the last time you hold this over me. Period.”

  He tilted his head almost curiously. For one of us to talk to the original six like this—it was crazy, especially when he already couldn’t stand me. But I didn’t care. Enough was enough.

  “We’re even. I took Persephone from you, and you took Tuck from me. End of story.”

  I brushed my thumb against the pendant as I spoke. I’d never see her again. Not easy to swallow, not by any means, but I refused to break down in front of Hades. I was stronger than this. Tuck had made me stronger than this, and to accept this with anything but bitter grace would be dishonoring her memory. And I wouldn’t do that.

  “Very well,” said Hades after a long moment, touching the empty throne beside him. “We are even. Now go.”

  I made my way past the pews, aware of the souls who’d witnessed every moment of our conversation. None of them mattered, though. The only soul I wanted to see was one I would never meet again. Hades had seen to that.

  Halfway down the aisle, however, I stopped and faced him once more. An invisible fist squeezed my heart. “Is she happy?”

  Even from a distance, I could feel Hades’s stare burning into me. “Does it matter, when you cannot do anything to change it?”

  “Yes,” I said. It mattered.

  He pursed his lips, and at last he sighed. “Yes, she is happy.”

  That was all I needed to know. It would never change the past, it would never get me there in time to save her, but at least I could rest knowing she wasn’t in any pain. That was one small amount of comfort Hades could never take from me.

  “Thank you,” I said, and without another word, I turned and walked away.

  * * * * *

  God of Darkness

  Calliope’s Offer

  As Lord of the Underworld, Hades was feared by the living and revered by the dead. A member of the eternal council of gods, he had unimaginable power at his fingertips, ready to do whatever he must to uphold his duties and laws. And as the ruler of the souls who died, he would live forever, guaranteed true immortality through his duties to them.

  But he would have traded it all if it meant he could be mortal.

  In his existence, Hades had seen more faces and heard more stories than the rest of the council combined. Eventually every mortal entered his kingdom, and while he only came face-to-face with a fraction of them, he felt each and every presence. He felt each and every moment of their lost lives.

  And that was why he envied them their mortality. To have a set period of time to live—to know there would be an end instead of an endless sea of time… It would have been a wonderful thing. That way, even if he wound up alone, he would know it would end someday. Being a god granted him no such relief.

  He sat in his throne after a long day of judgment, the silence heavy around him. The number of souls had seemed to grow exponentially over the past few centuries, or perhaps it had only seemed so as he no longer had Persephone. His wife, his friend, his partner—he had depended on her far more than he’d realized. Even knowing she would never love him the way he loved her, he held on to her memory, treasuring it as one would a lifetime of happiness.

  He’d kept his promise to himself, however, and had never gone to see her. It was agonizing, knowing she was so close yet so in love with someone else, and he couldn’t allow himself that kind of pain. The wounds had only begun to heal, and while scars were inevitable, to rip them open again would only ensure they would never close.

  Instead he allowed himself to dream about her during what little time he did sleep. He allowed himself to dream about a life they could have had if he had not been so wrong in his actions—if he had done what she wanted, said the right thing, never allowed Demeter to talk him into marriage in the first place. If he had asked Persephone herself what she had wanted all those eons ago, before they’d both done irreparable harm to each other. And during those brief hours, he was happy.

  Leaning against his throne, he exhaled, his eyes falling shut. Five hundred years today. That was how long it had been since he’d let her go, and it still felt as agonizing as the day he’d watched her die. Forget scars. At that moment he was convinced it would never get better no matter how much time passed.

  The doors of the throne room opened, and with a sigh, he stirred. The next batch of souls weren’t due until morning, and James knew better than to bother him. But even though he hadn’t anticipated anyone in particular, he certainly hadn’t expected the girl standing in the archway at the end of the aisle.

  “Hera. Calliope,” he said, correcting himself as he stood. “It is good to see you.”

  “And you as well, Hades.” As she approached him, she bowed her head, and he did the same. It had been millennia since the two of them had been alone—since before his marriage to Persephone, and the reminder stabbed at him. “I didn’t interrupt anything, did I?”

  He shook his head and took her hands, squeezing them in greeting. “No, no. My day is done. I was about to retire.”

  “Oh.” Her smile faded slightly. “I was hoping we might talk.”

  “Of course.” He offered her his arm, and once she took it, he led her from the throne room. The hallways were lit with everlasting torches, giving the home an eerie feel, but he preferred it. He could’ve easily created a light that didn’t make the shadows dance, but that would’ve only made his loneliness worse.

  Once they’d stepped inside a cozy sitting room he never had the chance to use anymore, he glanced around as she did, taking in the room. Funny how a routine could make the once-familiar strange. He summoned tea and poured them both cups, and as he sat beside her on the sofa, he saw her shift closer to him. Perhaps she simply missed him. Or perhaps she sensed how badly he needed some form of comfort.

  “This place hasn’t changed much,” she said between sips of tea. “How are you holding up?”

  “It has been a long time since anyone asked me that,” he said with a faint smile, though he found no joy in either her concern or his observation. “I have been better, I suppose.”

  Calliope’s
expression darkened. “Yes, you probably have.” She set her hand over his. “Is there anything I can do?”

  He shook his head. “Powerful and enchanting as you are, I’m afraid there isn’t anything anyone can do.”

  She blushed and lowered her head for a moment. Bashfulness didn’t look right on her. “You’re too kind.”

  “Hardly. It is not my fault that Zeus—er, Walter does not appreciate what he has.”

  Her lips twitched in annoyance, and perhaps something deeper. “No, he does not. Have you not chosen a new name?”

  “I’m afraid I haven’t found the time. Or discovered much of a selection.”

  She scoffed. “You see countless people pass through here. Surely one of them has a name you like.”

  “Their names are their own. I could not possibly steal it, as Diana took Ella’s.”

  Calliope grinned. “I think she did it solely to get a rise out of her, after those comments Ella made about her and Walter.”

  “And you do not agree with Ella?” said Hades. “I would have thought…”

  “I know what Walter does,” she said with a shrug. “There’s little point in fighting it now.”

  After eons of hearing secondhand stories of Calliope’s jealousy—and occasionally witnessing it himself—that was certainly an unexpected surprise, and Hades was quiet as he absorbed her change of heart. “Have you found someone, then?”

  A strange look passed over her face, and she held her chin a fraction of an inch higher than usual. “And if I said I had?”

  “I would be pleased,” he said, despite the bitterness that sawed away inside him. Even Calliope was finding love, yet he would remain eternally encased in loneliness until the end of time. And perhaps even then he would not be granted relief. “May I ask who this lucky man is?”

  A pause. It wasn’t like Hera—Calliope to be anything but direct unless she wanted something. But what could she possibly want from him? Was her new lover mortal? Did she want Hades to spare him until she was done? “You may,” she said slowly, her hand shifting toward his. “If you believe you are prepared to hear the answer.”

  “And why would I not—”

  Her fingers brushed his, and he stopped. Calliope held his stare, her blue eyes earnest and scheming all at once, and she leaned in toward him. “You know why,” she said softly. “You’ve always known.”

  Hades grew completely still, not even allowing his heart to beat. Perhaps then time wouldn’t pass, and he would never have to face the inevitable consequences of this moment.

  Hera. Calliope. His sister loved him. Longed for him. Coveted his company. He could feel it now, those tendrils of emotions as old as the council’s reign snaking toward him. How had he missed it before? Was she really so skilled as to keep even her strongest feelings so closely guarded?

  It didn’t matter how she had kept it a secret. What mattered was the way she watched him, waiting for his answer with hope in her eyes and a smile dancing on her lips. It’d been so long since he’d seen her like this—as though she finally saw something good in the world that she wanted.

  And it terrified him.

  Even if he could entertain the notion of being with her, even if he could move past his suffocating love for Persephone, his brother would never forgive him. Such a slight on Zeus—on Walter would seem like an act of war, and he would fight until the end of the world to win back his possession.

  But that was all Calliope was to Walter—a possession. A trophy. A pet on a leash he’d thought he’d tamed, but here she was, out of her cage and desperate for her freedom. And Hades couldn’t give it to her.

  He wanted to. Not because he loved her the way she so clearly loved him, and certainly not because he wished to start a war. But because no one deserved the kind of life Calliope had lived. No one deserved to lose herself the way she had, buried underneath her husband’s pride, lost in the eternity of his wrath. After having kept Persephone for so long without allowing her the freedom she had craved, the notion of giving Calliope the very thing he hadn’t given her was intoxicating. Redemption, in his own small way. A chance to prove to himself—and to Persephone—that he was not a monster, even if he knew it would be a lie.

  That was not enough, though. It was not enough to give Calliope false hope that someday he might love her; it was not enough to string her along the way Zeus had. It was not enough to start a war the council could never finish. It was not enough to risk humanity and break every rule he’d made for himself since Persephone’s death.

  It was not enough to risk his own heart, selfish as it was. And it was not enough to give himself one more chance at happiness. Calliope may have deserved it, but he did not, and he could not see past that no matter how hard he tried.

  “I am flattered,” he said quietly, unable to look her in the eye any longer. She would instantly know what these words meant, but he could not find it in himself to give her even the slightest amount of hope. It would only be another cruelty. “But you are my brother’s wife, and there are certain boundaries I cannot cross.”

  Rather than stand in indignation or hurt, Calliope tightened her fingers around his. “Please,” she whispered, sounding more like a young girl than she had in a long time. “I’ll explain it to Walter—I’ll make sure he knows it wasn’t your idea. I just—I can’t live there anymore. I love you. I’ve loved you for longer than I’ve ever loved anyone, and all I’m asking for is a chance.”

  “That is a chance I cannot give you,” he said, focusing on their intertwined hands. A world of what-ifs in a single gesture. “I am sorrier than words can describe, but you deserve better than a life in my world. With me. I could not love you, not the way you love me, and I would rather fade than see this place choke the life out of you as it did Persephone—”

  “Persephone?” She choked on the name. “Is that why you’re doing this? Because of her? Because she didn’t love you?”

  “Partially,” he allowed, and she touched his chin, forcing him to look at her. He would’ve expected tears by now from the waves of frustration rolling off her, but her eyes were dry.

  “What if—what if she was never meant to love you?” Her tone took on a strange quality, as if she were pushing him toward something he couldn’t see. “What if it wasn’t your fault or hers?”

  A grave suspicion filled him. “What are you saying?” he said, trying to see past her determination to whatever lay beneath. “Are you implying someone manipulated Persephone—”

  “What? No, no, of course not,” she said quickly. “I only mean—what if you were incompatible? What if you fell in love with someone who simply wasn’t right for you? That’s all I mean.”

  He watched her for a long moment, searching for a lie he knew was there. But because he loved her, because he wanted to see the best in her when no one else would, because the thought of her betrayal was too much to bear, he believed her. His shoulders sagged, and he slipped his hand from hers. “Regardless of the reasons, the past is the past, and there is nothing I can do to change it. I am sorry for your lot in life, Calliope. I hope someday you discover a way to leave it behind and find the life you deserve, but I cannot love you the way you want me to, and I cannot hurt you more than I already have. You will always have an ally and a friend in me. But that is all we will ever be.”

  There it was—the pain he knew he would eventually cause her no matter his answer. It burned like fire in her eyes, and she stood with the pride and grace of a queen. She was remarkable, worthy of so much more than either him or his brother, and perhaps one day she would find it. But today would not be that day.

  “Are you certain?” she said, her hands clasped in front of her. “I will not offer myself to you again, Hades, no matter how true my feelings will remain.”

  He stood, inclining his head in a show of respect for who and what she was, even if the rest of the council no longer deigned to recognize it. “I will always be here for you as I was all those years ago. But as much as I treasure your comp
any, I am afraid we can never be more than what we are now. I have hurt our family enough as it is, and I cannot allow myself to cause anyone any more strife. Especially someone I care about as deeply as you.”

  “And what about my feelings?” she whispered. “Don’t they matter?”

  He took her hand gently and brushed his lips against her knuckles. “They matter far more than my own, and that is why I must decline. I am a shell. I am a shadow. I am nothing, and you are everything.”

  “You aren’t nothing, and you deserve love as much as I do. Don’t you want it?” She was pleading now, though she did an admirable job of masking it in the commanding tone of a queen. But she was not his queen, and he would not obey her, not when it would destroy them all.

  A bitter, empty smile ghosted over his features, and he bowed his head once more. “Love is all I have ever wanted in this immortal life. I have used up my chances though, and I am at peace with that. I beg you to allow me to remain so.”

  A moment passed, and at last she stepped back from him, her expression unreadable. Those tendrils of emotions were gone now, securely hidden behind the barriers she had so expertly built. How long had it taken her to retreat so completely into herself? How long had she remained so, until this moment, when she had finally trusted him enough to let him in?

  No matter. It was done, and he would not change his mind. The sting of rejection now was nothing compared to the agony of loss she would have felt centuries or eons down the road if he had accepted her proposal, and he had to content himself with that. She would not be grateful now, or perhaps anytime in the near future; but someday, when she had found her happiness, he hoped she would remember this moment and see the future he had allowed her to have. The future he had wanted her to have.

  “I hope you visit, though I understand if you do not,” he said quietly. She swallowed.

  “I will do my best,” she allowed. “But now I must go.”