A Touch of Chaos (Hades x Persephone Saga Book 7)

Hades chose to dress in his usual black, tailored suit.

When he appeared before the gate of the House of Aethra, he did not want to do so in armor. He was not going to fight; he was going to make a deal—perhaps the greatest bargain of his life.

“Are you ready?” Persephone asked.

He turned to look at her, dressed in Hephaestus’s fine armor. She was beautiful, a warrior in her own right.

“Are you?” he asked. He touched her chin, his thumb brushing over her bottom lip.

“I am ready for it to be over,” she said. “So we can start our life.”

He gave her a small smile and then kissed her, his hand slipping into her hair. He held her close and tight, tasting her until she was the only thing that filled his senses.

When they parted, Persephone touched the pocket of his jacket, and there, a red polyanthus flowered.

Her eyes lifted to his. “I will look for you at the gates,” she said.

He took that as a promise, and with a final kiss, he left.

Hades was not surprised to hear the groan of several bows nocking when he appeared before the gate of Theseus’s house. He stared up at the mortals who aimed at him, the tips of their arrows gleaming beneath Selene’s moon.

He said nothing as he waited. He was not often anxious, but today the feeling burned his chest and churned in his stomach. Despite believing this was the right course of action, he knew it would be difficult. He did not like the idea of surrendering to a man he hated, even if it was only to gain entrance and proximity to his target.

He hoped he could maintain the act.

As he expected, Theseus kept him waiting under the threat of his archers. When he finally appeared, it was on the wall at the very center of the gates.

He looked down at Hades, eyes glittering with amusement.

“What a surprise,” Theseus said. “To what do we owe the honor of your presence, Lord Hades?”

The demigod was already testing his patience. Hades worked not to show his frustration—or his hatred.

“I have considered much and consulted many,” said Hades. “I hoped we might speak.”

Hades wanted the demigod to be intrigued by the vagueness of his statements and let his imagination run wild with possibilities of what had brought Hades to his gates in the middle of the night, but if that was the case, Theseus did not let it show. Instead, he tilted his head to the side and offered a single word. “Speak.”

“I have convened with the Fates and borne witness to your future,” said Hades, though it was a lie. “The promise is great.”

“You have told me nothing I do not already know,” said Theseus.

“No,” said Hades. “You have always been certain of your destiny.”

“It is hard to argue with prophecy,” said Theseus.

That was not true, but Hades would not disagree.

“So you have come to what?” Theseus asked. “Do not dance about, Hades. Neither one of us has time for that.”

“I have come to surrender,” said Hades. “To offer my allegiance to your side.”

He was not prepared for how horrible those words would taste. He wanted to spit the moment they left his mouth.

There was a pause, and then Theseus chuckled. The mortals surrounding him followed until great peals of laughter filled the night. When it ebbed, Theseus spoke.

“That must have been so hard for you to say.”

“It certainly took practice,” said Hades.

“A waste for sure,” said Theseus. “You see, I cannot accept your allegiance when I have accepted your father’s. It would be…unbecoming since you two are enemies.”

Hades stared at Theseus for a few long moments before he said, “If you are going to refuse me, then we should at least make it fun.”

“Oh, I am having a blast,” said Theseus. “But do proceed.”

“A game of your choosing,” said Hades. “If I win, you accept my offer.”

“So eager to join the winning side,” said Theseus. He looked to his left and then to his right. “What do we think? Shall we accept the god’s offer?”

His army cheered, although Hades did not know if it was meant to encourage or dissuade. Though if Hades had to guess, Theseus had already made his decision. He merely enjoyed performing. His intention here was to humiliate—and it was working.

“Well, Hades,” he said. “It looks like you have a deal.”

Despite his acceptance, Hades did not feel any relief. In fact, he only became more anxious as the gates creaked open. He did not immediately cross the threshold.

“What’s wrong, Hades?” asked Theseus. “Are you afraid?”

“You never gave me your terms,” said Hades.

“My terms do not matter,” said Theseus. “Because if I win, you will not live to take your next breath.”

“You expect I will go down without a fight?”

“I hope not,” said the demigod. “That would be very disappointing.”

“Quite,” said Hades, and then he moved forward, through the gates, and into Theseus’s territory. Inside the gates, there were more mortal soldiers.

“I assume your brethren are still on the way?” said Theseus.

“They will fight until the bitter end,” said Hades.

“Bitter indeed,” said Theseus. “Come. Let us play this game.”

The demigod turned, and Hades followed him across the stone courtyard and up the steps, but as he came to the top, he faltered.

“Hera?” Hades whispered.

It was not her, of course, but her soul. She stood trembling, her eyes wide with fear. She muttered things, though Hades could not hear the words.

Theseus stopped too. “Does she linger here?” he asked.

Hades looked at the demigod. “She will until she is laid to rest.”

Not all souls needed funeral rites, but there were some who could not move on until they were performed.

“Oh, well, that will never happen,” said Theseus. “I am afraid she is being fed to her followers at this very moment. Cronos is quite vengeful when it comes to the Olympians.”

Hades could not hide his disgust.

“I would have thought you would consider it a fitting end for her, given your history,” said Theseus.

“I would not wish such an end for anyone,” said Hades. “Not even you.”

“How noble of you,” said Theseus as he made his way inside.

Hades’s eyes lingered on Hera a moment longer before he followed the demigod into the house. He had half expected to hear Ariadne screaming from somewhere in the home, but the only noise was the sound of a child crying, which did not seem to bother Theseus as he led him to an office.

It was a dark room, open to the outside. The only light came from the fireplace and two large braziers blazing on the porch where there was a table and two chairs. It almost seemed as though Theseus had been prepared for him, but then Hades noticed the area looked out over the battlefield beyond the wall.

“Expecting someone?” Hades asked.

Theseus grinned. “Just preparing to enjoy the view. Have I ever told you I am not a card person?” Theseus asked as he crossed to the fireplace, though he knew the answer. They had never had any conversations beyond challenging each other.

“What do you prefer?” Hades asked, eyeing Theseus.

“Dominos,” said Theseus, picking up a black box. He turned, lifting it. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“I did say it was your choice,” Hades replied.

“You did,” said Theseus, and Hades was unnerved by the amusement glittering in his eyes. The demigod gestured to the porch. “Please.”

Hades exited the room and took the seat on the right. He felt as though he had walked out on a stage. He knew Theseus’s men watched from the wall and the courtyard below.

Theseus followed. “Do you know how to play?”

“I am familiar,” said Hades.

“Good,” Theseus said. “Then you know the game moves fast and is won when there are no tiles left. What do you say to four rounds? Best out of four?”

“As you wish,” said Hades.

Theseus turned the box over, spilling the ivory pieces onto the table. As Theseus turned over the tiles, a servant appeared with a silver tray. She set two glasses down.

“Drink?” Theseus asked.

“I have my own,” said Hades. “If you don’t mind.”

“Be my guest,” said Theseus.

Hades took out a black flask from his jacket pocket and poured a small amount of whiskey into the glass. He was not eager to drink, but he thought that perhaps the smell would offer comfort.

While he filled his glass, Theseus mixed the tiles on the table. When he was finished, they each chose seven. Hades looked at his hand, recalling that the player with the highest double laid down the first tile, which appeared to be Theseus, who laid down a double six.

“I heard congratulations are in order for more than just your recent victories,” said Hades as he laid down a six-two.

“You are referring to the birth of my son,” said Theseus, who laid down his next tile. The game did move quickly. “Yes, I suppose that is an accomplishment. Progeny are so important. Critical to carrying on a legacy. Oh, apologies. Am I right that you cannot have children?”

As Theseus spoke, he laid down his final tile, winning the first round.

Hades was still. His eyes rose to Theseus’s face, seeing his lips curled in amusement. He clearly thought his comment was funny. Hades considered asking how the demigod knew something so personal, but he remembered that Poseidon had been present when Zeus’s oracle had spouted her prophecy about his marriage to Persephone. He had been forced to reveal that the Fates had taken his ability to have children.

They transitioned into a new game, mixing tiles once more and choosing their pieces as they spoke.

“It is unfortunate that those who do not appreciate children are able to have them while those who desire them cannot,” said Hades.

The jab did not affect Theseus. “But you did not always desire them. You traded your ability to have them to give divinity to a mortal woman. Why was that?”

Theseus was not wrong. Hades had given a mortal woman divinity. In fact, it had been Dionysus’s mother, Semele, who had died after she demanded to see Zeus in his true glory—a form that no mortal could look upon without perishing. Though she had only done so because Hera had tricked her.

After her death, Zeus took Dionysus, still only a fetus, and sewed him into his thigh so he could be born again. It was how the God of the Vine had come to be called the twice-born.

Later, Dionysus came to Hades, and when he could not rescue his mother from the Underworld on his own, he had begged for her release.

“I wanted to extract a favor,” said Hades. He had seen potential in utilizing Dionysus’s ability to inspire madness whenever he pleased.

Theseus chuckled and slid his final tile into place, winning this second round. “We are not so different, Hades.”

“We are worlds apart, Theseus,” said Hades as they moved seamlessly into the third round of the game.

“Perhaps we are now,” the demigod said. “I like to think that I am what you could have been if you had not grown soft.”

Hades slid a tile in place, the sound grinding against the wooden table.

“Are you saying my love for Persephone makes me weak?”

“Is she not the reason you found yourself locked in the labyrinth?”

“If Persephone is a weakness, what does that make Ariadne to you?”

It was the first time Hades noticed Theseus hesitate.

“Nothing at all,” said Theseus.

“Nothing at all,” Hades repeated. “Yet you flooded all of New Athens just to flush her out of Dionysus’s tunnels.”

“If you think I flooded New Athens for a woman, you are a fool.”

“Did you not marry her sister to maintain control over her?”

“I married her sister because she could be controlled. Ariadne is untamable.”

“Yet you keep trying,” said Hades.

Theseus slammed a tile down on the table, jarring the dominos. Hades met his gaze and slid a final tile into place. He’d won this round, and Theseus seethed. It was the first time Hades noticed madness gleaming in Theseus’s eyes.

“I don’t have to try to tame Ariadne anymore,” the demigod snarled.

Hades’s stomach twisted as he considered what that could mean for Ariadne. They moved on to the final round of the game. Though Hades was not trying to win, he worried over losing. Theseus was often quick to dispense justice. Would he do the same here?

“What does Phaedra think of your obsession with her sister?”

“It does not matter. Even if she were still alive, I would not allow her the option of having an opinion.”

The news that Phaedra was dead caught Hades by surprise.

“How is it that you do not know she is dead when you are the God of the Underworld?”

“I have been a little distracted with your invasion of my city,” said Hades.

“Your city?” Theseus asked, chuckling humorlessly. “Since when has New Athens been your city?”

“It has always been mine, Theseus. Why do you think it is me you are fighting in this war?”

A horn sounded, and Hades looked to see steel gleaming on the horizon like stars.

“Oh look,” said Theseus. “Your army has arrived.”

There were shouts as orders were given. The gates opened, and soldiers marched out, but there was an unhurried air to their movements. It was almost as if none of this was serious, like they thought it would all be over before it really began.

As Hades looked out, he searched for Persephone. It was hard not to watch the approach of his queen, clad in shadow and battle ready, and though he knew she could do this and his friends would protect her, he still felt as though he should be there.

“Hephaestus is quite the craftsman,” Theseus commented. “Impressive that he has managed to arm the gods and your mortal army with a copy of my creation.”

“I believe you once called it an opportunity, did you not?”

“Do not become distracted, Hades,” said Theseus. “Or you will miss witnessing your defeat.”

Hades’s gaze moved back to the tiles as Theseus slid his last in place. He was not sure what he had expected once Theseus won, but it was not what followed. The demigod dropped his hands from the table and leaned back, staring with a darkness in his gaze Hades had never seen before.

After what seemed like an eternity, Theseus spoke.

“I know you let me win, Hades. You could not have tried harder to lose. You were not even counting the tiles.”

Hades did not speak.

Theseus continued to stare as if he were considering what he was going to do. His jaw ticked, and he rapped his knuckles on the table, offering a small laugh. “I knew when you declined to choose the game you had come with a plan. No one who desires control as you do would relinquish it. The question is why?”

Hades shrugged. “Now you have defeated a god,” he said.

There was a beat of silence, and then Theseus began to laugh. At first, it was quiet, and then it deepened. He laughed so long and so loud, he started to cough. He swiped Hades’s glass from the table and downed the contents. When he was finished, he slammed it on the table.

Before he spoke, he chuckled again. “I have to give you credit for creativity, Hades,” he said. “But it was a stupid plan. I have already fulfilled the prophecy, and now you have lost to me.”

Theseus summoned a blade. The end was dark with Hydra venom.

“You understand, don’t you?” he asked. “A bargain is a bargain.”

Hades held Theseus’s gaze and watched as his eyes filled with pain. His face almost seemed to crumple—an expression of his agony.

He dropped the knife, and his hands went to his stomach as he doubled over and vomited blood at Hades’s feet.

When he met his gaze, his eyes were red and watery.

“What did you do?” he screamed.

Hades just stared as Theseus fell to his knees, his breathing ragged.

“I learned a funny thing,” said Hades. “Did you know that the rumors about Hera’s apple tree are actually true; you cannot eat a golden apple twice?” He bent and took up Theseus’s knife, which was covered in blood. “The second time will kill you.”

More blood came from Theseus’s mouth, and his face was turning a reddish purple. Hades rose to his feet then, the knife in hand.

“Everyone has a weakness, Theseus,” said Hades, positioning the blade over Theseus’s heart. “Mine might be Persephone, but yours…yours is hubris.”

He held Theseus’s gaze as he drove the knife deep, and as the life drained from his eyes, he gripped his head to keep him upright as he spoke.

“I’ll meet you at the gates,” he said and then let him fall to the floor, dead.