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Kronos left hours ago, with two war gods shoving sharp objects into his side when he tried to move slower than they wanted.
“Hecate,” Hades calls for her beloved goddess. “Gather the builders, instruct them to assist Zeus in the reconstruction of Olympus.”
Cerberus sits at Hades' side; a massive beast who watches the soldiers marching home. He grins up at the whining head that bows closest to his, and Kore knocks his cheek against one of Cerberus' muzzles. “I missed you, too, boy.”
Snorting against him—a response that sounds likeof course you did—Cerberus presses harder against Kore and causes his weakened legs to stumble. When Kore rights himself, he spots Hades watching him with an amused grin. He flushes, lighting tingling across his skin at the desire burning in her gray eyes.
Hades directs the able to carry home the wounded, and she makes sure to note the lesser deities that died fighting for her consort. Kore watches her swallow as she writes name after name. He steps closer, hoping his body offers her warmth or comfort as she takes that pain upon herself.
The final name she adds to the list isMinthe.Kore swallows at that one, a strange lump of regret forming in his throat. He turns toward where he last saw Minthe—the loyal naiad who chose Hades' desires over his own wants. Kore can’t claim he’d do the same. If he stood beside Hades, for centuries, watching her give love to another, Kore would seize the opportunity to rid himself of that obstacle. Yet, Minthe healed Kore; knowing Hades wouldn’t choose him. Minthe sacrificed everything for a love that never knew fruition. A love that bloomed in small crevices with silent resilience.
An idea forms, and Kore steps closer to where the last of Minthe is scattered across Olympus' ground. He lifts one of Minthe’s brittle bones, a regretful frown dipping the corners of Kore’s mouth. He gathers more pieces, walking the path of Kronos' destruction. Kore releases a tired sound.
Hades steps up beside him, notes of bergamot mingle with bouquets of freesia, blood-orange, and nightshade that mix with a touch of cool evening air. If peace has a perfume, Hades wears the scent with pride.
“My one regret, as a goddess, is that I must abide by the natural order.”
Kore knows what Hades means by those words. She can’t bring Minthe back because Fate writes the will of Chaos, and all must accept that truth. Even a ruling goddess.
Kore doesn’t hold dominion over realms; his oath wasn’t sworn to the Fates. If he could breathe life into Minthe’s bones, Kore would without hesitation. His power over life is green and roots in earth—living and dying in a natural order the mortals named seasons. Their true name is the Wheel of Chaos, an unending circle of beginning and ending that loops for eternity.
“I bless these bone,” Kore says, cupping the remains of Minthe between his hands. “I bless them with life eternal. May Minthe’s roots be hearty through all rotations of life, death, and rebirth. As he was in his devotion to Hades, I want Minthe to stand proud, unmoved by the cut of a blade or the stamp of a foot. Minthe will root down, even in shallow crevices…thriving despite all odds.”
Hades watches with a loving expression as Kore opens his hands, revealing budding mint plants.
“Beautiful.” Hades praises him.
Kore presses his lips to her temple. “Let’s plant him in the gardens, and at each entrance of the Underworld. That way Minthe can stand vigilant over your realm, even in death.”
Hades sobs, accepting the small plants Kore places into her palms.
“Do you think he knows how much I appreciated him?” Hades asks, falling into step at Kore’s side as Kore leads them to the fissure between realms.
“I believe he did,” Kore replies as he wraps an arm around Hades' shoulder. “He loved you,” Kore says, reminding her of all the times Minthe stood silent behind her.
Minthe waited for her to direct him so that he could serve her, and Hades never took advantage of that servitude. As many could. As they would. Hades respected Minthe’s work, and never gave him false hope about their relationship. Kore’s jealousy came from his own insecurities, his hatred for Minthe rooted in a competition that didn’t exist.
“I loved him,” Hades confesses. “As a friend, he was a constant companion and comfort.”
Kore curls her fingers over the soft edges of the mint plant, stopping her as they reach the cracked opening between realms. “In death, I hope he remains a comfort and a companion.”
Kore takes one of the small cuttings from Hades. In the dirt, on battered knees, Kore buries the roots in soft earth. He holds his hand over that tiny plant and wills it grow as mighty and big as Minthe’s heart. Hades gasps at his side, the sound awestruck and happy.
“Does it suit him?” Kore asks.
“Yes,” Hades nods, her hand kneading the skin at the base of her throat. “Yes, it suits him extremely well.”
“Come.” Kore says, reaching out a hand for Hades to take. “Let’s go home now.” He casts a glance over Olympus, hoping it’s the last time he sets eyes on these lands.
Hope, Kore forgets, is for mortals. Not gods.
45
Hades
Hades spends her first few days back in the Underworld attending to duties that require immediate action. Foremost, securing Kronos in solitude. Impenetrable darkness surrounds Kronos, and Hades leaves him with grim satisfaction.
May you rot without an audience, Father. I know you love the sound of your own voice.
