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“Why did you run from death?”
“You can hardly blame me when presented with the opportunity,” he said.
Hades knew he referred to the spindle Poseidon had given him.
“That is not an answer, Sisyphus,” Hades said.“What hope did you have in extending your pathetic life?”
“Pathetic?” Sisyphus’face turned red.“I was on the cusp of an empire, and then you came and took it all. Why not defy you? What could it possibly mean in my afterlife? You had already sentenced me to Tartarus.”
“Hmm.” Hades’ eyes fell to the cards before him, fingers poised to flip.
“Why did you ask?” Sisyphus questioned, a note of hysteria in his voice.“Why demand an answer?”
Hades considered remaining quiet, but Sisyphus’passive fear of Tartarus angered him, so he answered.“Because, Sisyphus, your existence in Tartarus will be everything you’ve ever feared, everything that ever angered you. You will obtain your empire and then you will lose it, over and over and over again.”
Hades turned over his cards—a king and an ace, twenty-one. A perfect hand.
His eyes lifted to Sisyphus’.
“Turn your cards, mortal.”
There was a beat of silence, and the mortal moved, not to flip his cards, but to draw a weapon, a gun.
Normally, Hades found displays like this amusing, but coming from Sisyphus, it enraged him. His eyes darkened, and the gun melted in the mortal’s hand, coating his skin in burning metal. His screams filled the room, piercing and agonizing. He fell to his knees, holding his hand aloft, eyes bulging out of his head.
Hades sighed and leaned forward, turning the mortal’s cards.
A five of clubs and a nine of hearts—fourteen.
Hades stood, drained his glass, and straightened his jacket. Sisyphus cupped his arm against his chest, sweaty and breathing hard. He looked up at Hades, hatred in his eyes.
“Cheater,” he accused.
Hades smirked.“Takes one to know one.”
He snapped his fingers, sending Sisyphus to Tartarus, and strolled out of the suite.
***
A week later, Hades found himself in Hephaestus’ lab. He had put this off for as long as possible, dreading his return to the God of Fire after what he had asked him to make only a few weeks ago.
When the god handed him a small box, Hades peered inside. The ring he had commissioned sat on a pillow of black velvet. It was a beautiful, delicate thing, despite the numerous flowers and gems decorating the band, and it brought with it the pain and embarrassment he felt at losing Persephone. Perhaps if he had not been so presumptuous, perhaps if he had not had this ring made, he would have her now.
“It is beautiful,” Hades said, snapping the box closed.“But I no longer require it.”
Hades met Hephaestus’ gaze, and the god raised his brows.
“I will pay you handsomely for your work,” Hades continued, holding out his hand. He returned the ring to Hephaestus.
“You will not take it?”
Hades shook his head. It was a symbol of what he might have had, of a future that was no longer on the horizon, and he could not bear to see it or know that it existed in the same realm as he did.
“I will not ask you why you no longer want the ring. I can guess well enough,” The God of Fire said.“But I will not accept payment for something you do not wish to keep.”
“Would you rather I take it?”
“No.” Hephaestus smiled.“I have a feeling it would end up in the ocean, and I have doubts about you asking Poseidon to retrieve it when you want it again.”
