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“I asked for a weapon, Hephaestus.”
Hades stared at the small, octagon-shaped box the God of Fire held out to him. It was beautiful—obsidian and inlaid with jade and gold—but it did not look like something that could restrain a god.
When Hades met Hephaestus’grey eyes, he knew he had missed something. The corner of his mouth lifted, and he dropped the box at Hades’ feet. In the next second, heavy manacles clamped down upon his wrists, their weight keeping his arms fastened at his sides, and when he tried to lift them, he found it was impossible.
“And so I have granted you chains,” the god replied.
Hades tried to lift his arms again, and his muscles tightened, veins rising to the surface of his skin, but it seemed like the more force he exerted, the more the chains oppressed.
“Tell me what you think of them,” Hephaestus said.
“Brilliant,” Hades answered, the word falling out his mouth before he even had a chance to think—and he remembered what he’d requested of the God of Fire—a weapon that could subdue violence and encourage truth. Hades smiled despite feeling like a lab rat. Hephaestus’ability to create and innovate never ceased to impress.
“This is a dangerous weapon,” Hades said, but when he looked at Hephaestus, he knew something else was on the god’s mind. His eyes were steely and menacing. Hades stiffened; he knew this look, he had seen it in the eyes of every mortal and immortal who had wished death upon him.
“Have you fucked my wife?” The question did not match Hephaestus’cool composure or dispassionate tone, but Hades recognized himself in the God of Fire and knew that beneath his calm exterior, he was raging inside.
“No.”
“Eleftherose ton,” Hephaestus said, turning his scarred back to Hades as he was released from the restraints, the chains returning to the black box. Hades rubbed his wrists as the full weight of Hephaestus’question settled upon him. He had thought Hades was sleeping with Aphrodite, and he had believed it so thoroughly, he felt he needed magic to get the truth.
Hades scooped up the box and straightened, staring at Hephaestus’back.
“Why ask me about Aphrodite?” He could not help the frustration in his voice. He knew why Hephaestus had asked—because, despite his feigned indifference, he cared about his wife and who she chose to sleep with. He loved her, and yet he chose to be miserable, chose to be passive.
“Have I not revealed enough of my shame?” Hephaestus asked.
“It is not shameful to love your wife.”
Hephaestus said nothing.
“If you feared her infidelity, why did you release her from the bonds of marriage to begin with?”
The god tensed. Clearly, he did not know what Aphrodite had shared with him. That on the eve of his marriage to the Goddess of Love, Hephaestus had released her from all obligations of that marriage.
“She was forced to marry me,” Hephaestus said, as if that explained everything. Though, it was true. Zeus had arranged their marriage to keep peace among those who wanted Aphrodite for a wife.
“You didn’t have to agree,” Hades said.
Hephaestus’muscles rippled, and the God of the Dead knew he had angered him. Yet when he spoke, his voice was calm, void of emotion.
“Who am I to reject a gift from Zeus?”
It was a simple comment, but it spoke volumes about how Hephaestus viewed himself—unworthy of happiness, of favor, of love.
Hades sighed. In truth, it was not his place to get involved in Hephaestus and Aphrodite’s relationship. He had enough to worry about as it was with the Fates, Sisyphus, and Persephone.
“Thank you, Hephaestus,” Hades said, lifting the box.“For your time.”
He teleported from the cavernous lab, appearing in the sky over the ocean, and let himself fall through billowing clouds. Hades landed on Earth, on the island of Atlantis. The impact shook the ground and marred the marble at his feet. Around him, Poseidon’s people—mortals who called themselves Atlanteans—screamed. It took seconds for his brother to appear, bare chested and wearing apteruges, a decorative skirt made of leather strips. Gold cuffed his forearms, his wavy and blond hair was crowned with gold spears, and two large spiral markahor horns jutted from the top of his head.
The God of the Sea looked like he was prepared for battle, which was fair. Hades only ever visited when he had a score to settle, and this time was no different.
“Brother.” Poseidon offered a curt nod.
“Poseidon,” Hades said.
There was a moment of tense silence before Hades asked,“Where is Sisyphus?”
