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He watched the car until it was out of sight and then spoke.
“What is it, Ilias?” he asked, already feeling dread at the satyr’s presence.
“I couldn’t tell you until Persephone left,” he said. “But this morning, we found five nymphs on our doorstep, frozen to death.”
“Fuck.”
“She’s out of control,” said Hades, watching video from last night when the five nymphs appeared out of thin air and land on the doorstep of his club.
“Five lives,” said Ilias, his voice quiet and mournful. “And for what? To send a message?”
“No,” he said. “The message has been sent. Now she is just being cruel.”
Demeter had played on Persephone’s sense of responsibility to the world with the snowstorm, but now that it had not worked, she had changed tactics and would hurt her directly.
Hades’s hands fisted and his jaw tightened.
“Do you think Demeter knows?” Ilias asked.
He did not need to be specific. Hades knew he was asking about their marriage.
“No, but she likely knows that Zeus gave us his blessing.”
Fuck.
He had no doubt that despite their quick departure, Zeus had announced the union publicly, heedless of the consequences. It wasn’t that he did not know them; it was that he did not care. Any fallout from Demetermeant that Zeus could blame the Goddess of Harvest when they were forced to part.
Now Hades had to think about how to tell Persephone five of the women she had essentially grown up with were dead because of them, and only hours after they had become husband and wife.
Gods, he hated Demeter.
It was one thing to pummel the world with her magic. It only fed his power. It was another to hurt his wife in such a cruel and cold manner.
It was unforgivable.
It was madness, and he wondered—dreaded—what came next.
“What would you like for me to do?” Ilias asked.
Hades did not know. He could attempt to seek Demeter out again but confronting her would have no impact upon the goddess. She’d made the decision to hurt Persephone because of him. His pleas would go unheard. Besides, the damage was done. When his wife returned home later, she would have to burying five of her friends.
Guilt welled in his chest, rising thickly into the back of his throat.
He should have never ordered those women to find Demeter but the last thing he’d expected was murder.
Fuck.
“I shall have to inform their father,” he said distantly.
Though it was likely Nereus already knew. Gods could feel this sort of thing—the end of life they had given.
“Perhaps I should,” Ilias suggested.
Hades did not accept or deny his offer, his mindracing. He had been so nonchalant about their fear of death because he had not believed they would die—he had not seen in their soul or in their threads. Demeter’s ending of five immortal lives would have great consequences. He wondered if the Fates would take a life or grant one. Would the sacrifice be as dangerous as the resurrection of the Ophiotaurus?
“Prepare them for burial,” Hades said. “I…have no doubt Persephone will wish to see them.”
She will want to say goodbye and then she will rage—whether at him or Demeter was yet to be determined.
