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“What are you thinking?” Hera demanded, her magic rising to fight.
He chuckled as a door within the cell opened which spilled out into the labyrinth.
The Minotaur whirled to face it, stance wide, breathing hard.
“Did I frighten you, Hera?” Theseus asked, and then he left the floor, heading up a set of stairs to the second floor of the prison where a platform overlooked the vast and complicated maze. It was extensive and dark with no uniformity to its shape or the size of the corridors.
They watched as the Minotaur crept into it and saw how he raged when the door to his cell shut, trapping him inside.
“Hades can kill a Minotaur,” said Hera.
“I know,” said Theseus.
He was counting on that.
CHAPTER XLV
HADES
Motherfucking Theseus.
Forget an eternity of misery in Tartarus. Hades would not rest until his nephew ceased to exist. He would shatter his soul, cut his thread into a million pieces, and consume them. It would be the most savory meal he’d ever eaten.
Fucking favor.
Fucking Fates.
He strained against Persephone’s bindings, his limbs shook, and his muscles tightened, but they would not give.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
She was powerful, and he would have felt more pride if she hadn’t left with that bastard demigod. He knew why she’d done it. She’d wanted to protect him, and the thought filled him with a conflict that made his chest ache. He loved her so much, and he raged that she would put herself in danger, even if he understood it.
What would Theseus do to her?
The thought sent another wave of fury through him, and he fought against her bindings once more. This time, he heard the distinct snap of one, and his foot was free. He wrenched his arm, veins rising to the surface of his skin, and the vine cut into his wrist until it finally broke. He tore at the remaining bindings after that, and once he was free, he teleported.
Persephone had a knack for hiding her own personal energy signature. He had not yet discovered if it was merely one of her powers or a result of having her powers dormant for so long. Either way, it made it impossible to find her—except when she wore her ring. He focused on the unique energy of the stones—the pureness of the tourmaline and the sweet caress of the dioptase.
He manifested among ruins.
It did not take him long to recognize where he’d arrived: the crumbling Palace of Knossos. In the night, it was impossible to make out the detailed and colorful paintings that covered what was left of the ancient walls or exactly how many miles the grounds stretched, but Hades knew because he’d known this place in its prime and throughout its inevitable destruction.
It was here he sensed Persephone’s ring, but faintly. He knew these ruins went deep into the belly of the earth, a twisted maze meant to confuse. He imagined Persephone somewhere within, and his anger drew him into the shell of the palace.
Though it was dark, his eyes adjusted, and as he crossed a broken blue mosaic floor, he came to a dark pit. It seemed to be a part of the floor that had given way. He spoke to the shadows, commanding them todescend. He watched through them as the chasm turned into another level of the palace, then dipped farther into an even deeper level.
Hades jumped, landing quietly on another mosaic floor. Here, the palace was more intact, its columned walls and rooms more pronounced. As Hades crept through each, following the energies from Persephone’s ring, unease crept through him. He sensed life here—ancient life—and profound death. That was not unusual, given this site dated back to antiquity. Hundreds had died here, but this death, some of it was fresh—harsh, acute, acidic.
Hades continued to descend until he came to the edge of another dark pit. The smell of death was stronger here, but so was Persephone’s ring. Hades’s rage and fear twined through his body; a dread thick and foul gathered in the back of his throat. Memories from the night he’d found her in the basement of Club Aphrodisia accosted him, and for a moment, it was like he was there again, Persephone on her knees before him, broken. He could smell her blood, and his mind spiraled into a dark and violent place. It was the kind of anger he needed, the rush he would use to tear the world to pieces if he found her harmed.
He stepped into the darkness, and this time when he landed, it shook the earth. As he straightened, he found several narrow hallways.
A labyrinth.
He was familiar with this craftsmanship too, recognizing Daedalus’s work, an ancient inventor and architect known for his innovation—innovation that eventually led to the death of his son.
Fuck, Hades thought, turning in a circle, studying each path. It was colder here, and the air was full of dust. It felt unclean and a little suffocating. Still, he could sense Persephone’s ring, and the energy was strongest down the path that stretched out to his right. As he stepped into the deeper dark, he noted that parts of the tunnel were broken, as if it had been hit by a large object.
