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1
KING OF THE UNDERWORLD
Hades materialized just outside the vineyard’s grand estate. The grapes grew in rows upon rows of twisting vines deep into the fields behind the house, far enough that even Hades’ immortal eyes were unable to see the end.
As he sauntered up the walk he glanced at the thick vines, hanging and twisting around one another. Not a single grape remained on the vines, already harvested during the day when the weather had been warm and the sun had been shining. Largeamphoraelined the walk, overflowing with fat, juicy grapes to the point that small purple mountains filled the gaps between them.
Wooden platforms littered the barren field to the right of the estate, space enough between each that a single person could move between with ease. After the storm passed tonight, the grapes would be laid out to dry on the platforms until they were wrinkly enough to be crushed, pressed, and fermented into the sweet wine this estate prides itself on.
Hades salivated, already tasting the wine he would be sent in a year’s time on his tongue.
He hurried toward the house, the cold breeze off the water behind him pushing him to move faster up the gravel path. Thanks to his own generosity, the house had been updated this past spring with a new terracotta roof and a fresh layer of bright yellow paint, making it a warm beacon from the icy air outside.
The front door opened at the same time he flung the newly installed and polished bronze gate open, a young, sickly child standing in the threshold. Her clothes – if you could call them clothes – hung off her gangly body is tattered grey strips; legs and arms bare to the biting cold wind that blew her matted hair behind her. She squinted against the wind, cowering as he got closer, but obediently remained holding the door open while he strode through. Her teeth chattered incessantly as she shivered, and Hades cast a glare at her, expecting her to flinch back or flee, but she only held the door open wider.
Hades reached over the child’s head to close the door, not noticing her flinch at his close proximity and slammed it shut hard enough that the bronze sconce on the wall shook lightly against it. Before he was halfway down the hall leading to the rear of the house, the child silently sank to the floor, her last breath forced out by her knees driving into her frail chest.
Leisurely making his way through the warm house, Hades listened carefully for commotion at the front door, where he’d left the slave girl’s body for someone else to find. He stopped at the hearth, holding his hands above the flames, though he didn’t need their warmth. They licked the edges of the hearth, running along the charred wood, jumping toward his hands, melting into each other.
A shocked gasp rang through the hall, followed by an irritated click of a tongue and the sound of fabric being dragged across the stone floor. Whoever had found the girl mumbled her annoyance every time the body caught on a rug or a corner, eventually abandoning the girl altogether. The sound of her feet retreating from the still-warm corpse told Hades that the owner of this grand establishment was being informed of his presence at this very moment.
The kitchen slaves froze as Hades stalked into the room, ignoring all but the two peeling vegetables underneath an open window. The wind blowing in from it was disgustingly salty, the brine of the ocean filling the room more than the heat from the hearth.
A large clay pot filled with boiling water sat in the flames of the kitchen hearth, creating a thick layer of steam that covered the roof. Hades glanced toward it as he walked through the room to the door leading to the wine chamber. A bony slave-woman blocked his view of the flames, scowling at him with her hands balanced on her narrow hips. He glared at her, and she shrank away from his gaze not a moment later.
Breathing through his mouth, Hades walked through the open doorway. The room he entered hadamphoraestacked atop each other and lined up along all four walls, save for the doorway. There was a small cabinet just inside the room, filled with several specialkylikes, including his own. He scanned the shelf, looking for the golden one made especially for this vineyard.
There, in the middle of the most precarious stack, was a goldenkylixetched with satyrs and wildlife, an ode to his favourite Olympian and friend, Dionysos. It was almost laying completely on its side so only half of the base and one handle protruded from between the one beneath and the one atop it. Hades silently cursed the careless slave responsible and popped thekylixout from the pile with a snap of his fingers.
He felt the slaves in the kitchen recoil at his blatant show of power, though they couldn’t see him in the wine chamber. The kitchen had gone silent, the slaves pausing their work to listen to his every move.
Reactions like theirs always made him smirk. He didn’t need to snap his fingers or wink an eye to get things done, using his power was as simple as breathing, as simple as willing something into existence. With half a thought he had destroyed palaces and crushed fragile mortal hearts, but the show was fun.
The show and the tangy scent of their fear that erupted whenever a mortal caught him using it made a few of his worse decades that much better. In fact, he liked it so much that he carried the icy mint scent of himself just to instill fear and watch as the mortals realized who was near them.
“Lord Hades,” a gravelly voice said from inside the kitchen, interrupting his glee and setting his face stone cold once again.
The aging vineyard owner glared at the open doorway as Hades filled it, placing both hands on the flat sides of the opening, thekylixdangling from his little finger, crossing one ankle over the other. The greying strands of hair that clung to the man’s mostly bald head danced in the cold breeze from the open window, but he did not reach to flatten them. His clawed fingers gripped the top of his gnarled wooden crane tight enough that the thin, wrinkled skin was taut around his knuckles. A rare sight from a man of his extended age.
Soon, the elderly man would die. Hades could tell from his knobby knees knocking together as he used all his strength to stay standing before the god, lest he look weak, or present himself as succumbing to his age.
He grinned, and the old man flinched back and would have lost his balance completely had Hades not sent a talon-sharp breeze to steady him on his shaky feet, and said, “So few use my name anymore. Where has the fear of invoking my power and presence gone?” The vineyard owner, speechless, could only stare as Hades grin grew wider— wilder.
He’d always been more of a nuisance than a business partner. In exchange for unlimited, uninhibited access to the wine produced on this estate, Hades ensured that the house and surrounding property didn’t fall into disarray – or a pirate’s hands. The deal was made four generations ago, following a fourth pirate attack on the estate when the original owner called Hades by name for aid. It was the first time a mortal had ever called his name and not been cursing someone, or himself.
Of course, Hades had appeared momentarily, needing no more than a plead and a prayer to rush to his aid. The pirates fell to the beautiful green grass of the property, dead, just as quickly as Hades touched the ground. The vineyard owner was so immensely grateful to the Infernal King that he fell to the ground and cried his thanks, offering him “an immortal’s lifetime of wine”.
Hades could not refuse, though he could have lived without this current generation of ownership.
The newest owner takes first place as the worst person Hades has ever had the displeasure of dealing with, and he punished the most vile and wicked mortals in the Underworld. He cares little for his slaves and has allowed more than a dozen to die in the forty years since he inherited the vineyard.
Hades had met many happy slaves in his long life, so many beloved and cared for slaves, that whenever he came across a poor soul like the one’s unfortunate enough to reside here, his blackened, immortal heart ached. Slave deaths were not uncommon, but most who die under his authority were children and few have ever received proper burials in a timely fashion. As result, Hades kidnapped his wife until he swore an oath that he would not allow another to wither away or else his sweet wife would be returned to the Underworld.
Unfortunately, his wife died in childbirth several years ago, forcing Hades to take up drastic measures; he’d taken his son’s wife instead. The old man could either keep his slaves alive and properly bury the ones who did die, or lose his son’s wife – and in doing so his son – to the clutches of the Underworld.
Sipping from his now-filledkylix, Hades slowly walked to the other side of the kitchen, past the owner and down the hall he’d entered from. He looked over his shoulder, addressing the man once more as he reached the stone entryway, and said, “How is your son? Orpheus, is his name?” before throwing the door open and sauntering out.
He didn’t have to glance behind him to know the old man was staring after him, fear for his young son’s life widening his eyes almost as much as his gaping mouth.
