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“Betrayed,” Hadrion cuts in, a look of vexation on his face. “And it’s been a long decade. I’ve felt every minute as if it were a year.”
“Poor baby,” Shay murmurs, and he gives her an annoyed look. “What he won’t tell you is that he needs the key to go home. He’s, we’re, all locked out of the Underworld until we have it and can open the gate, fight the great betrayers, and restore him to the throne.”
“You make it sound boring and unpoetic,” Hadrion complains, and then swallows, looking at me seriously. “But not a word of it is a lie. I was betrayed by my friends--“
“Cerberus?” I ask and he shakes his head hard, his eyebrows pulling together and his jaw tensing.
“No, he would never. He’s been glamoured, fooled, taken over. He would never betray me, but now, he is trapped in it, and stalks me whenever he thinks I’m getting close to the key...”
“To keep you from going back,” I fill in the blanks, my vision going distant. “To keep you safe from whatever’s down there.”
Shay raises her eyebrows.
“Astute little mortal,” she says, before turning to Hadrion. “They do say the keeper is always one of hidden depths.”
“So you need the key,” I say, reaching up for it, “so take it.”
They both freeze, and the air in the room plummets several degrees, until I involuntarily shiver.
“Is it really so simple?” Hadrion asks, but he’s not asking me or Shay. He reaches out toward me, his fingers a few inches from the golden wreath, no wheat sheaves, and then an inch—
My skin hums, warming under the pendant, and I gasp as it begins to glow.
“Hades—” Shay’s voice is filled with warning, just as his finger tips connect with the pendant, and he lets out a gasp. The air between us ripples, a wave of something shimmering, like heat in the desert, and I inhale sharply.
It’s like a door opens inside of me, a lock clicking open, and I’m suddenly filled with something. It’s too big, too much, too powerful, and it’s coming from him. His eyes meet mine, and they’re glowing, and there’s a feeling of being held, pulled close, embraced.
And then, like a lightning strike, power erupts between us and the room blurs, my feet leaving the ground. The ceiling whips above me as I fall through the air in a giant arc, too fast for me to even cry out.
“Katy!” Hadrion’s roar echoes through the room, and there’s a thump that shakes the floor beneath me.
I crash down onto something.
The floor beneath me is soft, not a floor at all, but a body. Gold eyes open, and I cough, feeling like the air has been shoved out of my lungs. Arms are wrapped around me, and Hadrion is under me.
“Breathe Katy,” he gasps, his own voice hoarse
“Are you two alright?” Shay’s voice, and I feel the floor shudder. A crack runs along the wall, and when I blink, there’s a man standing beside her, and I know instantly it’s Falcon.
“Hadrion—”
“No, wait, the key—”
“Katy,” Hadrion’s voice is low, urgent, and his eyes are bright, like burning gold, “please, listen to me. You’re safe. I promise you, everything is fine, okay? Breathe, Katy, breathe—”
“She’s had the wind knocked out of her,” Shay’s voice cuts through, and she comes toward us. In the next moment, she’s lifting me up. “Take small breaths. It’s okay, you’ll be fine.”
“She’s a fucking mortal. What did you expect? You could have killed her, Hadrion,” Falcon’s voice is low and angry as he helps Hadrion up off of the ground, setting him on his feet. Hadrion brushes himself off, and runs a hand over his face, through his hair, pushing it back.
“I didn’t think, I thought, that I could— I was wrong.” He’s breathing heavily, and his gaze lingers on the pendant, glowing brightly around my neck. It’s warm, as if it’s been sitting in the sun for a few hours, and I wrap my hand around it, trying to let its familiar feel and weight calm me down.
The three of them, gods, demi-gods, demons, or all of the above, have concerned, angry, or confused expressions on their faces.
“Well,” I say, clearing my throat, “I think... we need to just... sit for a little, before we do anything else.” Shay looks at me like that’s the best idea I’ve had all day, and Falcon gives Hadrion a hard shove with his shoulder, his eyes smoldering.
A throat clears at the bottom of the stairs, and Elenora is standing there, looking unperturbed in her maid’s outfit.
“I think,” she pauses, taking us in, our expressions, and the ruffled, messy way our clothes are rumpled, “that this might call for a pot of tea.”
