A Deep Breath

CHAPTER FOUR

A DEEP BREATH

“Can I stay here tonight?” Minthe rested her head against Hades’s shoulder, at the junction between his arm and chest. “I can head back if you want, but I’ll get more sleep if I don’t have to go all the way home before work.”

Hades traced his fingers along the soft skin of her arm. “Of course. You don’t need to ask.”

The look she sent his way said she didn’t believe him. “Are you going into the office tomorrow?”

“I don’t see why I wouldn’t.”

“How about the fight you just had with your brother?”

“I still have a job to do.”

Her black eyes flicked up, searching for something in his face. “I know, but…he hasn’t called, or even texted you. I can reach out to a few friends and find out what he’s up to, if you want.”

Hades rubbed a spot on his forehead where a headache gathered. “It’s bad enough you spy on me. You don’t need to keep an eye on Zeus, too. His feelings might be hurt, but he’s too smart to do anything drastic.”

Minthe fell quiet, and Hades thought she would be kind enough to leave it there. She propped herself on an elbow, though, and the set of her jaw said she wanted more. “The last time it came to blows between the two of you, you didn’t speak for years. I know you said it doesn’t bother you, but—”

“I’d rather not talk about this right now, if you don’t mind.” Hades let her slide off him as he pushed himself to sit against the headboard. “We can discuss your project or the weather or take Cerberus for a walk, but I’m not going to keep opening this topic when there’s no answers for any of it.”

Something rested in her eyes Hades hadn’t seen in a long time, soft and yearning. Perhaps their collective state of undress had something to do with it, his clothes scattered around the floor and her long hair spilling over the lacy fabric of her bra. Maybe it was the faith he’d finally granted her, recounting the whole story and trusting that she wouldn’t throw it back at him. Either way, she seemed almost vulnerable.

“I’m only trying to help.”

He knew that. So why did it feel like anything but? “I don’t feel like talking about it.”

As quickly as it had come, the expression fled, closing like a door falling shut. “Sure. Okay. What would you like to talk about, then?”

He shouldn’t push her away, but he didn’t have it in him to give her the discussion she wanted. She’d already asked him, six times since he’d invited her over, if he would be okay. It wasn’t her fault she’d seen through his insistence of yes, but he still preferred they both pretended nothing had happened and move on.

Hades tossed the covers aside and stood. He made his way to the closet, reaching for a pair of flannel pajama pants. Minthe watched him, still enveloped in the covers, her expression saying he only had a few minutes to fix things before she got up and walked. Like she usually did.

He handed her one of his t-shirts. “Come on. I want to show you something.”

She looked at it like she expected it to burst into flames. “Where are we going?”

“Not far. You don’t even need shoes.”

She hesitated, but eventually slipped the shirt over her head and extricated herself from the blankets.

Hades led them out of the bedroom, across the living room and down the hallway that turned towards the guest wing. Cerberus had fled somewhere in the house, and though Hades glanced around as he went, he didn’t see him. The dog had never liked Minthe, no matter how much Hades had tried to make them get along.

Hades let himself through a door and into the gloom. The cool air greeted his flushed skin, and he breathed in the earthy scent of the twilight.

“Why are we going into the backyard?”

He didn’t answer, only motioned Minthe forward. Pavers had been placed on the shale, and he brushed over these with light steps. Minthe grumbled to herself behind him, but he pressed on, until the rock gave way to low shrubs, then to dense bushes, and before he knew it he’d entered the garden. Leaves surrounded him, the hearty trunks of trees clinging to the lifeless landscape.

He heard the moment Minthe saw it, the small gasp that escaped her. A great tree, green and heavy with fruit. The branches hanging in thick, willowy bunches, and against it all, the bloody red of ripe pomegranates.

Minthe drew herself closer to him. “What is this place?”

“The heart of the Underworld. It’s been here as long as the realm itself.”

“Is that…fruit?”

“What I’m about to tell you, Minthe, you cannot share with anyone. No one can know this is here.”

She moved to push past him, but Hades stopped her with a hand on her arm.

She flashed a knowing smirk. “Oh, so you moved out of the palace to keep it all to yourself? I don’t mind keeping that secret, if it means I can taste something fresh for once.”

A knot constricted in his chest, what might have been guilt or shame or some combination of the two. “Are you familiar with the old laws?”

Her smile wavered. “Are you giving me a history test?”

“Anyone who eats the fruit of the Underworld is doomed to stay there,” Hades recited. “Never to see the sun, nor taste the fresh air of their past lives.”

He watched as confusion gave way to understanding on Minthe’s face, followed swiftly by horror. “Even for the ones born here? We wouldn’t be able to go up top again?”

Hades turned his attention back to the fruit, still against the twilight. “I didn’t think it was real. The stories were so old, and you know what the hills look like. I thought everything had been ripped up during the Titan War. Then someone stumbled down here, and…she got lost. She wandered for days, parched, starving—dying. I can’t blame her for taking from the garden when she found it.”

Minthe waited for him to continue, but he couldn’t. When the silence got too thick, she pressed against him. “What happened to her?”

Hades swallowed hard. “Leuce never deserved such a fate.”

“What do you mean? She wasn’t born here?”

“She’s a daughter of Oceanus. She belongs in the sea.”

“I—I didn’t—” Minthe stuttered, collected herself. “When did this happen?”

“You remember when she started working for me? I was still at the palace then.”

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Minthe’s expression went slack. “That means…Hades, she’s been here hundreds of years.”

He nodded, the movement painful. “She hasn’t seen her family in centuries. Her father can’t enter, bound by the peace treaty. Her sisters are too afraid, no matter how many times I’ve promised safe passage. She used to live on Demeter’s farm, but I haven’t heard from them since I told them what happened.”

Minthe’s teeth worried at her lip. “Why are you telling me this?”

The cool air prickled against his torso, and Hades crossed his arms over his chest to ward off the chill. “You say I need to talk to you. Here it is, Minthe, here’s the truth: I’m not okay. I haven’t been in a long time. The dead have been growing unsustainably for years, and now it looks like they’re going to break through the surface for the first time since the realm was made. I’m the king. It falls to me to make sure that doesn’t happen. And I have no idea what to do.” His voice cracked, and he choked it down. What a king he’d turned out to be.

Slowly, the touch so light he could barely feel it, Minthe snaked her arms around his waist. Her head nestled against his chest and she squeezed tight. Wetness started against his skin, and he knew then that she was crying. Whether because of him or something else he didn’t know, and didn’t ask. Were he a better person, he might have hugged her back, let her in and allowed the tears he’d wanted to shed since he’d taken the realm and realized he couldn't save a single damn soul in it.

Instead, he stood against her, unmoving, until Cerberus barked from the doorway to demand his breakfast.

#

A knock on Hades’s office door roused him from that day’s stack of reports. He called for Leuce to enter.

“You have a message on line one,” she said. “I don’t know what it’s about, but Zeus doesn’t sound happy.”

Hades tried to hide the grimace that rose with the words. “Thanks. I’ll take it now.”

She retreated, and Hades reached across his desk for the office line. By the time he picked up, Zeus had ended the call, leaving only a message in his wake.

“It’s done,” his brother’s voice came across gruff and clipped. “You’ll see the new gates by the evening. Remember, two extra gates down there mean two more up top. I hope no one else gets stuck.”

The barb stung, but Hades brushed it aside. He could police the entrances. Cover them up the way he’d covered up the others, place the seals so mortals couldn’t cross until they’d passed on. Hope rose in his chest, unfamiliar and strange.

Hades leaned back in his chair. He slipped his phone from its place on the desk and drafted a message to Minthe. A short line, letting her know the good news. He’d promised to keep her informed, or at least to talk to her throughout the day. Even if he couldn’t bring himself to spill every disgustingly rotten thing in his chest, he could at least stop hiding from her.

The next message went to Hecate, complete with a picture of confetti and some strange balloon thing his phone could do. It seemed properly celebratory.

The rest of the day seemed to go quickly after that. He sorted the tally sheets and read the reports, approved projects and sent back others with request changes clipped to them. Even Leuce commented on his newly upbeat demeanor, and when Minthe dropped by to ask if he wanted to have dinner with her at the palace, he didn’t say no.

The palace. He hadn’t seen much of it since he’d moved out, and that had been before humanity knew about all seven continents. The whole island, main building and twisting metal gardens included, was a thought exercise in extravagance. The building itself sprawled, shiny black rock home to annexes and wings and corridors even he didn’t know. Soaring pillars supported a steeply pitched roof, and at the top of each, a likeness of some horrifying creature—gorgons and furies and the terrible heads of Cerberus.

The carving gave the dog much more credit than Hades thought he deserved, three jaws slavering as he readied to eat the souls of the wicked. In reality, when he and Minthe had left the house, Cerberus had been sprawled on the couch, two heads resting on pillows and the third hanging over thin air, snoring.

Hades stepped out of the boat they’d taken and onto the craggy shore. He held out a hand to help Minthe up, steadying her on her thin heels.

“It’s not even that busy tonight,” she said with a smile. “We can take a table in the back and no one will know we’re here.”

She meant well, but the words did not console him. For one, he could already feel the stares from the lesser gods and other deities who still called the palace home. That none of them would walk up to him, asking for a favor he could not or would not give, was unlikely.

Perhaps she felt his discomfort, or maybe she only wanted him tied to her, but Minthe looped an arm through his. “Come on. The sooner they seat us, the better.”

Hades let her pull him up the stairs. They walked through the big marble doors marking the front entrance, into what had once been the welcoming hall and throne room. When he’d vacated, he’d let the palace staff remove the banners hanging on the walls, take out the his-and-hers thrones which had only ever held him, and replace the standing guards. Instead of all that, Hades had okayed a restaurant, somewhere all the immortals who called this place home could experience something close to what existed on the surface, if only for a short while. Leuce herself came a few times a week, and Hades had promised himself he’d never ask her to stay away from whatever normalcy she’d managed to find.

Minthe led the way to the host’s stand. She opened her mouth, perhaps to ask if they could be squeezed into the dinner rush, but she never got the words out. The second the man behind the podium saw Hades’s face, he dropped his notepad and sent a cup of pencils clattering to the ground. Hades leaned to gather them, but by the time he stood, the man had already scurried towards the kitchens.

“I’m going to guess they can fit us in,” Minthe said.

Hades set the cup back on the podium. “I should have called. He’s going to send them into a panic back there.”

She shrugged. “If you’d told them you were coming, they’d have rolled out the carpets and had the trumpet players on standby. That’s usually the kind of thing you like to avoid.”

“And you?”

“I’m not saying I would mind it.”

Before Hades could reply, the man came hurrying back. He bent in a stuttering bow, then grasped for menus with shaking fingers. “We have a table for you, my lord and lady. Please follow me.”

Hades shot a look at Minthe. She patted his arm. “You are the king. You might as well enjoy the attention.”

No matter how much he wished he could, he didn’t seem to be built that way. He’d tried for centuries, had held court and kept the peace and threw the parties everyone expected. He’d showed up when needed, gave advice when asked, even warmed more than one bed upon invitation to it. But all of the attention, all the time, made Hades want to vanish and stay gone until the rest of the world forgot about him.

When Leuce had arrived, it felt as good a time as any to move out of the palace. Even when the whispers started, when Hecate pointed out he could solve problems faster if they came to him instead of the other way around. Even when he asked Minthe if quiet monogamy might suit her, and she’d agreed even though he’d never been sure it did.

“This looks good, doesn’t it?” Minthe nudged him back to reality.

They’d stopped at a little table, tucked at the end of the room where the thrones used to be. In its own little alcove, it almost resembled something like privacy.

Hades nodded and seated himself. He took the menu offered to him and watched as the man scurried away, back to the podium.

Minthe snorted. “Never a dull moment at the palace.”

“Hmm,” Hades managed, still watching. The man had gathered a group of waiters. He failed at subtlety as he gestured to Hades’s table, whispering furiously to the others.

Minthe asked him something, but Hades couldn’t hear. Each waiter had gone to two others, and before he knew it half the restaurant had their eyes turned in his direction.

“What do you want to eat?” Minthe asked, annoyed now.

Hades shook himself. “Scallops sound good.”

“There are no scallops on this menu.”

It was decent guess. Hades looked down, but the letters swam in front of him. Sweat slid down the back of his neck, and his underarms felt damp. He tried to forcefully ignore the moving, muttering mass at the edge of his vision, what could only be a crowd of people, getting closer.

“We might need to get this food to go,” Hades said. His tongue moved strangely in his mouth.

“We just got here.” Minthe glanced over her shoulder. “Give them a minute. I’m sure they’ll go away.”

Hades tried to nod, but his head wouldn’t work. His skin burned under his shirt. His knee wouldn’t stop bouncing.

A flash drew his attention. Another seared bright spots over his vision.

The distant sound of clashing metal filled his head. The smell of ichor burned his nose, the golden simmer of immortal blood illuminated by arcing lighting. The roar of Titans and gods alike, fighting and falling and dying.

Minthe scooted her chair closer and laid a hand on his shoulder, pulling him out of the memory. “Hades, pay attention. Smile!”

Hades tried. He squinted to see past the dozens of cell phones all flashing at once, but as soon as he recovered from one, another burned into his retinas. Something buzzed in his pocket.

His phone. He was getting a call.

Hades ripped the thing from his pocket and answered it without bothering to see who needed him now. He stood, ignoring Minthe’s questions, the dark look she shot his way and a biting remark about work, really, right now?

“Hello?”

“Lord Hades. My apologies for calling so late.”

It took Hades’s frazzled mind a moment to place the gruff voice. When he did, cold dread tingled down to the tips of his fingers. “Acheron?”

“It’s the dead, Lord Hades. They’re attacking something on the North Bank.”

In the middle of the restaurant, with every single eye on him, Hades froze. “What?”

Acheron cleared his throat on the other line. “They’re attacking something, powerful by the looks of it. Immortal for certain. If one of your brethren are supposed to have passage, I should have been told—”

“I’m sure it’s not what it looks like.” Hades spared a glance behind him, at Minthe’s expression that said she would not understand if he tried to explain. “Tell me where you are. I’ll be there as soon as possible.”

“Hurry. I don’t know that this newcomer has much time.”