ABIGAIL OWEN
‘A stunning and unique fantasy laced with intrigue, adventure, and a delicious romance. This story is my latest obsession’ Devney Perry
PENGUIN MICHAEL JOSEPH
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Copyright © Abigail Owen, 2024
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ALSO BY ABIGAIL OWEN
Dominions
The Liar’s Crown
The Stolen Throne
The Shadows Rule All
Inferno Rising
The Rogue King
The Blood King
The Warrior King
The Cursed King
Fire’s Edge
The Mate
The Boss
The Rookie
The Enforcer
The Protector
The Traitor
Brimstone Inc.
The Demigod Complex
Shift Out of Luck
A Ghost of a Chance
Bait N’ Witch
Try As I Smite
Hit by the Cupid Stick
An Accident Waiting to Dragon
To Robbie— my husband, my rock, my Jeopardy! partner, my swoon-worthy hero, my star— just one lifetime with you isn’t enough.
In The Games Gods Play, the Greek gods walk among us— and they are as unspeakably beautiful as they are deadly. As such, this story features elements that might not be suitable for all readers, including blood, gore, violence (human, god, and monster alike), perilous situations, hospitalization, illness, injury, vomiting, abuse, bullying, theft, isolation, death, grief, use of alcohol, common phobias (including heights, burning, drowning, bugs, and darkness), graphic language, and sexual activity on the page. Readers who may be sensitive to these elements, please take note, and prepare to enter the Crucible…
PART 1 THE CRUCIBLE
The gods love to toy with us mere mortals. And every hundred years…we let them.
fuck the gods.
preface
I got so close. So damned close to fi nally reaching my goal, fi nally seeing my curse broken, and maybe, just maybe, finally feeling the love of the one man I long for.
As I go limp on the blood-soaked ground, all I can think is, What if.
What if I hadn’t tried to tear down Zeus’ temple?
What if I hadn’t met Hades?
What if I hadn’t tried to reach for more than this world was willing to offer me…?
A tear squeezes from the corner of my eye. Then Zeus’ feet come into view directly in front of me. Probably to finish the job.
Honestly, I’d rather go fast than sit here and bleed anyway.
“Bring it, asshole.”
a really bad idea
Asizzling zap of electricity snaps directly over Zeus’ temple, and I flinch while the crowd oohs and ahhs. People from all walks of life, cultures, and pantheons live in San Francisco, but there’s no denying this is Zeus’ patron city.
I don’t need to spare the shrine a glance to know what it looks like— pristine white stone with classic, fluted columns aglow in purplish-white flashes and sparks cast by the never-ending arcs of lightning captured above the roof.
I shake my head. He is very proud of the lightning thing—this being the only god-powered city in the world. Although if Zeus is in a pissy mood…well, it tends to affect the lights. I can only imagine how much time those who enjoy uninterrupted power must spend on their knees in that temple.
I’d rather live in the dark.
“We shouldn’t be here,” I mutter under my breath as I tick a checkbox on my tablet, then glance around the bustling crowd to try to spot one of our pickpockets moving in and out of the unsuspecting masses.
My only job tonight is to observe, which is really all I’m ever asked to do. Observe and record. But of all the piss-poor schemes my boss, Felix, has come up with over the years, this one ranks right up there with attempting to capture a pegasus to sell on the black market. That put our den on Poseidon’s shit list for years. Yes, den. The name isn’t exactly creative, but we’re thieves, not poets.
I mentally shrug. At least Felix isn’t hells-bent on trying to steal Hades’ pomegranate seeds again. Rumor has it Hades isn’t as forgiving as Poseidon.
Besides, it’s not like pledges have a choice in what jobs we do.
We were offered as collateral to work off a debt of some sort by our parents, and most thieves look forward to every job we get. Any job is one step closer to clearing the books. Not me, though. I have no debt anymore. I was so young when my family surrendered me to the Order, I don’t even remember my own birth name. But I’m twenty-three now, so that was a while ago and not something I like to dwell on.
A strobe of light illuminates the low clouds overhead a heartbeat before a loud crack sets car alarms blaring and babies crying.
This time I really jump but manage to force my gaze to remain straight ahead.
“Scared of a little lightning, Lyra?” Chance, a master thief to my left, chides. He’s acting as the drop point for all the lifts tonight but takes his attention off his job long enough to toss me a condescending smile. Asshole.
One of the older thieves in our den, he should have paid off his debt by now but hasn’t—and the fact I’m our den’s clerk and know exactly how much he still has to go pisses him off. It also makes me his favorite target.
But the best way to deal with his brand of dickhead is to ignore him.
So instead, I focus on the unsuspecting, sycophantic multitudes as more and more crush together at the base of the temple, filling the winding street that circles up the mountain to it. They’re all here to get the best view of the opening ceremonies of the Crucible at midnight. The opportunity was too good for Felix to pass up—perfect for a rash of pickpocketing. Stealing so close to a sacred building is a big risk, but our boss reasoned away hazarding the gods’ wrath by saying this is both a test for the newest crop of pledges and a chance to rake in one last score before the ceremonies begin.
He is going to get someone killed. Or worse…
Which I guess is why Felix has a lowly clerk, in particular me, up here babysitting tonight. Given the added danger, he needed someone to keep an eye on things who would, and I quote, avoid letting anyone anger the gods at all costs, end quote.
And he’s right. I wouldn’t wish the gods’ ire on my worst enemy. Even Chance.
As my old mentor, Felix knows that. In fact, he’s the only one who knows exactly why.
A small throng of revelers wearing Zeus-themed sweatshirts rushes past me to get higher up the hillside, and a few shoulder check me to the left, then right as they muscle their way through the crowd. I deftly use the opportunity to shuffle several feet away from Chance. He really is my least-favorite person. I’ll still keep an eye on him in case he gets in danger of upsetting a god, but I can do that from a distance just as easily.
When I glance back at him, I let out a sigh. He’s no longer sneering at me and has turned his attention to his job again.
A young pledge with soft brown curls weaves her way up to Chance and brushes against the sleeve of his overcoat, tossing out a quick “excuse me” before scooting by him. Even though it’s summer, it’s chilly enough that no one looks twice at the master thief’s clothing choice, which is good. He needs lots of pockets.
I didn’t even see the drop, and I was looking closely for it. I’d always hoped one day to become a thief myself, but sadly, I lack one important skill—subtlety.
Without a backward glance, the pledge melts into the crowd, no one around us the wiser. Chance slips his hand into a pocket, then frowns. It takes fishing in two more pockets before he discovers the loot. Which means even he didn’t feel the handover.
The new pledge is good. Then again, her mentor is the best of us.
For a second, I indulge in picturing what it would be like to be out there with her as one of the thieves, rather than back here watching it happen. But that’s not my lot in life. I’ve made my peace with it. At least I’ve made it this far without starving, ending up in the gutters, getting myself murdered…or worse.
I do all right.
I even have my own stash of coin tucked away in a place where no one will ever find it. Cold cash, not some numbers on a screen. One day, I might just give up this life, and I’ll have the means to do it.
You’ll be even more alone, though, a tiny, doubt-laden voice whispers inside me.
I shift on my feet. Yeah, well…maybe I’ll get a cat. Or, no. A dog.
No one can be lonely with a dog, right?
I glance toward the iconic Golden Gate Bridge, with its brilliant white Corinthian columns, matching the temple and supported by massive suspension lines. At midnight, they’ll close the road to traffi c
and allow the people piling in to cover it. The bridge stretches from the Minos Headlands where the temple sits across the mouth of the bay to the dazzling city on the other side. The twinkling lights beckon while the bay itself is black as night, the darkness broken only by the lights of ships floating by.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see one of the younger pledges home in on an elderly couple. They’re walking hand in hand, obviously in love, and I can’t help the tightening in my chest. The woman is struggling to keep up, walking with a cane, and the gentleman shuffles his feet beside her, making each step take twice as long so he matches her pace. She looks up and smiles at him for the gesture, and I know the last thing they need to ruin their night is to realize light fingers have taken a wallet or watch.
Before the young thief gets too close, I whistle a signal all pledges know means to stop.
So much for just being here to observe and record. Hopefully Felix doesn’t find out and punish me for overstepping.
She pauses, looks around, and then her face lights up a little and she waves an eager hand. Not at me. At someone behind me.
“Hey, Boone!” the pledge calls. She must think he’s the one who whistled.
I force myself to not immediately turn and look.
Boone’s is the one face I search for every day, but that’s my business. After making a note on the tablet to talk to the girl about not drawing attention while on a job, I let myself peer around and see him off to the left.
Boone Runar.
Master thief. Every person’s fantasy and every parent’s nightmare.
And there’s nothing I can do to stop my heart from clumsily tripping over itself at the sight of him. Especially when he grins at the apprentice, kneeling down to her level and saying something that makes her laugh before they both turn serious. He’s probably reminding her about drawing attention.
I lower my tablet and take the opportunity to enjoy the view.
Well over six feet of muscle, brute strength, and a fuck-with-meand-find-out air thanks to, again, the muscles and the recent addition of a scruffy brown beard a shade darker than his hair. Then there’s the way he dresses like a biker. Lots of jeans and leather. The vibes he gives off
aren’t a lie, either. He can handle himself.
To look at him, you’d think he’d be a total dick twenty-four seven. Many of the master thieves, like Chance, are. It’s a defense mechanism. Survival tactic. But not Boone. It’s the way he is with the apprentices, a patient guide, that I like the most.
After a second, he sends the apprentice on her way. When he rises to his feet, he searches the area, and my stomach tightens in anticipation. Not that he’s looking for me. No doubt he’s either trying to find his own apprentice—the fi rst girl who already made her drop—or one of the other master thieves.
Despite the fact that he looks right in my direction, Boone’s gaze sweeps over where I am. Twice.
Then he leaves.
I blow out a long, slow breath and watch as he makes his way back through the crowds until I can’t see him and wish, for the billionth time, my mother’s water hadn’t broken in Zeus’ temple the day I was born.
The day I was cursed.
it only gets worse
“Holy shit…” Chance barks a laugh right in my ear. I jump because I had no idea he’d moved closer again, let alone— Hades take the man—right next to me.
“I see it now,” he says in a sly aside. “Lyra Keres, are you in love with Boone?”
His words drop between me and the rest of the pledges nearby like little bombs.
Each one exploding in my chest. Direct hits.
You’d think I’d be immune by now. But can anyone ever “get over” wanting to be loved—but being cursed to never be loved in return? If the pain ricocheting in my chest is any indication, the answer to that is a resounding no.
Ripples of smothered gasps and murmurs loud enough to be heard above the constant noise in this sea of people surge through the pledges, and at least two glance in our direction with wide, curious eyes.
Don’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction.
Unbearably aware of our audience, I stare at the tablet in my hands, humiliation crawling over me like ants.
Damn him.
Escape would be nice, but I can’t just run. Weakness will always be exploited.
Pulling my pride around me like a familiar, tattered cloak, I cock a hip and offer him my most sugary smile. “You have your entire life to be an asshole, Chance. Why not take a night off?”
A few snickers sound from the pledges, or maybe it’s from the total strangers surrounding us, and a vein pulses in his neck. Everything about
Chance is pointed—from his nose, to the angled cut of his eyebrows, to his cheekbones, to his knees and elbows. Usually his voice matches. Even when he’s in a good mood, his speech is sharp and clipped.
It’s when he goes smooth and sweet, and his pale blue eyes in his paler face get swallowed by his pupils, that you have to watch out. Like now.
“Do you think he’s noticed?” His words have an edge to them that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. “No wonder you always find a way to give him the best assignments.”
“You should be farther into the crowd,” I say, my jaw tight. I’m standing off to one side, slightly up the incline of the mountain, and step a foot to the left as though to get a better view.
Of course, he ignores my attempt at putting some distance between us and steps closer again. “Don’t worry,” he says. “I’ll be sure to tell him the next time I see him. Who knows? Maybe he’ll throw you a pity fuck.”
It takes a lot not to curl over as I absorb that hit.
Oh gods. I’m starting to tremble. Screw it. I’m not sticking around for this. I mutter, “You’re an ass, Chance.”
Tucking my tablet against my chest like body armor, I walk away, knowing that, as the drop man, he can’t follow.
“Nah, I don’t think you could ever be anyone’s pity fuck,” he calls after me. “Someone would have to actually care about you enough for that to happen.”
Every single part of me freezes and then goes blazing hot. Chance might as well have taken out the bow he’s so proficient with and sent an arrow straight through my heart. Clean kill in one shot.
And he said that so loud. No one within a wide radius could have missed it.
I breathe through my nose, chin held high with fake confi dence. Without glancing back, I throw Chance the middle fi nger over my shoulder and force my legs to function and carry me away.
He won’t be the only one meting out punishment for this exchange later. I just broke one of the Order’s cardinal rules. Never abandon the job when any thieves are still in play. Felix will be pissed.
But I don’t care.
Head down, I keep walking, away from them, away from the crowds, and up the mountainside into a copse of decorative trees that surrounds
the temple, where it’s blessedly empty and quiet. The second I know I can’t be seen anymore, all the starchy pride that got me here disappears, and I sag against a tree, ignoring the knot that digs into my back.
No one comes to check on me.
Because Chance was right about one thing. I don’t have any friends. At least not any who would truly give a shit if I didn’t make it back tonight.
Worse, Boone is going to hear about this. Which means I’ll have to face him every single day, knowing that he knows. Worse, knowing that he could never feel the same.
Underworld take me now. I’d even prefer a corner of Tartarus.
I swipe away the moisture that manages to escape my stranglehold and glare at the tears on my hand, a few rolling past a thick scar on my wrist. I promised myself a long time ago, after I nearly died from a ruined street scam that ended with my wrist sliced open and not a single person checking on me in the hospital, that my issue was not worth my tears. And yet, here I am…
“That’s it,” I mutter.
Something’s got to give.
Whipping my head around, I glare at the temple sparking above the branches. Fuck Chance. Fuck this curse. And definitely fuck Zeus.
I stick my tablet in my jacket pocket and shove off the tree, the burn of anger heaping coals onto my hurt and humiliation but also filling me with a new sense of driving purpose.
One way or another, I’m putting an end to this damn curse…and I’m already in the perfect place to do it.
Time to have it out with a god.
the last mistake i’ll ever make
Raw emotions bubble inside me like a poisonous potion in a witch’s cauldron.
I haven’t entirely decided what I’m going to do when I get to the temple. I’m either going to beg that egotistical fucking god Zeus to remove his punishment or I’m going to do something worse. One way or the other, my problem will be solved.
And, unlike earlier, now I don’t give a shit that midnight is the start of the Crucible and all the “rules” that come with the cryptic festival.
We mortals know only how the festival begins, how it ends, and how we celebrate in between. They begin with each of the major Olympian gods and goddesses choosing a mortal champion during the rites at the start. The festivities end when some of the mortals selected return. Some don’t. The ones who do make it back don’t remember a thing, or maybe they’re too scared to talk about it. And the ones who don’t, well, their families are showered in blessings, so it’s supposedly an honor to be chosen either way.
Regardless, mortals have been throwing this festival every hundred years since what feels like the dawn of time, everyone hoping they’ll be chosen by their favored god. What can I say? Humans are foolish.
Zeus is probably in his heavenly city on Mount Olympus, busy preparing for the start of the Selection Ceremony, but I’m having it out with him right now.
It can’t wait. I just need to get his attention is all. Luckily, everyone knows the one thing Zeus is most attached to in our world—his fucking temple.
Adrenaline pumps in my veins as I hurry through the trees. The temple is already cordoned off, but at least I’ve got enough thief training to be able
to get around the barriers with no one noticing.
I skirt past a row of perfectly manicured bushes and approach the place from the back, where I’m less likely to be seen. The arcs of lightning overhead fill the air this close to the temple with charged electricity, masking the sounds of my footsteps as the hairs on my arms stand on end like toy soldiers.
I should take that as a warning.
I don’t.
I keep going.
Staring at the pristine columns surrounding the walled-off inner temple rooms in the center, I try to formulate a plan. Praying and begging first would be the smart move. But now that I’m standing here, alone in the dark, with my hands clenching and unclenching at my sides, every unbearable, excruciating millisecond of misery caused by Zeus’ curse flashes through my head.
I’m shaking so hard with a vile concoction of anger and heartache and mortification that I rock on my feet. But the worst part of all is that, maybe for the first time ever, I admit to myself how fucking lonely I am.
I’ve never known what it’s like to whisper secrets to a friend, or hold someone’s hand, or have someone to just sit with me when I’m feeling low. We wouldn’t even have to talk.
And I just…
In a haze, almost as if I’m watching myself from the outside, I search the ground around me and grab a rock. Cocking my arm back, I go to hurl it at the nearest column.
Only, a hand clamps around my wrist mid-throw, and I’m jerked back against a broad chest. Strong arms encircle me. “I don’t think so,” a deep voice says in my ear.
I forget every self-defense technique drilled into me and instead thrash against my captor’s hold. “Let me go!”
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says, and for some reason, I believe him. Doesn’t mean I don’t want to be free, though. I have shit to deal with.
“I said”—I grit out each word—“Let. Me. Go.”
His grip tightens. “Not if you’re going to hurl rocks at the temple. I don’t feel like dealing with Zeus tonight.”
“Well, I do!” I kick out, trying to twist away.
“He’s an asshole, I get it. Trust me,” my captor mutters in a low voice. “But if I thought throwing a tantrum would change that, I’d have brought
that temple down with my bare hands years ago.”
It’s not just the words—something in his tone makes me still in his arms, almost as though the two of us are sharing the same emotion. The same anger. The feeling steals my breath, and I find myself leaning back, reveling in the moment. As if, for the first time in my life, I don’t feel utterly alone.
Is this what it’s like to connect with someone?
Crickets chirp in the distance, their slow cadence in sync with his even breaths. In sync with mine now, too, I realize.
“If I let you go, do you promise not to attack a defenseless building again?” he asks softly.
“No,” I admit, and I feel a sigh rumble in his chest. So I add, “That fuckhead doesn’t deserve any prayers.”
“Careful.” His voice wobbles. Is he laughing?
“Why?” I ask, a surprising grin spreading across my lips when only a few seconds ago, I was ready to throw down with a god. “You worried someone might want to hit me with a bolt of lightning while I’m in your arms?”
“Talk like that could win a few hearts.” His voice is soft, his breath rustling the hair at my ear.
I go stiff against him, my chin falling to my chest.
“Highly unlikely,” I mutter at the ground. “Zeus made sure no one can ever love me.”
A gaping hole of silence greets my bitterness. My interfering do-gooder drops his arms and takes a step back, probably worried curses are contagious. I immediately miss his warmth and shove my hands in my pockets.
“I…” He trails off as if considering his words. “Find that hard to believe.”
I’m so desperate to escape this whole scene, the change in his tone doesn’t entirely penetrate as I round on him. “Listen, I’m fine now. You can move on…”
The rest of my words wither on my lips.
If I went dead still earlier, I might as well have looked Medusa in the eyes now. The only thing about me that moves is the blood pumping through me so hard and fast, my ears thrum. My mind races to make sense of what my eyes are telling me.
Oh no. This can’t be happening. Suddenly, it’s as if all the emotions that drove me here like a banshee with a bone to pick blow themselves out, leaving me empty.
I finally felt a smidgeon of connection with someone, and it’s… I mean…
I did come up here to have it out with a god. Just not this one.
Even in the dark, only illuminated by constant strobes of lightning, I can see the perfection of his sculpted face—with its hard jaw, a high brow, dark eyes, and lips almost too pretty for his otherwise harsh features—as a clue of what he is. Only the gods and goddesses boast that kind of beauty. But it’s the pale lock that curls up off his forehead into the blackness of the rest of his hair that gives him away.
Every mortal knows the story of how his brother tried to kill him once by taking an axe to his head while he slept, but only succeeded in leaving a scar that changed his hair in that one spot. Unmistakable. Not to mention unforgettable—and extremely unfortunate for me.
Tangling with this god is so much worse than my original plan.
Run. The instinct finally punches through me, urging me to make my legs move. But there’s no point. Besides, the instinct to freeze in place is stronger.
“I’m afraid one of us shouldn’t be here,” I quip, my mouth always filling in for my brain when I’m nervous.
Not helping, Lyra.
I’m also not entirely wrong. What is he doing at this particular temple?
He says nothing, standing with his arms crossed, taking me in the same way I did him, only with a tension that fills the air with more electricity than Zeus’ lightning.
I know what he sees—a slip of a woman with short raven hair, a smallish face, pointed chin, and catlike eyes. My one vanity. They are deep green with a darker outer ring and gold at the center, fringed by long, black lashes. Maybe if I bat them at him? Except beguiling is not in my list of skills, so I nix that thought.
He’s still staring.
There’s an intensity to him that sets me more on edge with every passing second, every part of me prickling.
Silence fills the gaps between us for so long that I reconsider running as an option.
“Do you know who I am?” he finally asks. His deep voice would be smooth except for the harsh growl at the bottom of it. Like a silky, still lake broken by ripples from something under the surface.
Is he serious with that question, though? Everyone knows who he is. “Should I?”
Holy hells, stop popping off, Lyra.
The god’s eyes narrow slightly at my flippant response. Face assuming
a hard cast, he takes two slow, long strides directly into my space. “Do you know who I am?”
Everything inside me shrivels like my body already knows I’m dead anyway and is just getting a head start. Fear has a taste I’m more than familiar with—metallic in the mouth, like blood. Or maybe I just bit my tongue.
The gods have punished mortals for much less than what I’ve done and said so far tonight.
My entire body quivers. Merciful gods.
“Hades.” I swallow. “You are Hades.”
The god of death and King of the Underworld himself. And he does not look happy.
beautiful, teasing death
Hades’ barely-there smile turns condescending. “Was that so hard?”
It’s too…deliberate. Like he’s decided to play this a different way. Only that makes no sense.
But gods don’t have to make sense, I guess.
Drawing the notice of any of them is a bad idea. They are capricious beings who might curse you rather than bless you depending on their mood and the way the breeze is blowing. Especially this one.
“Now, let’s talk about what you think you were doing,” Hades says.
I frown, confused. “I thought you already—”
“And with the Crucible starting tonight, even,” he continues in a disappointed voice, as if I hadn’t spoken.
I sigh. “Do you want an apology before you smite me or something?”
“Most would fall to their knees before me. Beg for my mercy.”
He’s toying with me now. I’m a mouse. He’s a cat. And I’m his dinner. I swallow hard, trying to force my heart back down my throat. “I’m pretty sure I’m dead either way.” Of course I am. Let’s not heap even more humiliation on my early end. “Would kneeling help?”
His silvery eyes—not dark like I thought at first, but like mercury— swirl with cold amusement. Did I say something funny?
“Is that why you’re here?” I ask. “The Crucible?”
Hades has never participated, and Zeus is hardly his favorite sibling, so why is he at this temple, really?
“I have my own reasons for being here tonight.”
In other words, Don’t ask gods questions, reckless mortal.
“Why did you stop me?” I glance at the temple, ignoring his tone entirely.
Instead of answering, Hades taps his thumb against his chin. “The question is, what do I do with you now?”
Is he enjoying my predicament? I’ve never thought much about the god of death—I’m a little busy with surviving mortality first—but I’m starting to really not like him. If Boone acted more like this, I’d have gotten over him ages ago. “I assume you’re going to send me to the Underworld.”
Seriously, stop talking, Lyra.
Hades hums. “I can do worse than that.”
Just like with Chance, backing down now isn’t an option. “Oh?” I tip my head, pretending like I don’t already know. “I do hear you are creative with your punishments.”
“I’m flattered.” He gives a tiny, mocking bow. “I could make you roll a rock up a hill and never make it to the top, only to start back over every single day for the rest of eternity.”
That already happened to Sisyphus ages ago. “I’m pretty sure Zeus came up with that.”
His lips flatten. “Were you there?”
I shrug. “Either way, it sounds like a vacation. Peaceful, undisturbed labor. When do I start?”
My mouth is going to get me permanently dead.
I’m waiting to end up in the Underworld any second, or maybe for Hades’ famous bident to appear in his hand for him to skewer me with. Instead, he shakes his head. “I’m not going to kill you. Yet.”
Really? Do I trust him?
He must see the wariness in my eyes, because a muscle tightens in his jaw like he’s irritated I would doubt his word. “Relax, my star.”
I hesitate at the endearment. It clearly means nothing to him. When he doesn’t immediately talk, I manage not to as well, and instead I take in more details about the god standing before me.
He’s not exactly what I expected. I mean, beyond the obvious darkand-brooding thing.
It’s his clothes. He’s wearing worn boots and jeans, for Elysium’s sake. The jeans sit low on his narrow hips and are paired with a sky-blue button-down shirt rolled up at the sleeves to reveal forearms a deeper tan than I would expect from someone who lives in the Underworld. Who knew forearms could be sexy?
Over the shirt, he wears vintage leather suspenders that I suspect meet in the back at the top of his shoulder blades, side holster–style. The metal rings on the suspenders look like they have a purpose that he’s not using them for right now. Are they for weapons? Or does he have a bad back?
“Do I pass inspection?” he drawls.
I jerk my gaze back up to his face. “You look different than I thought.”
Both eyebrows twitch up. “And what did you expect? All-black clothing? Perhaps a full leather getup?”
Heat flares up my neck. Something like that, actually. “Don’t forget the horns. And maybe a tail.”
“That’s a different god of death.” He makes an exasperated sound, then mutters something about abhorring expectations.
Meeting those expectations, I think he means. Strange that I have something in common with a god. I may be cursed, but damned if I’m going to let it dictate who I am.
“Your home in the Underworld is Erebus,” I say pointedly.
“And?”
“It’s called… Wait for it.” I hold up a hand. “The Land of Shadows.”
Someone should duct tape my mouth shut.
Hades slips his hands in his pockets, casually relaxed in a leashedpredator sort of way. “I always thought that naming was unoriginal. It’s the Underworld. Of course there are shadows.”
This conversation seems to be going off the rails a bit. “I guess.” And then, because my brain can’t help itself, I actually consider what he said. “I mean, technically, you’re not the god of shadows or even the goddess of night.” Now I’m on a roll. “And if the fire-and-brimstone thing is true, then it seems like it would be quite well lit down there.”
His eyes glint at me like sharpened knives.
I can’t tell if he’s offended or surprised by my running commentary. Unfortunately for both of us, I have a good imagination—and a lot of opinions. “You have a perception issue, if you think about it.”
“I have a perception issue,” he repeats.
“Yes, you do. If they can’t see for themselves, mortals will believe what they are told. I was always told that Hades is shrouded in darkness, smells of fire, and is covered in tattoos that can come alive at his will.”
His gaze trails down my body with such slow deliberation, it sends
the heat from earlier crawling farther up my neck and into my cheeks. “And yet you’re the one dressed in black and with tattoos, my star,” he points out.
I follow his gaze to my black fitted shirt paired with jeans—so it’s not all black. One sleeve has ridden up slightly to expose the pale skin of my wrist where the black ink tattoo peeks out. Two stars. A third star is on my other wrist, and when I put my arms together, they form Orion’s Belt.
One of the few things I remember before being taken in by the Order is watching Orion move across the sky outside my bedroom window. The constellation is an unchanging, ever-fixed mark in the night.
Is that why he called me his star twice now? I tug the sleeve down.
“So…” He comes out of his casual leaning to step closer. Close enough that I can breathe him in, which is when I learn that the god of death smells like the darkest, most sinful, bitter chocolate.
“What’s your name?” he asks.
I definitely do not want a god knowing my name. “Felix Argos.”
Hades doesn’t call me on the lie. Just watches me, gaze assessing like he’s debating something. A creative new punishment for me, probably.
“So…” I mimic his earlier phrasing and glance to the side of the temple and the way down the mountain. Escape is so close. Just out of reach, like the open door of a birdcage with a cat sitting outside. “What happens now?”
“What did you mean about being cursed?”
Ugh. I don’t want to talk about that . I hedge instead. “You don’t know?”
“Tell me like I don’t.”
“What if I don’t want to?”
He lifts a single eyebrow, and I get the message. Trying not to clench my teeth, I refuse to think about how Hades is only the second person I’ve ever shared this with.
After taking a deep breath, I say in a rush, “Twenty-three years ago, when I was still in my mother’s womb, she and my father came here to make an offering and pray for blessings on the birth. Her water broke, and your brother apparently took offense at her defi ling his sacred sanctuary. As punishment, he cursed her baby—me, as it happens—that no one would ever love me. There. End of story.”
His gaze turns colder, so calculating that I take a step back.
“He made you unlovable?” he asks as though he isn’t quite sure he believes me.
I give a jerking nod.
That curse is why my parents gave me up. They said it was the debt, but I know otherwise. It landed me in the Order of Thieves at three years old. It’s why I have no ride-or-die friends. It’s why Boone…
Up until tonight, I’ve tried to convince myself that things could have been worse. I mean, I could have ended up as kraken fodder or with snakes for hair and stone statues as my friends.
But it led me to this moment. Facing a different god. A worse god. One who obviously finds my curse interesting. Why? Because Zeus gave it to me? The current King of the Gods is a dick. That’s one thing Hades also agrees with me on. The question is, what is he going to do with me now?
Hades waves a hand at me, the action almost languid. “You may go.” I may— Wait… What?
never ask a god why
“Ican…go? Really—”
Hades lifts his eyebrows slowly. “You wish to argue?”
“No.” Never look a gift horse in the mouth…or a gift getaway in the escape hatch.
“This way,” he says.
He heads toward a path that takes us a different way down the mountain. I guess I’m supposed to follow? Hades prowls when he walks. I focus on his boots, because staring at his back—those leather straps do meet between his shoulder blades—or his perfectly formed ass, for that matter, just isn’t an option.
I hold my breath, every inch of me prickling with uncomfortable awareness that only grows as I keep up with him. It’s the whole “raw power of the gods” thing. That’s the only reason for the prickles, I tell myself.
I’m not sure I believe me.
We walk in silence until a sidewalk paralleling the main street comes into view. Along with crowds. I stop walking. He stops, too, glancing back. “Problem?”
“Um…” I stare past him, and he follows my gaze. Three more feet and everyone will be able to see us together. See me…with the god of freaking death.
“Don’t worry about them,” he says as though reading my mind. “Only you can see who I truly am. Everyone else just sees a regular mortal man.”
Right. Awesome. Except the pledges still hanging around this place might see me with a strange man and ask questions. Can I get out of this?
“Come on.”
I guess I can’t.
We emerge onto the teeming sidewalk, and I pause. Should I say goodbye before we part…or something?
I offer him a small salute. “I appreciate you not smiting me.”
I think I’m home free as I turn to walk away, but he spins me toward him by the shoulders, grip fi rm. Suddenly, I’m staring up into eyes of swirling, molten metal, but burning. The way coal burns black.
“Be more careful with your words, my star,” he says in a voice that isn’t as smooth as before—it’s more like raw silk now. “You never know when the gods might take up the gauntlet you just threw down… And any other day, I probably would have.”
Every single particle of me is strung so taut I might snap at any second, adrenaline so hot in my veins that my skin tightens. But that’s the problem. In this moment, I feel more…alive. As if every second I have left is precious because those seconds are numbered.
“Smiting is a quick death,” I whisper. “There are worse things.”
His eyes flare as he searches my expression, and I hold my breath, anticipating the flash of pain before the nothingness of death. That’s how I imagine it.
It doesn’t come.
Instead, his expression alters. The change is subtle enough, slow enough, that at fi rst, I’m not even sure I’m seeing it, but the burn of warning turns…softer. A different kind of heat.
Hades lifts a hand to draw a fingertip from my temple to my jaw, the touch a mere whisper against my skin, leaving a trail of heady sensation in its wake. He stares at me, and I stare at him, and I know I should look away. Of the two of us, I’m the mortal, so I should be the one to break, to give in, to acknowledge defeat.
I can’t. I won’t.
“You’re right, my star,” he murmurs. His gaze trails lower to linger on my lips. “There are worse things.”
Then his gaze goes from fire to ice in a blink. He straightens abruptly, spins me around, and gives me a little push into the crowd, like he’s releasing an undersized fish back into the ocean.
Somehow, even though the rest of me has gone offl ine, my feet manage to walk me away. I’m thirty feet away before he calls after me.
“Stay out of trouble, Lyra Keres.”
I come to a dead stop but don’t turn. That is not the name I gave him.
I’d love to know how he knows mine or why he bothered to ask, since he clearly already did, but self-preservation has finally kicked in, even if a bit late, and escape is literally right around the bend.
So, I lift a hand in a wave of acknowledgment…and keep walking, counting my steps like they might be my last.
the chosen few
Being required to attend the opening rites of the Crucible is worse than a trip down the River Styx.
Felix is losing his shit. I know he is because every time I catch a glimpse of him through the crush of people, he’s gnashing his teeth together and looking around wildly. Nice of him to make an appearance, finally. At least I’ve managed to rejoin the others on the city side of the bridge without catching his eye.
A minor miracle, actually.
I haven’t been spotted by Boone or Chance, either. I have a plan to keep it that way. As soon as things here really get started, I’m sneaking back to the den. Not just to avoid various confrontations, but also to process everything that I’ve been through tonight. Especially a certain god.
Felix swings his gaze in my direction, and I duck, trying to make myself as small as possible. Maybe he doesn’t know I abandoned my duties earlier, but this isn’t the time to fi nd out. When he turns back without seeing me, I let out a silent breath of relief, then can’t help but smile a little to myself. Frustration really doesn’t sit well on his craggy features.
Not that I can blame him. This is a thief’s paradise. All these pockets so very ripe for the picking, and all his pledges have had their hands tied, since it’s now a little past midnight and the festival has officially begun.
The gathered people are smooshed together in milling multitudes. It feels like every living soul within a thousand miles of San Francisco— even those who don’t worship this set of gods—is here.
That makes sense if I think about it.
Most mortals have a vested interest in who is crowned ruler of the Olympian gods next for several reasons—a favorite or most hated or feared god or goddess, or a certain god as a patron, like me. And some are more directly impacted. I’m guessing many farmers favor Demeter to win, to bless their crops and harvests. Soldiers would favor Ares. Scholars and teachers want Athena. And so on.
Even mortals who worship other gods are interested because of the spectacle of it all. Or maybe they dislike a god with similar or competing powers to their own. Or maybe, most simply, they just don’t want to offend said gods.
No matter which way you look at it, the world is watching with interest.
And despite that, every single valuable is safe now.
No wonder my old mentor looks harried. Not a single whistle sounds. At least not the kind our pledges make when they coordinate around a potential mark.
And this will last the entire month.
I shift back and forth on my feet, staring at Zeus’ temple across the way as it does nothing beyond the usual lightning display.
Up in that temple, the gods’ mortal acolytes burn offerings, whisper prayers, and perform whatever rites they deem necessary. Since this only happens once every hundred years, I’d place bets that they’re just making it up as they go.
Not that we can see any of it from here. No cameras are allowed to record inside the temple—another edict from the gods. But it means I’m stuck with millions of others staring at the white-columned building atop the mountain on the other side of the bridge like it might suddenly turn into a dragon and breathe fire.
So far, all that’s happened is a single puff of white smoke that trailed upward into the sky, probably from a sacrifice.
People have filled the street along the bay all the way to the fringes of the city itself, and those of us standing at the very back have been channeled in between buildings. That’s where I am.
The other pledges are gathered in little groups, debating if Hermes will pick a thief or not. It’s happened before. After the initial round of smirks and glances aimed in my direction, they’ve gone back to ignoring me, which is good for my escape plan.
Several people around me stare at their phones, watching various forms of “live coverage” of even more people around the globe standing in streets in other cities, staring at various temples of these gods. I catch snatches of commentary here and there, not that they have much new to report yet.
“Legends hold that the gods and goddesses got so sick of Zeus as their king, they fought among themselves to be the one to topple him, resulting in the Anaxian Wars,” a news anchor is saying on a device near me. “It got so ugly that they wrecked wonders, knocking the Colossus of Rhodes off his feet and turning hundreds of warriors to terracotta.”
I snort a laugh. That pissed off a whole different set of gods, apparently.
The newscaster is still talking. “They destroyed cities like Atlantis and Pompeii and eventually demolished their home of Olympus, which has since been rebuilt.”
Everyone knows this story. After that, the gods formed a pact that they would never directly fight one another again, and the Crucible was created—where they just let us mortals duke it out on their behalves, apparently.
A gasp rips through the masses around me. “Zeus,” someone calls out. “Zeus is choosing.”
“Where?” a few others ask loudly.
After that, voices rise in a mottled swell of sound. I inch closer to a man to my left who is watching his phone with avid interest.
Sure enough, at a simple temple I don’t recognize located somewhere else in the world, a massive bolt of lightning shears out of a clear blue sky and strikes the temple with a clap of thunder so loud it appears to shake the very ground. Then a deep voice booms out—maybe from inside the building where he is, because I don’t see the god anywhere. “I am Zeus—first King of the Gods, god of the skies, thunder and lightning, god of weather, law and order, kingship, destiny and fate.”
I roll my eyes. Destiny and fate are the same thing. Aren’t they? Pompous jackass.
And it should be King of the Olympian Gods, by the way. But all the gods of my pantheon are egotistical enough to want to lay claim to the whole thing. So, King of the Gods it is.
“On this, the first day of the Crucible, I shall select first.” The god
pauses, almost like he’s waiting for applause or something. Given we’re all unsure about exactly how this works and what it means, and I’m guessing the crowds surrounding the temple where he is are now having a hard time hearing around the ringing in their ears from the thunder, they all remain silent and watchful.
“I choose…”
stay out of my way
It’s like the hush crawls out of the video and hangs over the people here, too, as we collectively wait and watch, breathless with curiosity, no one daring to so much as cough. Who will he pick?
Another bolt of lightning fl ashes down, this time striking outside the temple, at the top of the steps between the two pillars of the main entrance. The noise makes several people scream. Out of nowhere, a man appears where the lightning struck, visibly disoriented.
Zeus’ voice booms again. “Samuel Sebina.”
I stare at the phone. Zeus’ chosen mortal has to be even taller and more muscled than Boone, with ebony skin and short black hair. He seems too stunned to do more than look around. As fast as he appeared, he’s gone. Who knows where?
Another cry goes up. “Hera!” someone shouts. “Hera is choosing.”
Heads remain bowed over phones as people watch.
“I am Hera, goddess of marriage, women, and the stars of the heavens.” From a nearby phone, I catch a sultry voice you might think belonged to Aphrodite emanating from one of her own temples somewhere else in the world. “I choose…”
I don’t hear the rest because to my right, Chance is pushing his way in my direction. Trepidation fl oods my body in an itchy wave. More embarrassment, retribution, or calling Felix’s attention to the fact I left my post earlier—all are strong possibilities of what happens if he finds me. Time to get out of here.
I scoot sideways into a narrow alley between buildings. When I glance back, Chance is craning his neck. Yeah. He’s definitely looking for me. It takes a few evasive maneuvers, but I finally round the corner and nearly
collide with a broad male chest.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Boone exclaims in an overly jovial voice. “Slow down, Lyra-Loo—” He cuts off the nickname he gave me as kids so abruptly it’s jarring.
Oh gods. He knows. About Chance. About my crush. Everything. Not that I’m surprised.
“You were humming again,” he points out with a grin. “I thought Felix trained that out of you.”
I put a hand over my mouth like I can pull those sounds back inside. Humming was a habit as a young pledge. I hadn’t even noticed I was doing it. It’s been a while since my training days, though, so I guess it’s back.
“Sorry,” I mutter and inch around him.
He moves, blocking the way. “Where are you going in such a rush?”
I’m pretty sure, in the history of our entire acquaintance, he’s never cared enough to ask me that. I shuffle back and force myself to look him in the eyes. Deep-brown eyes. I always liked his eyes.
And I could just bawl. Years of waiting for him to pay more attention to me, and he chooses today. The one time I don’t want it. I glance back but don’t see Chance. Yet.
“Nowhere,” I say.
I step. Boone steps, blocking me again.
“Excuse me.” I step again.
He blocks again.
“What?” I snap.
He blinks at me, probably because I never snap at him. Then a mottled flush creeps up his face, and he runs a hand around the back of his neck.
Oh…no. He doesn’t want to actually talk about it, does he? I’d really, really, really rather not. Especially not here or now.
An odd light enters his eyes, and he opens his mouth only to close it again. Sure enough. “Lyra—”
A loud murmur rises from the crowds in the streets on either end of the alley.
“I don’t want to miss this.” I manage to dodge around him, catching him on the hop for once.
“Wait.” He grabs my arm and swings me back around, reminding me of another man who did that to me tonight. I’m beginning to feel a bit
like a rag doll, and about to say as much, but Boone is close enough I can smell the scent of the generic soap the den supplies in the bathrooms. I still for a moment, then shake my head. I have got to get out of here before Chance catches up and makes this all worse. I look pointedly at his hand.
He follows my gaze, then lets go abruptly. “Listen. I… Fuck… I’m sorry. Chance is an ass. If I’d been there, I would have done something about it.”
This is just getting worse by the second. I don’t need him feeling sorry for me. And that’s what this is.
“It’s fine, Boone,” I say. “I handled it.”
“I heard.” He grimaces again. “You’re sure—”
“Yeah. Not a big deal. It’s not your problem anyway.” This time when I go around him, he doesn’t stop me.
I get far enough that I think he’s actually going to let me go, but instead he’s suddenly beside me, not stopping me but walking with me. “You’re not trying to watch.” A statement, not a question. His voice is rife with curiosity now. “So, where are you going?”
I shoot him a sideways look. “I don’t need your pity friendship, Boone. I’m fine. Really.”
“This isn’t pity.” He offers a lopsided smile tinged with remorse.
I wish I didn’t know better. It’s not his fault.
“I thought we were cool,” he says.
Right. Normally, I’d shoot some chipper sarcasm his way. I just don’t have it in me. So I try a different tack and tell him the truth. “I’m going back to the den.”
“You’re going back now?” Doubt laces his voice as he looks over at the crowd we’re leaving behind. “What about the festival? The gods are choosing.”
“I’ll see the highlight reel later.” As long as Zeus isn’t king again, I really don’t care about the results. Hermes would be nice for the Order, though.
I gesture back toward the temple. “Felix won’t like both of us missing this. The upper bosses said we all had to be present to honor Hermes.”
He turns serious. “Chance isn’t easy to hide from for long. I’ll walk you back.”
I should have known he’d figure it out. “Don’t you want to watch?”
That cocky grin gets me every time. He holds up a cell phone. “Got that covered. The view from where we were sucked anyway.”
Sticking to me like a burr, Boone keeps one eye on me and one on the phone, reporting the gods’ selections as we make our way through near-empty city streets. The way we go, the fastest way, takes us past Atlas Tower.
Lifestyles of the uber wealthy and questionably powerful. Despite all the riches the condos in that skyscraper contain, it’s off-limits to all pledges. The inhabitants have enough time, money, and spite to make sure intruders meet grisly ends if they get caught. Also, everyone knows Hades owns the penthouse.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up as I wonder if he’s there.
Why am I thinking about him right now? He’s the least of my worries. I live with an asshole named Chance, and as much as I’m ducking him tonight, I know it’s only a matter of time before he takes a wrecking ball to my life.
I toss another quick glance at Boone and let out a long sigh. As awful as it was before, I’m certain having a secret crush on a guy will feel infinitely less painful than one your nemesis can taunt you with.
When we get to a chain-link fence blocking off the entrance to tunnels that lead under the city streets, Boone unlocks the gate, locking it again behind us. Just inside the tunnel entrance, hidden behind stacks of garbage, we pull out rubber boots. It’s the pledges’ jobs to make sure the various entry points to our underground den stay stocked with these and flashlights.
I straighten from putting on a pair when Boone says, “Looks like another is about to go. I think it’s Artemis.”
I wrinkle my nose. If they stay true to pecking order, they’ve already selected the first ten mortals. That went fast. After Artemis, only one god will be left who still needs to select. I sigh again. I thought I’d get more time before everyone returned.
I grab a flashlight and start walking down into the graffiti-covered cement passageway.
Boone holds the phone out as we keep going so we can both see. With no flourish or fanfare, one of Artemis’ famous golden arrows shoots out of nowhere to jam into the ground on the screen, and a mortal appears in a poof of smoke.
There’s a stir among the crowd, and Boone murmurs, “Well, would you look at that. Artemis picked a man.”
“Huh,” I say and keep sloshing through ankle-deep water, tossing only a quick glance at the screen to see a leanly athletic guy with lightbeige skin and dark hair blink back at the camera.
Historically, the goddess favors women exclusively.
Boone just shrugs without breaking stride.
With practiced ease, we reach our destination—a solid-looking wall covered in a heroic depiction of Hermes, with his helm tucked under one arm and the Talaria, his winged sandals, on his feet. Graffiti, of course, to blend in with all the other art down here.
I pause to swing my flashlight both ways, checking that we weren’t followed but only catching the glow of a rat’s eyes before I douse the light. Boone switches off the phone, too. In the pitch-black darkness, I press my palm to the cement wall, feeling for the crypticodes I know are there—small, hidden, raised bumps, a system of letters that are imperceptible to the mortal eye, but we thieves know how to find them and can read them by touch. A way to leave directions for one another— which buildings to avoid, where there are holes in surveillance camera coverage, and so forth.
I don’t bother to read this one, since I know what it says. But at the end of the letters is the button, also hidden from sight, that I depress, triggering a thick cement door to swing open on a gust of breeze. We swiftly step inside before it closes just as fast. Every year or two, a new pledge doesn’t move quick enough, and it’s a bloody mess—one that is my lot to clean up—and a true shame.
As soon as the door seals shut behind us, the secret, god-made chambers that make up our den are immediately illuminated by lanterns blazing with a blue fire that never dies. Fire, it is said, that Hermes gifted the Order to light our dens all over the world.
Boone turns the phone back on.
“You get a signal down here?” I ask.
“I stole Felix’s wifi password.” He sets it on the floor as we both stop to take off the boots.
When I’m done, I put mine and the flashlight on the shelves available for all the pledges to use as we come and go. Boone’s still struggling with his, and I study his downbent head. He didn’t have to help me play keep-
away with Chance.
He glances at the phone. “Looks like Hermes made his choice.”
I swallow before asking, “A thief?”
Boone squints at the screen, then shakes his head. “Zai Aridam?”
I pause at that. “Where have I heard that name before?”
He flips the phone around to show me, and sure enough, that name is scrolling across the image, and it finally clicks why it’s familiar. In the last Crucible, a hundred years ago, a man named Mathias Aridam was Zeus’ pick. He never returned. Actually, not a single mortal returned from that one. But their families were all blessed beyond measure.
Aridam. That family took their blessing and moved away from anyone who knew them. This can’t be a coincidence, can it?
“That’s all of them,” Boone says. “I hope they each return home at the end.”
He’s likely in the minority there, as we were still enjoying the result of so many blessings bestowed when no one returned from the last Crucible. I don’t say that out loud.
“Ready?” Boone gets to his feet.
I take a deep breath. “Sure. Why not?”
My stomach sinks when it looks like he’s about to answer my absolutely rhetorical question, but a shock of screams bursts from the phone’s speakers and we both glance down.
“What the—” We stare at the screen.
“Merciful hells,” I mutter.
Zeus’ temple now has a massive, billowing column of red flame out front, pouring black smoke into the skies. Only one god would use that as an entrance.
Hades.
I bet he was scoping out the temple earlier just for this. Of course that would be my luck. The one time I’ve gone anywhere near that forsaken place in all my life, I run into him.
“What is he up to now?” I mutter, ignoring the questioning glance Boone shoots me.
“Greetings, living mortals.” Hades’ voice doesn’t boom. It flows. My stomach clenches in stark recognition of that distinctive fathomless slide of a voice.
“As you all know, I have lost a dear one recently—my lovely
Persephone.”
I squeeze my eyes shut at that.
Persephone. His darkly, obsessively beloved queen—Persephone. His dead queen.
I shiver.
“In her honor…I, too, shall choose a champion,” he announces.
Holy shit. Hades doesn’t participate in the Crucible. Technically, he’s not even part of the major Olympians. Here in the Overworld, rumor has it that because he’s already King of the Underworld, the others in this pantheon don’t want to give him even more power, so he’s not allowed to become King of the Gods in Olympus as well.
A heave of murmurs rips through the crowds around the temple loud enough that the live feed picks it up.
And the mortal he picks. To be chosen by the god of death…yikes. I don’t care exactly what it is the gods have those people doing as champions—but that particular mortal is going to be so screwed.
Hades offers the crowds a slow smile. “And I shall choose…”
Suddenly, thick black smoke swirls around my feet, fi lling the chamber, and an immediate, knowing dread tries to tear a hole in my stomach. I jerk my head up to stare at Boone, who stares back with dawning horror widening his eyes. “Lyra?”
Oh my gods. “You’ve got to be—”
The smoke envelops me completely, and my vision goes black. Only for a second. It’s like I slow blinked, and when it comes back, I am not in the den, watching all this happen on a tiny screen.
Instead, I’m standing at the entrance to the Temple of Zeus in a dissipating cloud of black smoke that smells of fire and brimstone, with Hades by my side.
With the worst timing ever, that bastard pulled me here mid-sentence, and my mouth finishes what I was in the middle of saying. “—shitting me.”
The two words drop into the stunned silence that has taken over the temple and all of San Francisco. Probably the entire fucking world.
Hades smiles directly at me—cunning and supremely satisfied, as if I couldn’t have thrilled him more with those crass words. Then he wraps his hand around mine, lifting both, and faces the crowds. “Lyra Keres!”
PART 2 DEATH’S VIRTUE
This offending soul would like to thank Death for the honor… but decline.
fortune’s fools
I’m dead. I’m dead. I am so very, very dead.
“Don’t do this,” I whisper, ducking my head and hoping no one can read my lips or hear me as I essentially beg Hades to let me go. We’re still standing in front of the masses, waiting for I don’t know what.
“It’s done.” There’s no give. No pity.
He’s finally getting around to punishing me for earlier. That’s what this has to be. I have the worst luck with petty gods and this damned temple.
“Smile, my star,” Hades commands, soft but still compelling. “All the world is getting a good look at you before I take you away.”
In a disorienting flash followed by an immediate thunderclap that sends my ears ringing, someone else is standing with us.
Zeus.
Current power-hungry King of the Gods. I like to think of him as a narcissistic toddler.
Like Hades, this god is impossible to mistake, with pale curls that look like they’ve been shocked white forming a halo over his forehead, which strangely doesn’t make his fair skin look washed out. He doesn’t even look thirty…and Hades looks even younger, despite being the older of the two. I guess it’s true what they say about good genes and exercise. Zeus, though, is too pretty for my taste, although it is said his skin bears the scars of the Anaxian Wars. Something about Hephaestus and a volcano.
He’s dressed in an impeccable three-piece suit, though it is all white with a green tie that looks like he’s oozing algae from the neck.
Arrogant eyes so blue they almost hurt to gaze upon rake Hades
from head to toe.
If I wasn’t so busy trying not to lose my shit over my own situation, I might’ve been amused by the comical mix of frustration and fury contorting Zeus’ otherwise angelic features. Turns out beauty, even godlike beauty, turns ugly with nasty thoughts.
The crowds trailing down the mountain, across the bridge, and into the city erupt at his appearance.
“The Crucible is of no interest to you, brother,” Zeus says with a smile, his voice booming across the headlands as he turns to play to his audience.
“And yet we both know you can’t stop me,” Hades muses casually for only us to hear. Then, in a voice that also rolls across the hillside, he says, “My brother wouldn’t be afraid of a little competition, would he?”
The responding cheers bring a scowl to Zeus’ angelic face, and electricity sparks over his head in tiny, popping bursts of light.
I lean in Hades’ direction. “Are you actively trying to get electrocuted?”
He’s watching Zeus, and I’m not sure if the sneer on his lips is for his brother or me. “I didn’t know you cared.”
For me, I guess. I give an inelegant snort. “I don’t. But I’m in striking range of where you stand, and I, unlike you, happen to be mortal.”
He still doesn’t look at me. “That instinct to save yourself first is going to serve you well.”
What in the Underworld is that supposed to mean? I might be cursed to never be loved, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care about others. In fact, in a lot of ways, it makes me care too much, putting everyone else’s happiness before my own. But that’s not my biggest problem right now…
I open my mouth to tell him that if he thinks I’m going to participate in this farce of the gods’ one-upmanship, or whatever is going on here, he’s mistaken.
But before I can reply, before even Zeus can, Hades says above the roar of the crowd, “Let the games begin!”
Then there’s a flash of lightning the exact moment I do that blinkingdisappearing thing again, this time without the smoke effects. The blinking thing lasts a little longer this time, and I swear I feel a steadying touch at the small of my back.
When my vision blinks back in, Hades and I are no longer standing