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  “Zeus,” Hermes quivered. “He has called an emergency council of the gods, and that demands you, Hades.” Hades stepped forward past her beasts, and Hermes’ eyes shot up to meet hers before flicking to her husband’s. “He requires the god of the Underworld,” he clarified, gazing fully at Alkaios’ hulking frame for the first time since he had arrived. “He needs you.”

  II

  The colossal council chamber doors swung wide with such violence they nearly wrenched from their hinges, and Alkaios strode through with thundering steps, the clang of the pitchfork striking the stone floor punctuating his footfalls. Dark head raised in confidence, his long stride bore down and propelled him into the center of the circular chamber, his hand outstretched behind him. Hades’ smaller frame followed with equally regal force as her fingers lifted to slip into Alkaios’ waiting palm. The same ferocity colored her eyes now as it did the time she discovered the council chamber had birthed a new throne, a throne destined for the third great god of might, Zeus’ left hand. The trinity above the rest, their thrones reigned higher than the others. There was only one difference from the last time Hades had sat in on a council. That seat was now no longer hers.

  The double doors thudded shut as the king and queen of death drifted through. The waiting gods startled in their seats at the slamming force, and Alkaios climbed the few steps to his throne, leading his raven-haired queen by their intertwined fingers. An uncomfortable noise escaped Hera’s throat, which ignited a small smile on Hades’ lips. Hera had tried desperately to separate Hades from Zeus, yet the universe saw fit to grace the throne between her and Zeus to the god of the Underworld.

  “This is a council of the gods,” Zeus said to Alkaios by way of greeting.

  “And so I am here,” Alkaios grunted as he settled into his seat and released Hades’ hand. She slipped effortlessly behind him to lean on the stone back, black dress whispering about her ankles.

  “Yet she is not.” Zeus nodded to Hades without raising his eye to look at her. He had been unable to meet her gaze since his attempt to destroy Alkaios’ soul with the Touch of the Gods. Zeus had expected the mortal’s destruction to put an end to her, but her salvation of the man she loved infuriated him. Adding insult to injury, the mortal had publicly assumed the name Hades, god of the Underworld. To Zeus, Alkaios would never be more than the vile human Hades had used to embarrass him, but by transferring her power to her new husband, Alkaios was now Zeus’ equal.

  “Your wife is on the council,” Alkaios responded, laying the pitchfork across his knees. “If your wife is present, then so shall mine.”

  “Hera is divine,” Zeus said with bitter venom. “Hades is nothing after she so foolishly sacrificed her birthright for your life.”

  “Your wife, even as a god, has only a fraction of the power Hades holds,” Alkaios snarled, the color in his eyes draining to solid and terrifying black, and with cold precision, he turned them on Zeus. “This pitchfork, the weapon of the Underworld, still answers to her. The Underworld still does her bidding. The great throne that your Titan father sat upon was a solitary figure since the beginning of time. The fortress never saw fit to grant your mother one, yet the moment Hades transferred her power, a second throne formed from the old stone. There now sits two, one for a king and another for his queen. She rules as I do, and so Hades stays. I make no decision without her.”

  Zeus twitched, but Poseidon’s slender fingers clamped around his brother’s bicep in a vice-like grip, holding him in place. With an almost imperceptible shake of his head, Poseidon sent a silent warning to his brother. The last time they challenged the god of death, an exacting price had been paid to stop her, and just because the players differed now, did not mean the power did.

  “She stays,” Poseidon said with a nod at Hades, “but only as an observer.”

  “Very well,” Alkaios responded as he reached behind him. In response, Hades slipped her hand over his broad shoulder, and he covered her knuckles with his encompassing palm. The caring gesture was not lost on Zeus, and a pang of jealousy raged deep in his stomach.

  “What is it that warrants this council?” Alkaios asked, looking around the room. He still had trouble believing that he, the lowly farmer, was in the divine’s presence as an equal.

  “A prophecy,” Zeus answered, shaking off his irritation and standing. He walked to the floor of the chamber, removing a piece of parchment from his robes, and placed it on a stone pedestal in the middle of the room for all to witness. “The Oracle of Delphi’s prayer called out in the dark hours this morning. I could hear the fear in her pleading, the urgency. I wasted no time in answering her. The Oracle was distraught and in pain, a deep terror in her eyes, for she had prophesied during the night.”

  “Why would a prophecy terrify her?” asked Ares. “The Oracle is anointed with a direct connection to the gods. She prophesies for us with regularity.”

  “Because,” Zeus said, annoyed at the interruption. “She claims to have no knowledge of who spoke through her, nor does she have any memory of the prophecy. If it were not for her handmaiden witnessing it, she would have woken on the cold floor without an inkling of what had happened.”

  “How is that possible?” Poseidon asked. “She knows us well enough to recognize our presence. We never possess her in secret. She would have known whose messaged she spoke.”

  “She knows all, save one,” Zeus twisted his eyes accusingly toward Alkaios with intent.

  “This is why you summoned me,” Alkaios spat, leaning forward in his seat. “The dark and evil god of the Underworld, who else would have possessed and terrified the Oracle?” Alkaios laughed, the sound harsh as it echoed about the room. “It was neither my wife nor I. We have had no need of the Oracle, and if we did, believe me, she would know for whom she spoke.”

  “In truth, I hoped it was you.” Zeus stared at Alkaios, rubbing his fist over his mouth. His chest deflated in obvious concern. “I had hoped it was the dark god.”

  “Why?” Poseidon asked as he shifted forward in his throne.

  “Because,” Zeus exhaled, running his fingers through his short, golden-blonde hair. “She knew not who spoke through her. The king of death is the only god she is not acquainted with, and if it was not him, then who? Pray tell me, if anyone in this room prophesied through the Oracle last night and hid your identity from her, speak now.”

  “It was none of us,” Ares answered as Zeus searched their faces with pleading eyes, but the Olympians only murmured their agreements with Ares.

  “If it was not I nor any of the others, then who inspired the prophecy?” Alkaios asked, but Zeus just stared at him, rubbing his hand over his mouth once again with a furrowed brow.

  “I do not know, and that concerns me. The Oracles are blessed with a divine connection to the supernatural hence why we speak through her with such ease. Anything of power should be able to use their prophetic voices, but if it was not the gods nor anyone from the Underworld, who then possesses the strength to not only enslave her but to cause her memory to fail?” The whole room fell silent, staring at one another, the gravity of Zeus’ words sinking in.

  “If something or someone can do this to her, we need to know,” Zeus continued. “If there is a power besides us prophesying, this could bode ill.”

  “How do we know she is not lying?” Alkaios asked, and at his words, the gods burned scowling glances into his skin.

  “The Oracle does not lie,” Poseidon said. “Chosen at birth, the Oracles are women with divine connections to all things spiritual. They are born pure of heart to speak our messages to the masses, a requirement to become vessels of the gods. She would never lie on principle alone, but even if tempted to, she would refrain out of fear. It never ends well for those found lying.”

  “You did not see her,” Zeus added. “One cannot fake the terror I saw in her soul, not to mention her fingers. She had dug them raw and bloody into the stone floor, her nails ripped and jagged. Something drove her to do that to herself. It wa
s not of her own accord.”

  “What was the prophecy?” Alkaios stood and made his way down the steps toward Zeus.

  “She could not tell me. It seems she carved the prophecy into the ground with her blood without knowing what she wrote.” Zeus gestured to the parchment. “I attempted to see past her words, but whoever spoke through her is cloaked from me. I only know what little her handmaid witnessed.”

  “What did she hear?” Poseidon asked as he followed Alkaios’ lead in making his way down the steps toward his brother.

  “The first have come,” Zeus answered. “The first have come, and they seek the last.”

  “The first?” came Ares’ voice above the room’s murmurs. “What does that mean?”

  “I am at as much a loss as you,” Zeus replied. “I assume the prophecy is written in full on that parchment. The Oracle copied her blood writing in ink for me to study.”

  “What language is this?” Alkaios asked, picking up the parchment from its resting place. Crude symbols were hastily etched across the surface. They resembled no normal letters, and despite the Oracle’s penmanship, the runes were raw and primitive.

  “I have never seen it,” Zeus admitted.

  “Nor have I,” Poseidon agreed, and as the room burst into rumbling murmurs, Alkaios set the writing back on the pedestal and looked to his wife. She no longer stood behind his throne but was walking toward the parchment, eyes narrowed on the symbols. The gods jostled, vying for a sight of the strange words, and not a soul besides Alkaios bothered to notice Hades as she slunk through the chaos.

  “This is not a language of our time or our father’s.” Zeus raised his voice above the din of the crowd. “Its crudeness hints of ancient origins, but there is an evil to these symbols. It bled through the Oracle’s home, permeating from her blood, and I am concerned what dark power could cause this? I need all on this council to go to your realms and search. We must discover for whom the Oracle spoke.”

  As the crowd jostled, Alkaios noticed Hades pass him, inching toward the unattended parchment. He stepped in behind her only to be elbowed harshly in the ribs by a wildly gesturing Athena.

  “I have seen these before,” Hades murmured under her breath, her voice drowned in the conversation’s confusion. Alkaios watched her drift, seamlessly parting the sea of bodies, and sidestepping Athena, he rubbed his stinging skin and drove through the crowd after his wife. He closed the distance with a few long strides and reached for her elbow just as she grabbed for the prophecy.

  “I know these…” but Hades never finished her sentence, for the moment her fingers connected with the parchment, her eyes twisted violently into her skull, and her body convulsed in heaving spasms. Her head snapped backward at an unnatural angle, her neck twisting like a broken doll, and Hades crashed to the floor. Alkaios shot forward, arms outstretched to catch her falling figure, but she plummeted with such a force, his fingertips merely brushed her cold skin as she slipped through his grasp. The room fell into sudden silence at the crack of Hades’ skull against the stone. Not a single word escaped the gaping mouths save for Alkaios’ desperate voice calling Hades’ name as she writhed on the ground, eyes rolled so far back that only the whites could be seen.

  III

  “I have never seen these symbols,” Charon said as he and Alkaios made their way through the fire-lit fortress. The crumbling fixture had once been home to the Titans before the Great War’s destruction condemned it to rot in solitude between Tartarus and Elysium. “If this language ever existed, it predates the Titan.”

  “It was worth asking,” Alkaios sighed with disappointment, taking the parchment back from his friend. “Zeus has never seen this writing, but I hoped since you are older you might have.”

  “I wish I could help, but this is beyond me.”

  “But what I do not understand is why it affected Hades and no one else?” Alkaios said. “It was instant. She touched it and was convulsing on the floor. She thrashed about, her body refusing to calm, and when she stilled, she remained locked in unconsciousness and has yet to wake. Zeus said this was only a copy of what the Oracle had carved in blood. How could ink and parchment curse her?”

  “It makes little sense,” Charon answered as they turned the corner toward the ancient throne room. “Simple ink should not carry a curse, but we know not what is written here. The Oracle is human, and she wrote it, so it does not seem to affect mortals. Nor does it affect us, the gods. Perhaps because Hades is now immortal, but that seems improbable. There is a small chance, yet also unlikely, that this message is meant for her. Hades has seemed unwell as of late. I see you try to hide it, but do not forget I am still a god in my own right. Perhaps the loss of power is causing her troubles, but these are only guesses. Until you find the meaning behind these symbols, we will not know for sure.”

  As they entered the throne room, a black figure huddled on the second throne drew their gaze. Bare feet rested on Kerberos’ giant ribcage, rising and falling with his deep breaths.

  “Hades?” Alkaios’ voice echoed off the cavernous walls, and his wife turned her head. She gave him a weak smile, and the dark circles under her eyes took Alkaios aback. They spread heavy over her pallid skin like black ink smudged from dirty fingertips.

  “How do you feel?” Charon asked as he stepped over the three-headed dog and captured Hades’ face in his palms, examining her sluggish features.

  “My vision is blurry,” she whispered. Her lilted words passed through her lips with unusual difficulty.

  “Why did you get up?” Alkaios asked as he sunk to a crouch beside the ferryman.

  “Looking for you.” Hades gripped her husband’s fingers. “But I cannot see through the pain in my head. I waited for you to find me instead.”

  Both men grimaced at her words, and Alkaios stood, careful to avoid crushing the reclining dog, and scooped Hades to his chest. Kerberos bolted upright, his incredible height allowing one of his heads to nudge his mother’s limp and hanging arm until it rested across her belly.

  “Thank you,” Alkaios nodded to Charon and carried his wife into the darkness, concerned god-killer in tow.

  Blood streamed down the walls, pooling on the floor and causing Hades’ bare feet to slip and stumble over the slick stone as she fled. Death engulfed her, the smell permeating her nose. Decay clung thick to her hair. She knew not where she was nor why she was running, only that she must escape. This massacre knew no bounds, and the bodies sprawled on the ground begged her to join them in their cold slumber.

  Hades skidded around a sharp corner, feet sliding over the sticky surface. Her shoulder smashed into the wall with such savage impact, pain exploded in her bones, and her stumble plummeted her racing form to the foul ground. Yet she did not stop. She could not stop, and so Hades crawled, hands slapping before knees, fingers slipping in the red puddles. Her black dress grew heavy with crimson as it dragged over the carnage, the wet weight slowing her flee. She struggled to stand, but her toes grappled in the slickness, and her panicked body crashed to the floor. Her cheek slapped the pooling blood, splashing blindness into her irises, coating her hair. When Hades blinked the thickness away, the eyes of death stared back. Wide, unblinking eyes.

  Hades’ heart vomited into her throat. Pure and unadulterated panic snuck boney fingers chokingly about her heart. Deaf and blind with terror, Hades vaulted over the unearthly corpse, but salvation was not to be had, for the shadow was now ahead of her, its dark mass falling on the stone as it rounded the corner. The horns poised to shred flesh from living bone.

  “Hades!” a distant, urgent voice reverberated off the haunted halls. “Hades!” With a sudden violent pitch, the corridor heaved. The hallways shuddered, threatening to open wide the mouth of Hell and swallow her whole, yet she ran, desperate to remain on her feet. “Hades?”

  Hades bolted upright violently and heard the crack of a nose breaking before the pain of the impact split her forehead, but that did not stop her escape. She leapt from the bed and ran, tr
ipping over yet another body sprawled in death.

  Kerberos grunted as his mother stumbled forcibly over him in her haste and looked to Alkaios. The dog stared in wide-eyed bewilderment as Alkaios snapped his crooked nose back into place with a sick crunch. For a moment their eyes held one another’s gaze, uncertainty coloring their faces, and then as if of a single mind, they simultaneously surged after her into the blackness.

  Hades burst from the bedroom and stumbled over Chimera, who failed to flatten himself against the wall in time to evade her wild flee. One of Hades’ god-killers, the massive lion with the tail of a snake appeared as a large goat to his prey until their fate was sealed. Only then would they see his true form, but here in the Underworld, Chimera preferred to remain in his vicious feline state and slept faithfully each night in Hades’ doorway. Most nights his mass was a comfort to his mother, but tonight as she crashed over his body, heels crushing his ribs, Hades’ only acknowledgment of him was her stumbling. The sprawling lion roared at his panicked mother, but Hades was deaf to his cries. Her feet carried her with thundering power farther into the night. Chimera shifted his beastly head to watch Alkaios and Kerberos vault from the doorway before hauling himself forward in pursuit of his queen.

  “Hades?” Keres mumbled. The pounding commotion woke her, and at first, she thought it merely a dream, but at Chimera’s familiar snarl, she pushed her legs from the warmth of the blankets. The cold floor pricked her feet as she shuffled toward the door, but the moment she crossed the threshold, her body was shoved viciously backward. Hades’ powerful fist forced her to crash against the doorframe. Keres’ arms flailed, grasping for a fingerhold to halt her fall, but it was of no use. Her skull cracked against the stone.