A Touch of Malice Page 2

  A roar started in her ears, and her eyes burned, the power inside her a heat she could scarce contain.

  He had left strange gifts, stalked her, taken pictures of her in a space that was supposed to be safe. He had taken away her sense of security, even in sleep.

  “He’d wanted to use his cock as a weapon,” she said. “And I want it to burn.”

  “No! Please, Persephone. Persephone!”

  “Then make him burn.”

  The energy pooling in her hand was electric, and as her fingers slipped from Hades’s, she imagined the magic gathered there blasting toward Pirithous in an endless lava-hot stream.

  “This isn’t—”

  Pirithous’s words were cut short as the magic took root. There was no outward indication that anything was wrong with him—no flames leapt from his crotch—but it was clear he felt her magic. His feet dug into the ground, he bucked against his restraints, his teeth were clenched, and the veins in his head and neck popped.

  Still, he managed to speak through gritted teeth.

  “This isn’t you.”

  “I am not sure who you think I am,” she said. “But let me be clear—I am Persephone, future Queen of the Underworld, Lady of Your Fate. May you come to dread my presence.”

  Crimson dripped from Pirithous’s nose and mouth, his chest rose and fell rapidly, but he did not speak again.

  “How long will he stay like this?” Persephone asked, watching as Pirithous’s body continued to arch and strain against the pain. His eyes began to bulge from their sockets and a sheen of sweat broke out across his skin, making him look green in color.

  “Until he dies,” Hades replied simply, watching with an expression of disinterest.

  She didn’t flinch, didn’t feel, didn’t ask to leave until Pirithous was silent and limp once more. She considered her earlier question to Hades—does it help? In the aftermath, she had no answer, save for the knowledge that a part of her had wilted and that if she did this enough, the rest of her would wither away.

  Chapter II

  A Touch of Grief

  “How is the wedding planning going?” Lexa asked. She sat across from Persephone on a white quilt, embroidered with blue forget-me-nots. It had been a gift from one of the souls, Alma. She’d approached Persephone on one of her daily visits to Asphodel, a bundle in her arms.

  “I have something for you, my lady.”

  “Alma, you shouldn’t have—”

  “It is a gift for you to give,” the soul interrupted quickly, wisps of her silver hair floating around her round, rosy-cheeked face. “I know you grieve for your friend, so here, give her this.”

  Persephone had taken the bundle, and upon realizing what it was—a quilt, lovingly crafted with small, blue flowers—tears sprang to her eyes.

  “I don’t know that I need to tell you what forget-me-nots mean,” Alma continued. “True love, faithfulness, memories. In time, your friend will come to know you again.”

  That evening, after Persephone had returned to the castle, she’d hugged the blanket to her chest and wept. The next day, she gifted it to Lexa.

  “Oh, it is beautiful, my lady,” she’d said, holding the bundle as if it were a small child.

  Persephone stiffened at the use of her title; her brows furrowed, and when she spoke, she sounded more confused than anything. “My lady?”

  Lexa had never used Persephone’s title before. Their eyes met, and Lexa hesitated, blushing.

  Lexa never blushed.

  “Thanatos said it is your title,” she explained.

  Persephone recognized that titles had a use, but not among friends.

  “Call me Persephone.”

  Lexa’s eyes widened. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “You…didn’t.”

  As much as Persephone tried to sound convincing, she couldn’t imbue her voice with enough reassurance. The truth was, hearing Lexa call her my lady was another reminder that she wasn’t the same person as before, and as much as Persephone told herself to be patient with Lexa, it was difficult. Lexa looked the same, sounded the same—she even laughed the same, but her personality was different.

  “Besides, if we are using titles, then you would have to call Thanatos lord.”

  Again, Lexa appeared to be embarrassed. She averted his eyes, and her flush deepened as she answered, “He said…I didn’t have to.”

  Persephone had left that conversation feeling strange and somehow even more distant from Lexa than before.

  “Persephone?” Lexa asked.

  “Hmm?” Persephone was drawn from her thoughts. Her eyes shifted and met Lexa’s eyes—bright blue, beautiful. Her face was paler here beneath the light of Elysium, framed by her thick, dark locks. She was also dressed in a white gown that tied around the middle. It was a color Persephone could not remember her wearing in the time she had known her in the Upperworld.

  “Wedding planning—how is it going?” Lexa asked again.

  “Oh.” Persephone frowned and admitted, “I haven’t really begun.”

  That was half-true. She hadn’t begun planning—but Hecate and Yuri had. In all honesty, thinking of planning a wedding without Lexa hurt. If she’d been alive, her best friend would have been online looking for color palettes and dresses and venues. She would have made a plan and lists and explained customs Persephone had never been taught by her mother. Instead, she sat across from Persephone, quiet, subdued, unaware of their history. Even if Persephone had wanted to include her in Yuri and Hecate’s plans, she couldn’t—souls were not allowed to leave Elysium unless Thanatos deemed them ready to transition to Asphodel.

  “Perhaps we can take the planning to her,” Persephone had suggested.

  Thanatos had shaken his head. “Your visits leave her fatigued. She could not handle anything more at the moment.”

  He had also attempted to ease the rejection with his magic. The God of Death was able to calm those in his presence, bringing comfort to the grieving and easing anxiety. Sometimes, though, it had the opposite effect on Persephone. She found his influence over emotion invasive, even when he meant well. In the days after Lexa’s death, Thanatos had used his magic in an attempt to ease her suffering, but she’d told him to stop. While she knew he meant well, she wanted to feel—even if it hurt.

  It seemed wrong not to when she had caused Lexa so much pain.

  “You don’t seem excited,” Lexa pointed out.

  “I am excited to be Hades’s wife,” Persephone clarified. “It’s just…I never imagined that I would be getting married. I don’t even know where to start.”

  Demeter had never prepared her for this—for anything. The Goddess of Harvest had hoped to outwit the Fates by keeping her isolated from the world—from Hades. When she’d begged to leave the greenhouse, to enter the world in the guise of a mortal, she’d only had dreams of finishing her degree, beginning a successful career, and reveling in her freedom for as long as possible.

  Love had never been part of that dream, least of all marriage.

  “Hmm,” Lexa hummed, and she leaned back on her hands, head tilted toward the muted sky, as if she wished to sunbathe. “You should start with what makes you the most excited.”

  It was advice the old Lexa would have offered.

  But what made Persephone most excited was being Hades’s wife. When she thought of their future, her chest felt full, her body electric, her soul alive.

  “I will think on it,” Persephone promised as she rose to her feet. Speaking of the wedding, she was due at the palace soon to begin planning. “Although I am sure Hecate and Yuri will have their own ideas.”

  “They may,” Lexa said, and for a moment, Persephone couldn’t look away. The old Lexa stared back, thoughtful and sincere as she added, “But it is your wedding.”

  * * *

  Persephon
e left Elysium.

  She should teleport to Asphodel. She was already running late, but as she left Lexa behind, her vision blurred with tears. She stopped, burying her face in her hands. Her body ached, chest hollow and lungs aflame. She knew this feeling well, as it had crippled her in the days since Lexa’s death. It came, unbidden, like the nightmares haunting her sleep. It came when she expected it and even when she didn’t, attached to laughter and smells and songs, to words and places and pictures. It chipped away at pieces of her.

  And it wasn’t just sadness that burdened her—she was also angry. Angry that Lexa had been hurt at all, angry that despite the gods—despite her own divinity—there was no fighting Fate. Because Persephone had tried, and she had failed.

  Her stomach knotted, poisoned by guilt. If she had known what lay ahead, she would have never bargained with Apollo. When Lexa lay unconscious in the ICU, Persephone had just begun to understand what it was to fear losing someone. In fact, she had been so afraid, she had done everything in her power to prevent what was ultimately inevitable. Her decisions had hurt Lexa in ways that were only repairable with time—and a drink from the Lethe.

  Even with her memories gone, Persephone still had hope that the old Lexa would come back. Now she knew the truth—grief meant never going back, never collecting the pieces. It meant that the person she was now in the aftermath of Lexa’s death was who she would be until the next death.

  Bile rose in her throat.

  Grief was a cruel god.

  As she approached the palace, she was greeted by Cerberus, Typhon, and Orthrus, who bounded toward her. The three Dobermans halted before her, energetic but obedient. She knelt, scratching behind their ears and moving to their sides. She’d come to understand their personalities more. Of the three, Cerberus was the most serious and the most dominant. Typhon was mellow but always alert, and Orthrus could be silly when he wasn’t patrolling the Underworld—which was almost never.

  “How are my handsome boys?” she asked.

  They panted and Orthrus’s paws tapped the ground, as if he could barely contain his wish to lick her face.

  “Have you seen Hecate and Yuri?” she asked.

  They whined.

  “Take me to them.”

  The three obeyed, ambling toward the palace. Towering and ominous, it could be seen from just about anywhere in the Underworld. Its shining obsidian pinnacles seemed to go on forever, disappearing into the bright, gray-toned sky, a representation of Hades’s reach, his influence, his reign. At the base of the castle were gardens of green ivy, red roses, narcissus, and gardenias. There were willows and blossoming trees and pathways that cut through the flora. They were a symbol of Hades’s kindness, his ability to change and adapt—they were atonement.

  When she first visited, she’d been angry to find the Underworld so lush, both because of the bargain she’d struck with the God of the Dead and also because creating life was supposed to be her power. Hades had quickly illustrated that the beauty he had crafted was an illusion. Even then, she’d been jealous that he was able to use his magic so effortlessly. Though she was gaining control daily—through practices with Hecate and Hades—she still envied their control.

  “We are old gods, my dear,” Hecate had said. “You cannot compare yourself to us.”

  They were words she repeated every time she felt the familiar claws of jealousy. Every time she felt the familiar frustration of failure. She was improving, and one day, she would master her magic, and maybe then the illusions Hades had held for years would become real.

  The dogs led her to the ballroom where Hecate and Yuri stood before a table of floral stems, color swatches, and sketches of wedding dresses.

  “There you are,” Hecate said, looking up at the sound of the Dobermans’ nails tapping on the marble floor. They ran straight for the Goddess of Witchcraft, who bent to pat their heads before they plopped on the floor beneath the table, panting.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Persephone said. “I was visiting Lexa.”

  “That’s alright, dear,” Hecate said. “Yuri and I were just discussing your engagement party.”

  “My…engagement party?” It was the first time Persephone had heard anything about it. “I thought we were meeting to plan for the wedding.”

  “Oh, we are,” Yuri said. “But we must have an engagement party. Oh, Persephone! I cannot wait to call you queen!”

  “You can call her queen now,” Hecate said. “Hades does.”

  “It’s just so exciting!” Yuri clasped her hands. “A Divine wedding! We haven’t had one of those in years.”

  “Who was the last?” Persephone asked.

  “I believe it was Aphrodite and Hephaestus,” Hecate said.

  Persephone frowned. Rumors had always circulated about Aphrodite and Hephaestus, the most common that the God of Fire did not want the Goddess of Love. During the times Persephone had spoken to Aphrodite, she’d gathered that the goddess was not happy in her marriage, but she did not know why. When she tried to learn more about her relationship, Aphrodite shut down. In part, Persephone did not blame the goddess. Her love life and its struggles were no one’s business. Still, she got the sense that Aphrodite believed she was very much alone.

  “Were you in attendance at their wedding?” Persephone asked Hecate.

  “I was,” she said. “It was beautiful, despite the circumstances.”

  “Circumstances?”

  “Theirs was an arranged marriage,” Yuri explained. “Aphrodite was a gift to Hephaestus.”

  “A…gift.”

  Persephone cringed. How could a goddess—any woman—be presented as a gift?

  “That is what Zeus likes to say,” Hecate said. “But when she was born—a siren of beauty and temptation—Zeus was approached by several gods for her hand in marriage. Ares, Poseidon, even Hermes fell prey to her charms, though he will deny it. Zeus rarely makes a decision without consulting his oracle, and when he asked about marriage to each of those gods, the oracle foretold war, so he wed her to Hephaestus.”

  Persephone frowned. “But Aphrodite seems so…fierce. Why would she allow Zeus to determine who she weds?”

  “Aphrodite wanted to marry Hephaestus,” Hecate said. “And even if she hadn’t, she would not have had any choice. All Divine marriages must be approved by Zeus.”

  “What? Why? I thought Hera was the Goddess of Marriage.”

  “She is—and he involves her to a point, but he does not trust her. She would approve of a marriage if it meant an end to his reign as King of the Gods.”

  “I still don’t understand. Why do we need approval to marry?”

  “Marriage between gods is not like mortals—gods share power, and they have children. There are many factors Zeus must consider before he gives his blessing.”

  “Share…power?”

  “Yes—though I doubt it will affect Hades at all. He already has influence over the Earth, but you—you will have control over shadow, over death.”

  Persephone shivered. The thought that she would have to learn to control and harness more magic was a little overwhelming. She was just now mastering her own magic. Of course, that wouldn’t be a problem if Zeus did not approve of her marriage. Why hadn’t Hades told her about this?

  “Is there a chance Zeus will disapprove?” she asked, worrying her bottom lip. If he did, what would Hades do?

  Darling, I would burn this world for you.

  The words trailed along her skin, whispering along her spine—a promise Hades had made and would deliver upon if forced.

  “I cannot say for certain,” Hecate said, and her evasive words made anxiety flare in Persephone’s stomach—a constant static that sat in her heart and pumped through her veins. The goddess was rarely anything but direct.

  Yuri elbowed Hecate. “I am sure Zeus will approve,” she said. “What reasons could he possibly
have for denying you happiness?”

  Persephone could think of one—and that was her power. After she had lost control in the Forest of Despair and used Hades’s own magic against him, Hecate had confessed a fear she’d harbored since their first meeting—that she would be more powerful than any other god. That power would either land her a spot among the Olympians or as their enemy. Which, she could not say.

  Yuri seemed to tire of the conversation and changed the subject quickly.

  “Let’s start with color palettes!” she said, opening a large book on the table. Tufts of cloth stuck out from between the pages.

  “What is this?” Persephone asked.

  “It’s…well, it’s a book of wedding ideas.”

  “Where did you get it?”

  “The girls and I made it,” Yuri said.

  Persephone raised a brow.

  “When did you start it?”

  The soul’s cheeks turned pink, and she stammered, “A few months ago.”

  “Hmm.”

  Persephone had a feeling the souls had been collecting wedding-themed items since the night she almost drowned in the Styx, but she said nothing, listening as Yuri showed her a variety of color pairings.

  “I’m thinking lilac and green,” she said. “It will complement black, which we all know is the only color Hades will wear.”

  Persephone giggled. “Does his color choice annoy you?”

  “You mean his lack of color? Just once I’d like to see him in white.”

  Hecate snorted but said nothing.

  As Yuri continued going over other options, Persephone couldn’t help thinking about Zeus and wondering why they were planning a wedding before knowing if her union with Hades was even permitted. Perhaps your marriage has been blessed, she argued. Perhaps Hades asked before his proposals. It would explain why she’d never heard of the antiquated caveat.

  Still, she would be sure to ask him later…and she would be anxious until then.

  Persephone approved of the color palette, and with that settled, Yuri moved on to the wedding dress.

  “I had Alma draw up some designs,” she said.