Chapter 11
For the first time in his existence, Hades felt nothing.
He stormed through the growing camp as if in a rage, greeted the regrouping gods with all the command and surety of a general, and yet his heart was gone.
His light was gone.
The gods had no real concept of loss- not really. They watched mortals mourn and many paused to remember their human offspring, but it was a hollow feeling. After all- they could always wander into the underworld to visit those who had passed. Many of the Olympians even arranged for favorites to serve them in their palaces after death. So no- they couldn't truly comprehend what the word 'loss' meant.
As a god of the Underworld, Hades had even less of a concept of death. If he took notice of a mortal and they died- oh well, it would take less effort to visit them.
But no matter how hard he tried, Hades couldn't feel the Prythian Underworld. He couldn't find a death god to reach out to who might hold Persephone's soul. The deity who controlled Prythian's afterlife was neither bothered by the gods' presence, nor willing to reach out.
If he couldn't find Persephone's soul, she was well and truly lost forever.
What did that even mean?
Who could explain death to the King of the dead?
So, Hades was numb as he walked through the Gods' camp. He didn't know how to be anything else. He couldn't understand the raw ache that ripped through him when Azrael told it's- told her - story. That feeling was so incredibly powerful, his loss so unfathomably great, that for a minute he thought he felt her in the room with them… smelled her in the darkness the High Lady and her advisor threw against his own power.
No one stood in his path as he made for the war-tent. Not Zeus, King-of-Kings, not his insufferable bitch of a mother-in-law Demeter, and not even Zahariel. At least the archangel realized its reasoning had fallen on deaf ears. It was sworn to follow Hades' command, and it would do it regardless of its own alliances.
That damned obedience was what sent Persephone running to a new world in the first place.
Nymphs appeared out of nowhere to draw the curtains aside as Hades approached and that numbness in his soul began to stir into something painful. He was the last to arrive at the table, around which sat those he'd chosen to strike at Night if archangel Azrael was not handed over.
Aires nodded in greeting.
Two black-veiled Keres were close beside him. The third sister had disappeared while searching for Persephone a century before. They did this as much for her as for their Queen.
Melinoe, usually cold and unfeeling, reached out to squeeze her father's hand. He could hardly bring himself to look at her- at those beautiful eyes she'd inherited from her mother.
Bel sat beside his lover Kydoimos, despite not being invited to this particular meeting. The latter was sharpening an assortment of throwing knives. He'd braided the black hair away from his face and secured it with a leather strap. There was no hiding that Kydoimos was prepared to fight. His deep olive skin was crossed with war-paint.
Hades only acknowledged his nephew enough to say, "Get out, Bellerophon."
"He can come along," Kydoimos said quietly. His tone was low, dangerous, and he paused in his work to stare Hades down, "He won't get in the way."
Bel was a good soldier, but he'd taken a liking to the heads of the Night Court. Hades didn't think he'd appreciate what would happen if they refused to hand over Azrael… but pissing off Kydoimos wasn't worth the headache.
"This arrived earlier- dropped from above," Bel pulled a tube of paper from his tunic and un-tied the ribbon around it. A map of Night, its borders only vaguely sketched, with three marks across it and a compass drawn in one corner.
"What does it say?" One of the Keres hissed from beneath her veil. Aires and Melinoe inspected the strange flowing script beneath each of the marks.
"Your camp," Hades translated, touching the first mark. "Palace of Nightmares," he touched the second and frowned at the third script. "That doesn't translate into our tongue, so it must be a name. Vele Luk, mid-morning."
Melinoe sat back in her seat, "They want us to meet them in some other location."
"So that we go in without knowing the lay of the land," Aires picked up a blueprint Bel had drawn of the entryway to the Palace of Nightmares and tore it in half. He grinned savagely, "Good. It's more fun this way."
"We only attack if they refuse to hand Azrael over," Hades said. "In honor of all that Persephone was, I will give them a chance."
Bellerophon pursed his lips, but wisely said nothing.
"There are some among your numbers who oppose an all out attack," a Keres whispered. Their voices still made Hades skin crawl, even though he'd known them all his life.
"Every single man and woman here swore on the River Styx to follow my leadership in this world. Egyptian, Mesopotamian, Celtic- every god is bound by their pledge, even if they are not Graecian. They can disagree all they want. Opposition is impossible."
Kydoimos smiled to himself, seduced by the chaos in his veins, "If you truly believe that Hades, then you don't understand the nature of gods."
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"Fine jewelry for the fine lady?"
"Silks from the Continent! Special price, just for you!"
"You buy, we dye special, today only!"
Mor ignored the shouts of sellers as she wandered through Day's largest market. She was on a mission to find clothes and gifts for Azriel's mother. Mor could appreciate better than most how hard it was to come back from evil. She wanted to make Persephone's transition to Vele Luk as painless as possible.
She'd still been bedridden when the goddess was rescued from the Illyrian Steppes. While Rhysand's mother went to make her deal with Stryga, Persephone was kept in the same hidden cottage as Mor. She remembered very little of her time there, but she did remember waking up in fear only to find Persephone sitting beside her. The goddess smoothed her hair and hummed a quiet, strange song as she slid back into unconsciousness.
The next time she awoke, Persephone was gone to the Weaver's cottage.
She hadn't seen her since.
Mor hummed the goddess' song to herself as she browsed through the market. It made her feel… awake. Alive. That song was the shimmer of light that helped her find her way back from the brink of insanity after her father broke her. Ever since Persephone first hummed the song beside her, it was a balm to her very soul.
"I need a concoction of lime blossom and passionflower," Mor called to a tea seller. "Enough for a week."
"Passionflower is not recommended for long term treatment," the herbalist replied, even as he grabbed a bowl and began to measure out raw ingredients from large buckets of dried plants. "Someone stressed?"
"Under a tremendous deal of strain," Mor came closer so that she could smell his wares. The herbs were all superb quality. Good- she had a feeling Persephone wouldn't be too keen on alcohol to ease her fear.
"May I-?" the squat old male waved to his wares. "No extra cost, of course."
"By all means," Mor let him grab sprigs of chamomile and even a few pods of vanilla bean to maximize the tea's effectiveness while also crafting a pleasant flavor. He mixed them thoroughly in his bowl and then sat down at a low table to begin portioning the tea out into individual pouches.
"When the pouch turns blue, the tea has finished steeping," the male called over his shoulder.
"Got it," she continued to inspect ingredients as she waited, humming once more.
"You are a very difficult female to locate," a female cloaked in white linen came to stand beside Mor. Her voice was soft and light, and though her hood included a lace veil to hide her face, it couldn't conceal the scent wafting around her.
Mor snorted and continued to hum to herself. She picked up a peppermint leaf and felt the texture of it- so freshly dried that a skilled gardener might be able to coax it back to life.
"I would like to speak with you," the female said after a moment. She took a step closer to Mor.
"I don't really care what some Spring bitch has to say."
The female gasped softly, "I beg your pard-"
"I wasn't talking to you," Mor returned the leaf and straightened up to glare at someone over the female's shoulder, far across the market. She turned halfway towards the herbalist, "I'll be back to pick it up later."
"As you wish," the male slowed his pace without the pressure of a waiting customer.
Mor pushed past the female and made for the male who stood alone beside a hookah den. He was black-haired and olive-skinned, a perfect fit among the residents of Day, "You honestly don't think a glamour will work on me."
"I didn't need it to work on you. Just anyone else who might be watching," the male didn't bother smiling as he waved Mor towards the door.
"Why would I want to go anywhere with you?"
His gaze darkened, "Feyre has forgiven me for-"
"This isn't about Feyre. You slaughtered my aunt and cousin."
Tamlin's panicked glance to the female did not go unnoticed, "I didn't take part in their deaths."
"Fine- you facilitated the slaughter of my aunt and cousin. Shall I saw some precious body part off you to keep as my trophy?"
Another pleading look to the veiled female. She didn't hesitate, "I have no interest in your past. I will judge you only by the actions you display now."
He breathed a soft sigh of relief. Mor rolled her eyes, "Then you're just some dumb little-"
Tamlin growled, cutting off Mor's insult. He closed his eyes and forced words through clenched fangs, "Please just give us ten minutes."
"Make it worth my while," Mor crossed her arms.
"Listen to him or we take our warning elsewhere and you can watch everyone you love die tomorrow."
Mor glared at the female for a long time before finally stepping into the hookah bar. Just inside the door was a small entryway, closed off from the rest of the den by thick velvet curtains to contain the worst of the smoke. Behind the desk was a set of stairs.
Tamlin stepped around Mor and led her up the stairs two levels, then through endless curtains until they reached a private room with actual walls. The towering glass hookah sitting on the table was unlit, and Tamlin sent a blast of Spring-scented air throughout the space to clear out the stench of stale smoke. When he turned, the glamour fell away to reveal that oh-so-punchable face.
"Great, now I have to burn these clothes," Mor glared at him with crossed arms.
"Just wash them before Rhys or Feyre scents you."
"No," she sighed, "you've ruined them… Now tell me how you found me."
Tamlin smirked, "My spies are-"
"You asked Lucien who asked Rhys who asked Cassian," Mor raised an eyebrow, daring him to deny it.
"It doesn't matter how we found you, what matters is why," the female threw back the hood of her cloak, revealing a young woman with pale skin and curling auburn hair. She was beautiful- even if her taste in males was suspect.
Mor felt the power wafting off of her and studied the curve of her ear for a long time before slowly dropping the bratty act, "You're one of the Graecians."
"I am. My name is Eirene."
"Are you a god, or another dead hero?"
Eirene lifted her chin, "I am the goddess of peace and the Horae of Spring."
Mor laughed, "You were offended when you thought I called you a bitch, yet you proudly identify yourself a whore?"
Tamlin snarled. " Horae ," Eirene huffed, "that means I am the embodiment of the concept of Springtime."
A misty, doe-eyed look flashed across Tamlin's face and Mor suppressed the urge to vomit. "Well Horae, what the hell do you want from me?"
"I'm the one who wants something," Tamlin's voice was still hard as he faced the golden fae. "The Greek army intends to slaughter all of Night. Whatever you think of me Morrigan, I will not let that happen. My issues with Rhysand and Feyre are numerous, but I don't want to see them dead. I can't stop the Graecians, but I can slow them down. To do that, I need to declare war on Feyre."
"Well that should be easy for you. You fucked us all over well enough with Hybern," Mor said.
He didn't let her words bother him, "You are known throughout Prythian as the truth-keeper. You were the one who worked hardest to broker peace during the War five centuries ago. Both sides trusted you to speak honestly. I sided with Hybern partly to rescue Feyre-"
"You mean steal her from her mate so that you could keep her as a breeding slave."
A ripple ran through him. Eirene put a hand on Tamlin's arm and he managed to keep the beast at bay. When he spoke though, his mouth was filled with the fangs of a beast, "I thought what I was doing was right. And then Rhysand turned the High Lords against me."
"My soul weeps."
Eirene looked to Tamlin rather than Mor, "Wait- the advisor Rhysand? You are a High Lord, he is an advisor, why would the others take his word against yours?"
Mor nearly forgot the ruse Rhys put on during the meeting. She raised an eyebrow as Tamlin said, "Rhysand is High Lord of the Night Court. Feyre's mate and husband."
"She told Hades her husband died in the battle with this… Hybern."
"He only died for like half an hour," Mor shrugged, "the bastard is so damn dramatic."
It was the worst half hour of her life. One she still had nightmares about.
Feyre's screams echoed in her ears and Mor stepped away as Tamlin offered a more thorough explanation. She hummed that song to herself and pushed back the memory of Feyre's horrible screams carrying across the battlefield. Hades would at least know before the next sunset that Persephone was alive. There would be no war… but the threat made the memory of Feyre's agony that much worse.
A hand touched Mor's arm and she jumped. She turned back to see Eirene standing there with a strange look on her face. Something like… cautious hope, "I thought I heard wrong in the market but… that song… where did you learn it?"
"It's just an old song," Mor felt the noose of Azriel's oath appear around her neck as it sensed dangerous questions.
"Liar," Eirene stared down Mor, "where did you hear that song?"
"I don't know, probably from my mother when I was a babe. It's just an old song."
"Liar."
"Look- Tamlin, just tell me what you want. I have better things to do today than explain nursery songs to some 'Horae'," Mor stepped around Eirene.
"Um- fine. Declaring war on Feyre and Rhysand will only delay the Graecian army. There are more than a thousand of them- spread throughout Prythian. They are regrouping, readying to sweep across your Court. I declare war, we find some way to save the people of Night, and when this whole thing is over you will tell everyone that we were the ones to warn you and that you knew I was doing this to stop the slaughter."
She could feel Eirene's eyes on her back, "Fine. Whatever. I'll tell anyone you want that you're slightly less of a bastard than they think."
"That I fought for Prythian."
" Like I said- fine ," Mor stormed to the door. She hesitated with a hand on the knob, "Eirene, it would be helpful if we could get someone into the camp." It was the last thing she wanted to think about, but of course would be Azriel's first question.
"Someone you trust, but someone you wouldn't necessarily mind losing if things go badly," Eirene replied after a moment. "Plain fae. Nothing surprising. The gods have discussed taking in fae… pets."
"I'll think about it," Mor left the room- the building- as quickly as she could.
She didn't look back.
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Tamlin studied the curious expression on Eirene's face for a long time before he dared to ask, "Why did you keep asking about the song?"
"Is it a lullaby in your world?"
"Not in Spring. Not that I know. Why?"
Eirene crossed to a window and watched as Mor hastily paid for her tea before vanishing in a burst of black mist, "That song exists in our world too… it's the song the poet Orpheus played for Hades and Persephone in payment for his wife's soul."
He frowned, "What does that mean?"
When Eirene turned, there were tears slipping down her cheeks, "I don't know."
"Then… what do you hope it means?"
She stared at Tamlin for a long time before whispering, "Persephone survived."