A Touch of Malice (Hades x Persephone Saga Book 3)

The remainder of the week passed quickly with Persephone conducting her own research on Triad. She learned the organization had a faulty beginning, claiming that their leadership was decentralized. This led to several individuals conducting their own protests—some peaceful and others more violent. When Zeus had declared them a terrorist organization, and as a result, encouraging several Faithful mortals to seek and attack those associated with the group, they had temporarily disbanded only to reform a year later under new leadership.

That was five years ago.

Since then, there had been a few protests and more violent attacks, but Triad had never taken responsibly for those, claiming they were rogue Impious. Persephone thought back to what Hades had said about Theseus—that the leader of Triad claimed to have no involvement with Adonis’ murder and Harmonia’s attack. Could this be a case of the Impious striking out on their own with the help of Demeter?

She could not say, she only hoped it didn’t take another attack to find out.

It was Saturday before Persephone made it to Hecate’s cottage to train and she’d done so without Hades’ knowledge. He’d insisted she rest since sleep had evaded her most nights, but she knew after witnessing the horrible wreck that took so many lives in the Upperworld, training was a priority—plus, she had some questions for the ancient goddess.

When she arrived, Hecate was at work inside her cottage, wrapping dried herbs with twine—thyme, rosemary, sage, and tarragon. There were several bundles and the whole place smelled both sweet and bitter.

Persephone sat down to help, selecting stems from each pile before carefully tying the twine into a neat bow.

“What kinds of spells do you plan to cast with all this?” Persephone asked.

The corner of Hecate’s lip lifted.

“None—these herbs are for cooking.”

“Since when?” Persephone asked, but her question almost sounded like an accusation. She had never witnessed the goddess cook anything put poisons.

“I grow all kinds of herbs,” Hecate said. “Some for my spells, some for Milan and some for recreation.”

Persephone arched a brow.

“Why does Milan need so much?”

“These herbs last for at least three years,” she said. “But I imagine he is preparing for the wedding feast.”

Persephone froze. She hadn’t even thought about food—and what about cake? Were these even things she should be thinking about given the events of the past week? She frowned, and tensions gathered between her brows.

“I did not mean to cause you stress,” Hecate said.

“You didn’t,” Persephone said and paused. “Hecate, you sided with the Olympians during Titanachamy, yes?”

“Why do you ask?”

Persephone flinched at the tone of her voice—it was cold, almost irate. Was this a topic the goddess preferred not to talk about?

Hecate continued wrapping bundles of herbs, eyes never leaving her task.

“I just…wondered why you did not side with the Titans,” Persephone said. “Since you are one of them.”

“Being one of them does not mean I agree with them,” she said, continuing to work, her hands moved fast. “Under the Titans, the world would not have evolved, and I believed the Olympians, though gods themselves, were far more human than the Titans.”

Persephone grimaced. “I do not think my mother’s reasons are so noble.”

“What do you mean?”

Persephone explained what Harmonia had told her—that she’d sensed Demeter’s magic in the park where she’d been attacked and her suspicions that she might be working with Triad—or rogue Impious.

She couldn’t get Harmonia’s words out of her head.

Warm like the sun on a spring afternoon, smelling of golden wheat and sweet, ripened fruit.

Demeter’s magic had been all over the weapon—the net—that had ensnared Harmonia. It made sense, why the goddess could not summon her magic to calm her attackers. Harmonia was a lesser god. Against Demeter, she had little chance of overpowering an ancient Olympian.

When she was finished with her explanation, Hecate did not seem surprised.

“She is not the first god to attempt to overthrow her kind, nor will she be the last,” she replied.

It was the same thing Hades had said.

“You do not seem worried,” Persephone observed.

“I only worry about what I can control,” Hecate said. “Your mother’s actions are her own—you cannot stop her from choosing this path, but you can fight her along the way.”

Persephone met Hecate’s gaze.

“How?”

The goddess stared and after a moment, picked up a crude pair of scissors they’d used to cut herbs earlier. She placed them on the table before Persephone.

“You learn to heal yourself.”

“Why? You said I should fight, shouldn’t I be practicing magic?”

“Healing is a necessary power to master before going up against any of the Divine. All gods have the ability to heal themselves to some extent. Today we will discover yours.”

All gods? Persephone had no idea. She’d thought up until this point, it was just a power possessed by a few.

Persephone stared at Hecate and then her eyes dropped to the scissors.

“And what am I supposed to do with these?”

“You will cut yourself or I will do it for you.”

There was a moment where she thought Hecate must be joking, but that quickly passed as she recalled how the Goddess of Witchcraft had ordered Nefeli to attack her. That night she’d gone beyond teaching simple magic tricks. This was serious, and Hecate had proven she’d do whatever it took to ensure Persephone’s power manifested.

Persephone picked up the scissors. “What am I supposed to do once I cut myself?”

“Do it and I’ll tell you,” she replied.

Still, Persephone hesitated. She’d never intentionally hurt herself before and the idea of doing so made her cringe.

Just pretend it’s your magic, she said, thinking back to the other night when she’d dreamed Pirithous was in her room and thick branches had torn her arms and legs to pieces. This is nothing compared to that.

She held the scissors over her palm. In a flash, Hecate’s hand reached out and drove downward. The ends of the scissors pierced through her hand and jammed into the table beneath.

At first, Persephone was so shocked she didn’t react. Then, Hecate pulled the blades from her hand and with the blood, came the pain. Persephone screamed, gripping the wrist of her injured hand as her magic welled to the surface, flooding her veins. This was the kind of magic that burst from her skin—the kind that had erupted the night she’d dreamed of Pirithous.

“Healing yourself is a form of defense,” Hecate said calmly, as if she hadn’t just stabbed her.

“What the fuck, Hecate?” Persephone demanded, her voice was raw and raging. Her eyes burned with magic; she could feel it—a residual heat that made her eyes water.

“Your magic won’t wake to heal a scratch,” the goddess said.

“So you had to stab me?” Persephone demanded.

A horrible smile spread across the goddess’s face. “You have to learn to summon your power without pain, fear, or anger. It must become second nature, and so we will use pain fear and anger to train.”

Persephone grinded her teeth. Her magic burning her skin.

“Channel your magic, Persephone. What does it feel like to have Hades heal you?”

Persephone warred with her mind, caught between listening to Hecate and her anger—but the pain in her hand also drew her attention and soon she focused on it and the memories of Hades’ healing hands—it had been so effortless for him, a pulse of power that warmed the skin, like slipping into a hot spring.

“Good,” she heard Hecate say, and when Persephone opened her eyes, she saw that her hand was healed, the only evidence that she’d been injured was the blood on the table.

“Again,” the goddess said, picking up the scissors.

Persephone flinched and stood. “No.”

Hecate stared, still holding the bloodied shears aloft. “What do you want, Persephone?”

“What does that have to do with stabbing myself?”

“Everything. You magic is reactive, more than likely due to trauma, and while that is not your fault, we are running out of time. Do you think you can take four minutes to heal yourself on the battlefield?”

“This is not battle, Hecate.”

“It soon will be—and where would you rather learn? So I ask you again. What do you want?”

She wanted…Hades. She wanted the Underworld, the Upperworld, she wanted…

“Everything,” she said, breathless.

“Then fight for it,” Hecate said.

Persephone extended her palm.

They practiced for over an hour. After the twentieth time, Persephone stopped flinching when the scissors speared her palm. It wasn’t long after that she began to heal the wound before the blades even left her body. Directed by Hecate, she became familiar with the way her magic reacted to the intrusion, strongest upon impact, immediately heating her skin and raising the hair on the back of her neck.

“It is urging you to use it,” Hecate said. “It wants to protect you.”

Persephone had heard those words before but now she was starting to understand them and her magic. It wasn’t some foreign thing that invaded her body, it was just as natural to her as her blood and bone.

“That’s enough for today,” Hecate said.

Persephone had lost count of the times she’d been stabbed. She felt tired, but strangely aware. Like her body had become a viper, coiled and ready to strike. For once, since her powers had awakened, they did not feel so far away.

“Yes, my dear,” Hecate hissed, and Persephone met the goddess’s dark gaze. “You understand now because you can feel it. It isn’t about summoning power. It is about becoming it.”

Becoming power.

“How often can we train like this?” Persephone asked.

“As often as you’d like,” Hecate said.

“Please, Hecate.”

The goddess stretched out a hand and cupped her chin. For the first time since they’d started training today, her gaze turned gentle.

“As long you remember that I love you,” she answered.

The words made Persephone’s stomach clench—they were words full of dread and promise and fear—but those were feelings that existed outside of this cottage, too—in the Upperworld where her mother’s magic raged and where Harmonia had been attacked. At least here with Hecate…she knew she’d be safe.

“Of course. How could I forget?”

Hecate offered a sad smile. “Oh, my dear. I can make you regret that we were ever friends.”

***

Persephone considered heading to Elysium to visit Lexa, but after her session with Hecate, she felt particularly drained. Instead, she returned to the palace. Cerberus, Typhon, and Orthrus walked dutifully beside her, and she got the sense they’d been ordered to escort her within the Underworld, more than likely due to her tendency to wander off and find trouble. Her suspicions were confirmed when, as soon as she stepped foot inside Hades’ palace, the three Doberman’s dispersed.

She wasn’t upset by their presence or their escort, but it did make her look forward to a time when she needed it less. Once again, she thought of Hecate’s words, and wondered what exactly she was getting herself into by asking the goddess to train her as she’d done today.

“Oh, and Persephone,” Hecate had said as she was leaving her cottage. “Do not tell Hades about today. I do not think I need to tell you that he would disapprove.”

Those words weighed heavily upon her as she made her way to their bedchamber. She’d made a practice of being completely transparent with Hades, especially after losing Lexa. It took a lot of work considering she wasn’t used to communicating at all. Growing up beneath her mother’s thumb had taught her that expressing one’s opinion or feelings drew attention and criticism. It was best to just stay silent—to exist as much in secret as possible to keep from punishment.

That was the way she’d lived for years, but after Lexa’s death, she realized she couldn’t do that anymore. More importantly, there was no need. Hades wanted to hear from her, wanted to understand her perspective—and she wanted the same from him.

She was still considering how to talk to him about Hecate’s training methods when she entered the bedroom to find Hades occupying his usual space in front of the fire and another god she did not know. He was handsome and elegant—black skin, hair white and short, curling close to his head. He had wide, doe-like eyes and full lips. He wore white with gold accents—a belt about the waist and a layer of necklaces. His feet were bare, but that was probably because he did not need shoes—large, white wings sprouted from his back.

“Hello,” she said, closing the door behind her. “Am I…interrupting something?”

She realized it was a strange question, but…the bedroom was also a strange place for Hades to conduct business.

The unknown god snorted.

“Persephone,” Hades said, pulling one hand out of his pocket to gesture toward the god. “This is Hypnos, God of Sleep. He is Thanatos’s brother. They are nothing alike.”

Hypnos glared. “She would have figured that out on her own, you didn’t have to tell her.”

“I didn’t want her to have the false impression that you would be as kind.”

Persephone stared, a little surprised by how quickly the tone and atmosphere of the room had changed in the presence of these two.

“I am not unkind,” Hypnos argued. “But I do not do well in the presence of idiots. You are not an idiot, are you, Lady Persephone?”

He was definitely not like Thanatos. This god felt more unpredictable. Perhaps it was because of the nature of sleep.

“N-no,” she said, offering a hesitant answer.

“I have asked Hypnos here so that he may help you sleep,” Hades said quickly.

“I am sure she’s gathered that,” Hypnos snapped.

“And you? Did you tell him that you do not sleep?”

Hypnos laughed—a deep sound that came from somewhere in his throat. “The God of the Dead admitting that he needs help? That is a pipe dream.”

Up until now, Hades had remained unfazed by the grumpy god, but suddenly, his eyes darkened.

“This is about you,” he returned, working to make his voice sound gentle and calm despite the fact that he gritted his teeth. “She hasn’t been sleeping and when she does, she wakes from nightmares. Sometime covered in sweat, sometimes screaming.”

“It’s…nothing,” Persephone tried to argue. She wasn’t keen on going down this path—on reliving what she had experienced since the day Pirithous took her. “They’re just nightmares.”

“And you’re just a glorified gardener,” Hypnos replied.

“Hypnos,” Hades let out a warning growl.

“No wonder you live outside the Gates of the Underworld,” Persephone muttered.

It was the first time Hypnos looked amused. “For your information, I live outside the gates because I am still a deity of the Upperworld, despite my sentence here.”

“Your sentence?”

“It is my punishment to live beneath the world for putting Zeus to sleep,” he said.

“Twice,” Hades emphasized.

Hypnos glanced askance at the god; an angry brow arched.

“Twice? You didn’t learn the first time?” Persephone asked.

Hades attempted to suppress a smirk.

“I learned, but it’s hard to ignore a request from the Queen of the Gods. Rejecting Hera means living a hellish life and nobody wants that, right Hades?”

Hypnos’ pointed question took the amusement out of Hades’ gaze. Satisfied with his jab, the god returned his attention to Persephone.

“Tell me of these nightmares,” Hypnos said. “I need details.”

“Why must you hear about them?” Hades asked. “I told you she was having trouble sleeping. Is that not enough to create a draught?”

“Enough, perhaps, but a draught will not solve the issue,” he glared at Hades. “I am older than you, My Lord—a primordial deity, remember? Let me do my job.”

Hypnos returned his gaze to Persephone’s. “Well?” His voice was gruff, demanding, but she got the sense that if he did not wish to help her, he would have already left. “How often do you have them?”

“Not every night,” she said.

“Is there a pattern? Do they come after a particularly stressful day?”

“I don’t think so. That is part of the reason I do not want to go to sleep. I’m not sure what I’ll find on the other side.”

“These dreams…did they proceed something traumatic?”

Persephone nodded.

“What?”

“I was kidnapped,” she said. “By a demi-god. He was obsessed with me and…he wanted to rape me.”

“Was he successful?”

Persephone flinched at Hypnos’ direct question, and Hades growled.

“Hypnos.”

“Lord Hades,” Hypnos snapped. “One more interruption and I will leave your company.”

Persephone’s eyes shifted to Hades, whose hand had sprouted lethal black spires.

“It’s alright Hades. I know he is trying to help.”

The god smiled ruefully. “Listen to the woman. She appreciates the art of dream interpretation.”

“No,” Persephone said. “He was not successful, but when I dream, he seems to get closer and closer to…being successful.”

She couldn’t help it—she spared a glance at Hades as she spoke and saw that he was pale. Her chest felt tight. She hadn’t thought about what this might do to him—perhaps she should have told him to leave. Though, she doubted he would have listened.

“Dreams—nightmares—prepare us to survive,” Hypnos said. “They bring our anxieties to life so we may fight them. You are no different, Goddess.”

“But I survive,” Persephone argued.

“Do you believe that you would survive if it happened again?”

She started to speak.

“Not in the same situation—a different one. One where perhaps a more powerful god abducted you.”

She slammed her mouth shut.

“You do not need a draught,” he said. “You need to consider how you will fight in your next dream. Change the ending and the nightmares will cease.”

The god stood then.

“And for the love of all gods and goddesses, go to fucking sleep.”

With that, Hypnos vanished.

Persephone looked at Hades. “Well, he was pleasant.”

Hades’ expression told her everything she needed to know about what he thought of the God of Sleep. Then his eyes drifted down and narrowed.

“Why is there blood on shirt?” He asked.

Persephone’s eyes widened and when she looked, she saw a crimson stain. She hadn’t noticed it before leaving Hecate’s cottage. She guessed this was the way to tell Hades about her afternoon training session.

“Oh…I was practicing with Hecate,” she said.

“Practicing what?”

“Healing,” she said.

Hades’ brows drew together. “That is a lot of blood.”

“Well…I couldn’t exactly heal if I wasn’t injured,” she explained, but she could tell by the look on Hades’ face that was the wrong thing to say. He tilted his head to the side, mouth hardening.

“She is having you practice on yourself first?”

Persephone opened her mouth to speak but there was nothing to say except, “Yes…why is that wrong?”

“You should be practicing on fucking…flowers. Not yourself. What did she have you do?”

“Does it matter? I healed myself. I did it.” She was proud. “Besides, I don’t have a lot of time. You know what happened to Adonis and saw what happened to Harmonia.”

“You think I would let what happened to them happen to you?” he asked.

“That is not what I’m saying,” she spoke carefully, knowing that her words mattered here—Hades already blamed himself for what happened with Pirithous. “I want to be able to protect myself.”

Hades just stared, his eyes dipping to the blood which caused her to cross her arms over her chest to hide it.

“I swear I’m fine,” she said. “Kiss me if you think I’m lying.”

His eyes returned to hers and he inched forward, his hand cupping her jaw. “I believe you, but I will kiss you anyway.”

The lips pressed to hers sweetly—it was too short and too tame. When he pulled away, she stared up at him and asked, “Why didn’t you tell me I had the ability to heal myself?”

“I figured at some point Hecate would teach you,” he said. “Until then, it was my pleasure to heal you.”

She flushed—not at any particular memory, but at the sound of Hades voice—a lover’s voice, warm and hypnotic. Her eyes fell to his lips, luscious, alluring.

“What shall we do this evening, darling?” Hades asked.

A smile curved Persephone’s lips as she answered, “I am eager for a game of cards.”