A Touch of Chaos (37 page)

Hades said nothing, but his frown deepened.

Persephone sat up a little straighter when the heroes were announced and Ajax walked onto the field. He was hard to miss with his dark hair and large frame. She and Apollo both stood, twisting their hands in the air at the wrists—which was the sign for applause.

Ajax grinned and waved back.

Persephone recognized other heroes from the Panhellenic Games, including Hector, Anastasia, and Cynisca—all loyal to the gods because they had been chosen by the gods.

The heroes were followed by the mortal competitors, and once they were all positioned on the field, Aphrodite rose and approached a podium located a few feet away from where the gods had assembled.

She looked beautiful, dressed in white and pearls, though the sun beat down on her, igniting her like a flame. Her gaze seemed to linger on Hephaestus. Persephone glanced at him and saw that he was gripping the arms of his stone chair. It made the veins and muscles in his arms bulge.

“For centuries, our people have honored the dead through sport. Today, we carry on that tradition by celebrating the lives of Adonis, my favored, Tyche, the Goddess of Fortune, Hypnos, the God of Sleep, and the one hundred and thirty lives lost during the attack by Triad on Talaria Stadium.”

A tense silence followed.

Aphrodite's commentary on the Talaria Stadium attack was a painful reminder for many, including
Persephone, who had not only witnessed the explosion that took so many lives but also fought to protect other innocent people. In the process, she had been shot, and while she had successfully healed herself, she would never forget the pain of the blast or the way Hades had reacted.

It was in those moments that she saw his true darkness.

But Triad could not deny the attack, because they had taken credit for it, defaulting to their usual argument: Where are your gods now? The argument was an excuse for violence and ignored the fact that the gods
had
been there, and they had fought—hard—but to no avail.

“Today we honor those whose lives were cut short by Triad, whose volatile actions only prove they have the freedom and free will they so often demand.”

Her words were met with guttural boos and angry shouts.

“It is evident to me that fairness has escaped you,” she continued, her voice rising above the noise. “For if such a thing existed, none who had a hand in these deaths would breathe the free air.”

Persephone shivered, and Hades's hand squeezed hers.

Despite Aphrodite's words pointing out the hypocrisy of Triad, Persephone knew it was not enough to win back favor from mortals because the gods were no better. She was no better, though she had started her career pointing out similar hypocrisies; except then, no one had cared, not until Theseus had established himself as a viable leader.

And while Persephone could acknowledge that the Olympians were not the best, they were the lesser of
two evils.

“Let the games begin,” Aphrodite said.

A horn sounded, marking the start of the games.

Aphrodite returned to her seat, and the competitors cleared the field.

“What is the first competition?” Persephone asked.

“Wrestling,” said Hermes, rubbing his hands together.

She raised a brow. “Really?”

“What?” Hermes asked. “I like the outfits.”

“They're naked, Hermes.”

He grinned. “Exactly.”

She was about to roll her eyes when someone shouted from the stands, “Death to all gods!”

It was not the first time Persephone had heard the chant, but it still made her blood run cold.

When no one joined, the heckler tried again.

“Death to all gods!”

Persephone's fists clenched. Hades rubbed his thumb over hers to ease her frustration, but it didn't work. She started to stand but was surprised when Hera rose to her feet and faced the mortal.

“Do you think you are funny, mortal?” she asked.

Her question was met with silence.

“I know you speak,” she said.

Then the mortal began to scream, and so did those around him.

“She has turned his tongue into a snake!”

The screams of the man grew louder as he ran past the gods, tripping and falling to the ground. After that, he did not move. A man dressed in a vibrant vest ran to him and dragged him off the field.

“That was not well done, Hera,” Hades commented
without looking at the goddess.

“I'm not on your side, Hades,” she replied.

The tension following Hera's words was unbearable. Persephone thought it might dissipate once the wrestling began and she could focus on naked men grappling in the dirt, but it remained heavy in the air.

She only noticed her leg bouncing when Hades reached over and squeezed her thigh.

She stopped and looked at him.

“I will keep you safe,” he reminded her.

Beside her, Hermes's body seemed to convulse.

“What was that?” Persephone asked.

“It was a shiver, Persephone.
A shiver
,” he said.

“Why?”

“You mean you don't shiver when Hades says things like that?”

As if to emphasize his point, he shuddered again.

She did, but she wasn't interested in saying that here.

“Why don't you date, Hermes?”

“I date,” he said. “Just not…exclusively. I like a…a smattering of flavors.”

Persephone scrunched her nose at his choice of words. “Flavors?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Sometimes I like dick. Sometimes I just want tacos.”

“Hermes,” she said, a little confused. “Do you mean actual tacos or…”

“Of course I mean actual tacos. What other kinds of tacos are there?”

Persephone opened her mouth to answer, but then closed it and shook her head. “Never mind. I'm glad you like tacos.”

She turned her attention back to the wrestling match.
She was not surprised to see that Ajax and Hector were among the last on the field. The two were rivals, though Persephone was not certain if it stemmed from Apollo's attention or something else.

Whatever the case, the God of Music had made it worse with his indecisiveness, and though he had eventually chosen Ajax, the rivalry remained, as was evident by the way the two fought—brutally.

As Persephone watched, dread pooled low in her stomach. She looked at Apollo, who sat forward in his seat, eyes following their every move.

Suddenly, Hector rammed into Ajax and flipped him onto his back, slamming into him with such force, a crack echoed throughout the stadium.

When Hector got to his feet, Ajax did not move.

“No,” Apollo said as he shot across the field, but Machaon had reached him first.

“What is he doing?” Persephone asked.

“Performing,” said Hades as the demigod placed his hands on Ajax.

After a few seconds, the hero's eyes opened, and he was able to sit up.

The crowd roared with praise.

“A god could have done the same thing,” said Persephone.

“They could,” said Hades. “That is the point.”

Persephone looked at Hades as understanding dawned. The demigods wanted to show that their powers were no different from those of the Olympians.

“I'm beginning to think giving Theseus any kind of platform was a mistake,” said Persephone.

“I suppose we will find out.”

Once Ajax was on his feet, Hector was declared the winner. They were led off the field, but Apollo did not return to his seat. He remained at Ajax's side, his anger apparent. She wondered if he would try to fight Hector. He had been eager for combat, and now he had a target.

The next game was announced: the footrace.

Persephone looked at Hermes. “Aren't you fast?”

“I can be,” he said, and then he wiggled his brows. “But I can also go slow if you know what I mean.”

“Do you have to be like this?” Persephone asked.

“I ask myself that question all the time,” said Hades.

“Seriously?” said Hermes. “No one likes me for me!”

“My point is,” Persephone said, refusing to go down that road, “I thought you loved wrestling and racing. Why aren't you competing? Are you afraid you'll get beaten by a demigod?”

Hermes sputtered. “Excuse you! I don't get beaten.”

“Obviously not, because you don't compete.”

Hermes's face flushed red. She wanted to laugh, but she also wanted him to take her seriously.

“You know what, Sephy? Fine. I'll show you.”

He rose to his feet and cast off his robes. They landed over her head but slipped away, too silky to stay. She caught the God of Mischief running to the starting line in a pair of tiny shorts.

When she looked at Hades, she found that he was staring back, a brow raised.

“What?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he said. “I'm just wondering what you are doing.”

“We can't let the demigods win a second time, and Hermes is the only god who can beat them in a footrace
even without magic.”

His lips twitched. “You do know the prizes for winning funeral games are boring?”

“It isn't about the prizes,” she said. “It is about winning.”

Hades chuckled, and she was so distracted, she jumped at the sound of the horn blaring, signaling the start of the race.

Persephone whirled and cupped her hands around her mouth.

“Go, Hermes! Go!”

But the god was
going
.

He made running look effortless. It was like he was soaring over the track, his feet barely touching as he remained one step ahead of the rest of the competitors.

As they came to the end of the first lap, Persephone looked at Hades.

“How many times do they have to go around?”

“Four,” he said.

Four?
Her chest hurt just thinking about it, but Hermes made it look
easy
.

It wasn't until the final lap that he even seemed to break a sweat, and as he neared the finish line, her excitement rose.

“Yes! Come on, Hermes!” she cheered, bouncing on her feet.

She had never seen the god so focused before. His brows were pinched, and his mouth was pressed thin. It would be an easy win. Only one came close to matching his stride, and that was Machaon.

Still, he could not—
would not
—overtake Hermes.

But then, the god stumbled, and as he struck the
ground, the other runners surged past, leaving him in a trail of their dust.

Persephone's excitement burst, and a strange numbness spread throughout her body. She stared at Hermes and then at Hades, her mouth ajar.

Beside him, Ares laughed. “You should see your face, flower goddess. You would think they slaughtered a lamb, though I suppose Hermes is a close second.”

She clenched her teeth, anger making her eyes water. “Machaon cheated!”

“Nobody cares,” said Ares, resting his cheek on his closed fist as if he were bored. “These are funeral games. They are for no one but the dead.”

“Shut up,” she snapped.

It was a childish comeback, but she did not know what else to say. She turned her attention to Hermes, who now limped across the finish line. She started to go to him, but Hades held her firmly by the wrist.

“Do not go beyond my reach,” he said.

She considered breaking free of him, but she had learned there was a reason for Hades's warnings, so she waited for Hermes to return to his seat. He did not look at her as he made his way up the steps, his ankle and elbow bruised and swollen. Guilt lanced through her chest.

“Hermes,” she said, reaching for his hand, but he pulled away. “I am so sorry. I—”

“I don't want to talk about it, Persephone,” he said, not meeting her gaze.

“At least…at least let me heal you.”

“I don't need your help,” he said.

Persephone took a juddering breath. She wanted to
cry. She could feel it building in the back of her throat and tingling in her nose.

“Do you want to go?” Hades asked.

She didn't want to look at him, because she knew if she did, she would likely burst into tears, but she was saved from it when the next game was announced.

Single combat.

Apollo.

“Please,” Persephone whispered.

Artemis scoffed and glanced back at Persephone. “You do not have to worry about my brother. No one is better than him, especially at single combat.”

But this was not about the best, or Ajax and Hermes would have won.

As the competitors began, Persephone's stomach churned, though true to Artemis's words, Apollo shone. Despite not having his magic, his strength was evident. Each thrust of his spear landed with precision, and the power behind it had his opponents sliding back on their feet. His skill was evident, honed over thousands of years, and the only one who rivaled him was Theseus, who fought with a grace she had not seen among anyone but the Olympians.

She was not surprised when they stood opposite each other for the final fight, but she had never been so afraid. The churning in her stomach grew violent, the feeling rising into her throat. She held her breath until the first jab was thrown by Apollo, striking Theseus's shield. The second was made lower, a stab at his legs, but again, it glanced off his shield.

Persephone glanced at Artemis, who sat rigidly in her seat, hands fisted. As much as she believed in her
brother, this clearly made her anxious.

While Apollo fought fiercely, with skill and determination, Theseus fought with anger and hate. It fueled his strikes, and each one seemed to hit harder than the last until Apollo brought his shield down on Theseus's spear.

It shattered beneath the blow.

Hope rose, and Persephone sat straighter.

Then Theseus drew a sword.

Apollo cast his spear aside and drew his own blade.

“Why would he do that?” Persephone asked, frustrated.

“The sword is a better choice for this fight,” said Hades.