The Goddess Test Boxed Set: Goddess Interrupted\The Goddess Inheritance\The Goddess Legacy (110 page)

“We have lost touch,” said Athena, glancing around at the
others. “It couldn't hurt to try.”

Nearly a minute passed as everyone seemed to absorb this. A few
whispered amongst themselves, but it wasn't until Zeus sank back down into his
throne that everyone seemed to relax.

“We will try,” he said. “Abstract as that is. Do you have any
solid suggestions for what we might do to implement these…
ideas
of yours?”

“Yes,” I said frankly. “We need to change our names. Right now.
We need to cast aside our old identities, and we need to become the people we
have to be in order to adapt and survive. The name's just the start of it, but
it's as good a start as any.”

No one looked happy about it, not even Hephaestus, who hadn't
exactly won the name lottery. “What sort of names?” said Aphrodite,
frowning.

“I don't know. Names that will stick around for centuries,
though I suspect we can change them again if we have to,” I said. “We'll do
whatever we have to do to survive.”

“Very well,” said Zeus. “Then why don't you start us off? What
is your new name, son?”

Son
. It may have been a single word
to him, but to me, it was a moment of acceptance—a moment when we moved beyond
the struggles of the past eons and stepped into a new era where the slate was
wiped clean.

It was exactly the kind of life Tuck wanted. And it was the
life I would live when she couldn't.

“James,” I said. “My name is James.”

* * *

Three years later, we all still existed.

Couldn't lie and say it was easy—none of it was going to happen
overnight, but to the council's credit, they each tried. Only Hera kept a Greek
name, refusing to budge from the roots she held so dear, though at least we were
able to persuade her to change her name to the lesser-known Calliope. Even Zeus
found a name powerful enough to satisfy his ego.

Slowly but surely, the council changed. Instead of deities
lording over a world that didn't know we existed, each of us began to spend time
on the surface, interacting with mortals in a way few of us had in millennia. It
wasn't painless—more than a few attempts resulted in varying disasters, mostly
revolving around Aphrodite and her new set of mortal conquests. Apparently the
world had changed since she'd last waltzed into the middle of a village and
announced herself. But soon enough, we all adapted. We all started down the road
of becoming the people we needed to be in order to survive.

In those three years, I visited Mac, Sprout and Perry often,
occasionally bringing Iris along with me. The three boys moved into the castle
soon enough, and Mac slipped seamlessly into his role as the new earl. He was a
kind, fair leader, exactly as I'd hoped, and as time passed, my concern for them
lessened. They'd be all right. They already were.

But despite that, I could never escape the guilt that
surrounded me over Tuck's death. Even though the boys had long since mourned
her, I'd never fully recovered, and that was why it took so long before I
finally made the trip I'd been dreading.

I approached Hades's throne with my head bowed—partially to
show respect, but mostly to avoid looking at Persephone's empty throne. He
hadn't chosen a name yet, the last of us to do so, but there was no hurry. If he
chose to remain Hades, his existence was secure. Even after the last mortal died
and the rest of us faded, he would live forever. But if he didn't fill
Persephone's throne, it would be a very, very long forever. And I didn't like
the reminder of what I'd done to him.

“Hermes,” he said in a deadened voice, and he paused. “James.
Is there a problem with the souls you've transported?”

“No,” I said.

“Then why are you here?”

It'd been an unspoken rule between us that I went out of my way
to avoid seeing him while doing my duties in the Underworld. Despite a few
awkward run-ins, most of the time we managed to keep our distance. “I have a
request.”

Silence hung between us, and at last Hades sighed. “You want to
see the girl.”

“I—” I clamped my mouth shut. Of course he knew. “Yes. I won't
stay long. I just want to make sure she's doing all right, and I have something
to give her—”

“No.” The word echoed through the throne room, even though he
hadn't spoken above a quiet murmur. “I cannot allow you to see her.”

I gaped at him. Was he serious? “Why not? You've allowed others
to visit mortals in the Underworld before. Why can't I see Tuck?”

But even as I said it, I knew. This was his revenge for what
I'd done with Persephone. All these thousands of years of dancing around each
other, pretending to be neutral—now that she was gone, now that he thought I'd
played an integral role in stealing her from him, he was stealing Tuck from me.
An eye for an eye.

“You can't do this,” I said. “She hasn't done anything
wrong.”

“But you have.” He leaned forward, his silver eyes locked on
me. “You are the one who wants to see her, not the other way around.”

“You don't know that.”

“I do.” He straightened again. “I will not allow it, and if you
try to sneak away to find her, I will have her moved around the Underworld as
many times as I must to keep her from you. You will never see her again, not as
long as I am King of the Underworld.”

He may as well have reached inside me and ripped out every
piece of me that had ever mattered. I stood there, trembling, trying to think of
a way around it, but I'd already apologized a thousand times over. I'd already
done everything I could to make it up to him. His pride and his fury stopped him
from moving beyond this, and now, because of that, we were both stuck.

My hands tightened into fists. I could hit him. I
wanted
to hit him more than I wanted to live, but I'd
worked too hard to get back on even footing with the rest of the council. Any
attack on Hades would only send me spiraling again.

I couldn't do a damn thing, and he knew it.

“Then—could you give her something for me?” I said, slipping my
shaking hand into my pocket. The moment my fingertips touched the pendant,
however, Hades shook his head.

“No.”

Of course. Of bloody course. I raked my free hand through my
hair, my vision growing red. “It isn't my fault, what happened to Persephone,” I
blurted. “She's the one who made those decisions. I just pointed out the fact
that she had a choice.”

“She did have a choice,” said Hades. “But so did you. I am not
holding you accountable for Persephone's actions. I am holding you accountable
for your own.”

I turned away. He was right, even if his methods were
despicable, even if he wasn't being fair. I'd made my choices, and I'd suffered
the consequences for them time and time again. This was just the final one.

“All right,” I said shakily as I turned back to face him.
“Fine. I accept your ruling, under the condition that this is it. You can hate
me as much as you want, but this is the last time you hold this over me.
Period.”

He tilted his head almost curiously. For one of us to talk to
the original six like this—it was crazy, especially when he already couldn't
stand me. But I didn't care. Enough was enough.

“We're even. I took Persephone from you, and you took Tuck from
me. End of story.”

I brushed my thumb against the pendant as I spoke. I'd never
see her again. Not easy to swallow, not by any means, but I refused to break
down in front of Hades. I was stronger than this. Tuck had made me stronger than
this, and to accept this with anything but bitter grace would be dishonoring her
memory. And I wouldn't do that.

“Very well,” said Hades after a long moment, touching the empty
throne beside him. “We are even. Now go.”

I made my way past the pews, aware of the souls who'd witnessed
every moment of our conversation. None of them mattered, though. The only soul I
wanted to see was one I would never meet again. Hades had seen to that.

Halfway down the aisle, however, I stopped and faced him once
more. An invisible fist squeezed my heart. “Is she happy?”

Even from a distance, I could feel Hades's stare burning into
me. “Does it matter, when you cannot do anything to change it?”

“Yes,” I said. It mattered.

He pursed his lips, and at last he sighed. “Yes, she is
happy.”

That was all I needed to know. It would never change the past,
it would never get me there in time to save her, but at least I could rest
knowing she wasn't in any pain. That was one small amount of comfort Hades could
never take from me.

“Thank you,” I said, and without another word, I turned and
walked away.

* * * * *

God of Darkness

Calliope's Offer

  

As Lord of the Underworld, Hades was feared by the
living and revered by the dead. A member of the eternal council of gods, he had
unimaginable power at his fingertips, ready to do whatever he must to uphold his
duties and laws. And as the ruler of the souls who died, he would live forever,
guaranteed true immortality through his duties to them.

But he would have traded it all if it meant he could be
mortal.

In his existence, Hades had seen more faces and heard more
stories than the rest of the council combined. Eventually every mortal entered
his kingdom, and while he only came face-to-face with a fraction of them, he
felt each and every presence. He felt each and every moment of their lost
lives.

And that was why he envied them their mortality. To have a set
period of time to live—to know there would be an end instead of an endless sea
of time… It would have been a wonderful thing. That way, even if he wound up
alone, he would know it would end someday. Being a god granted him no such
relief.

He sat in his throne after a long day of judgment, the silence
heavy around him. The number of souls had seemed to grow exponentially over the
past few centuries, or perhaps it had only seemed so as he no longer had
Persephone. His wife, his friend, his partner—he had depended on her far more
than he'd realized. Even knowing she would never love him the way he loved her,
he held on to her memory, treasuring it as one would a lifetime of
happiness.

He'd kept his promise to himself, however, and had never gone
to see her. It was agonizing, knowing she was so close yet so in love with
someone else, and he couldn't allow himself that kind of pain. The wounds had
only begun to heal, and while scars were inevitable, to rip them open again
would only ensure they would never close.

Instead he allowed himself to dream about her during what
little time he did sleep. He allowed himself to dream about a life they could
have had if he had not been so wrong in his actions—if he had done what she
wanted, said the right thing, never allowed Demeter to talk him into marriage in
the first place. If he had asked Persephone herself what she had wanted all
those eons ago, before they'd both done irreparable harm to each other. And
during those brief hours, he was happy.

Leaning against his throne, he exhaled, his eyes falling shut.
Five hundred years today. That was how long it had been since he'd let her go,
and it still felt as agonizing as the day he'd watched her die. Forget scars. At
that moment he was convinced it would never get better no matter how much time
passed.

The doors of the throne room opened, and with a sigh, he
stirred. The next batch of souls weren't due until morning, and James knew
better than to bother him. But even though he hadn't anticipated anyone in
particular, he certainly hadn't expected the girl standing in the archway at the
end of the aisle.

“Hera. Calliope,” he said, correcting himself as he stood. “It
is good to see you.”

“And you as well, Hades.” As she approached him, she bowed her
head, and he did the same. It had been millennia since the two of them had been
alone—since before his marriage to Persephone, and the reminder stabbed at him.
“I didn't interrupt anything, did I?”

He shook his head and took her hands, squeezing them in
greeting. “No, no. My day is done. I was about to retire.”

“Oh.” Her smile faded slightly. “I was hoping we might
talk.”

“Of course.” He offered her his arm, and once she took it, he
led her from the throne room. The hallways were lit with everlasting torches,
giving the home an eerie feel, but he preferred it. He could've easily created a
light that didn't make the shadows dance, but that would've only made his
loneliness worse.

Once they'd stepped inside a cozy sitting room he never had the
chance to use anymore, he glanced around as she did, taking in the room. Funny
how a routine could make the once-familiar strange. He summoned tea and poured
them both cups, and as he sat beside her on the sofa, he saw her shift closer to
him. Perhaps she simply missed him. Or perhaps she sensed how badly he needed
some form of comfort.

“This place hasn't changed much,” she said between sips of tea.
“How are you holding up?”

“It has been a long time since anyone asked me that,” he said
with a faint smile, though he found no joy in either her concern or his
observation. “I have been better, I suppose.”

Calliope's expression darkened. “Yes, you probably have.” She
set her hand over his. “Is there anything I can do?”

He shook his head. “Powerful and enchanting as you are, I'm
afraid there isn't anything anyone can do.”

She blushed and lowered her head for a moment. Bashfulness
didn't look right on her. “You're too kind.”

“Hardly. It is not my fault that Zeus—er, Walter does not
appreciate what he has.”

Her lips twitched in annoyance, and perhaps something deeper.
“No, he does not. Have you not chosen a new name?”

“I'm afraid I haven't found the time. Or discovered much of a
selection.”

She scoffed. “You see countless people pass through here.
Surely one of them has a name you like.”

“Their names are their own. I could not possibly steal it, as
Diana took Ella's.”

Calliope grinned. “I think she did it solely to get a rise out
of her, after those comments Ella made about her and Walter.”

“And you do not agree with Ella?” said Hades. “I would have
thought…”

“I know what Walter does,” she said with a shrug. “There's
little point in fighting it now.”

After eons of hearing secondhand stories of Calliope's
jealousy—and occasionally witnessing it himself—that was certainly an unexpected
surprise, and Hades was quiet as he absorbed her change of heart. “Have you
found someone, then?”

A strange look passed over her face, and she held her chin a
fraction of an inch higher than usual. “And if I said I had?”

“I would be pleased,” he said, despite the bitterness that
sawed away inside him. Even Calliope was finding love, yet he would remain
eternally encased in loneliness until the end of time. And perhaps even then he
would not be granted relief. “May I ask who this lucky man is?”

A pause. It wasn't like Hera—Calliope to be anything but direct
unless she wanted something. But what could she possibly want from him? Was her
new lover mortal? Did she want Hades to spare him until she was done? “You may,”
she said slowly, her hand shifting toward his. “If you believe you are prepared
to hear the answer.”

“And why would I not—”

Her fingers brushed his, and he stopped. Calliope held his
stare, her blue eyes earnest and scheming all at once, and she leaned in toward
him. “You know why,” she said softly. “You've always known.”

Hades grew completely still, not even allowing his heart to
beat. Perhaps then time wouldn't pass, and he would never have to face the
inevitable consequences of this moment.

Hera. Calliope. His sister loved him. Longed for him. Coveted
his company. He could feel it now, those tendrils of emotions as old as the
council's reign snaking toward him. How had he missed it before? Was she really
so skilled as to keep even her strongest feelings so closely guarded?

It didn't matter how she had kept it a secret. What mattered
was the way she watched him, waiting for his answer with hope in her eyes and a
smile dancing on her lips. It'd been so long since he'd seen her like this—as
though she finally saw something good in the world that she wanted.

And it terrified him.

Even if he could entertain the notion of being with her, even
if he could move past his suffocating love for Persephone, his brother would
never forgive him. Such a slight on Zeus—on Walter would seem like an act of
war, and he would fight until the end of the world to win back his
possession.

But that was all Calliope was to Walter—a possession. A trophy.
A pet on a leash he'd thought he'd tamed, but here she was, out of her cage and
desperate for her freedom. And Hades couldn't give it to her.

He wanted to. Not because he loved her the way she so clearly
loved him, and certainly not because he wished to start a war. But because no
one deserved the kind of life Calliope had lived. No one deserved to lose
herself the way she had, buried underneath her husband's pride, lost in the
eternity of his wrath. After having kept Persephone for so long without allowing
her the freedom she had craved, the notion of giving Calliope the very thing he
hadn't given her was intoxicating. Redemption, in his own small way. A chance to
prove to himself—and to Persephone—that he was not a monster, even if he knew it
would be a lie.

That was not enough, though. It was not enough to give Calliope
false hope that someday he might love her; it was not enough to string her along
the way Zeus had. It was not enough to start a war the council could never
finish. It was not enough to risk humanity and break every rule he'd made for
himself since Persephone's death.

It was not enough to risk his own heart, selfish as it was. And
it was not enough to give himself one more chance at happiness. Calliope may
have deserved it, but he did not, and he could not see past that no matter how
hard he tried.

“I am flattered,” he said quietly, unable to look her in the
eye any longer. She would instantly know what these words meant, but he could
not find it in himself to give her even the slightest amount of hope. It would
only be another cruelty. “But you are my brother's wife, and there are certain
boundaries I cannot cross.”

Rather than stand in indignation or hurt, Calliope tightened
her fingers around his. “Please,” she whispered, sounding more like a young girl
than she had in a long time. “I'll explain it to Walter—I'll make sure he knows
it wasn't your idea. I just—I can't live there anymore. I love you. I've loved
you for longer than I've ever loved anyone, and all I'm asking for is a
chance.”

“That is a chance I cannot give you,” he said, focusing on
their intertwined hands. A world of what-ifs in a single gesture. “I am sorrier
than words can describe, but you deserve better than a life in my world. With
me. I could not love you, not the way you love me, and I would rather fade than
see this place choke the life out of you as it did Persephone—”

“Persephone?” She choked on the name. “Is that why you're doing
this? Because of her? Because she didn't love you?”

“Partially,” he allowed, and she touched his chin, forcing him
to look at her. He would've expected tears by now from the waves of frustration
rolling off her, but her eyes were dry.

“What if—what if she was never meant to love you?” Her tone
took on a strange quality, as if she were pushing him toward something he
couldn't see. “What if it wasn't your fault or hers?”

A grave suspicion filled him. “What are you saying?” he said,
trying to see past her determination to whatever lay beneath. “Are you implying
someone manipulated Persephone—”

“What? No, no, of course not,” she said quickly. “I only
mean—what if you were incompatible? What if you fell in love with someone who
simply wasn't right for you? That's all I mean.”

He watched her for a long moment, searching for a lie he knew
was there. But because he loved her, because he wanted to see the best in her
when no one else would, because the thought of her betrayal was too much to
bear, he believed her. His shoulders sagged, and he slipped his hand from hers.
“Regardless of the reasons, the past is the past, and there is nothing I can do
to change it. I am sorry for your lot in life, Calliope. I hope someday you
discover a way to leave it behind and find the life you deserve, but I cannot
love you the way you want me to, and I cannot hurt you more than I already have.
You will always have an ally and a friend in me. But that is all we will ever
be.”

There it was—the pain he knew he would eventually cause her no
matter his answer. It burned like fire in her eyes, and she stood with the pride
and grace of a queen. She was remarkable, worthy of so much more than either him
or his brother, and perhaps one day she would find it. But today would not be
that day.

“Are you certain?” she said, her hands clasped in front of her.
“I will not offer myself to you again, Hades, no matter how true my feelings
will remain.”

He stood, inclining his head in a show of respect for who and
what she was, even if the rest of the council no longer deigned to recognize it.
“I will always be here for you as I was all those years ago. But as much as I
treasure your company, I am afraid we can never be more than what we are now. I
have hurt our family enough as it is, and I cannot allow myself to cause anyone
any more strife. Especially someone I care about as deeply as you.”

“And what about my feelings?” she whispered. “Don't they
matter?”

He took her hand gently and brushed his lips against her
knuckles. “They matter far more than my own, and that is why I must decline. I
am a shell. I am a shadow. I am nothing, and you are everything.”

“You aren't nothing, and you deserve love as much as I do.
Don't you want it?” She was pleading now, though she did an admirable job of
masking it in the commanding tone of a queen. But she was not his queen, and he
would not obey her, not when it would destroy them all.

A bitter, empty smile ghosted over his features, and he bowed
his head once more. “Love is all I have ever wanted in this immortal life. I
have used up my chances though, and I am at peace with that. I beg you to allow
me to remain so.”