The Goddess Test Boxed Set: Goddess Interrupted\The Goddess Inheritance\The Goddess Legacy (111 page)

A moment passed, and at last she stepped back from him, her
expression unreadable. Those tendrils of emotions were gone now, securely hidden
behind the barriers she had so expertly built. How long had it taken her to
retreat so completely into herself? How long had she remained so, until this
moment, when she had finally trusted him enough to let him in?

No matter. It was done, and he would not change his mind. The
sting of rejection now was nothing compared to the agony of loss she would have
felt centuries or eons down the road if he had accepted her proposal, and he had
to content himself with that. She would not be grateful now, or perhaps anytime
in the near future; but someday, when she had found her happiness, he hoped she
would remember this moment and see the future he had allowed her to have. The
future he had wanted her to have.

“I hope you visit, though I understand if you do not,” he said
quietly. She swallowed.

“I will do my best,” she allowed. “But now I must go.”

He nodded once. “I will escort you out.”

“I know the way.” She curtsied once, and he responded with a
deep bow. “Take care of yourself, Hades. And find a name before Walter grows
more upset than he already is.”

“I will do my best,” he murmured. “Do you have any
suggestions?”

Calliope eyed him, and there was something calculating about
her gaze. But when was there not? At least her heartbreak had vanished to a
place where Hades could not see it. “I have had the privilege of spending time
in England, where I have watched many kings rise and fall. Some are silly,
pompous and far too enamored with their titles and the art of war, but some
truly love their people and care for the well-being of their country. A
particular favorite of mine reminded me a bit of you. He was called Henry.”

“Henry.” He mouthed the name to himself a few times, allowing
himself to adjust to the sound of it. He'd met many Henrys, of course, though
perhaps not the one she spoke of. But the name was common enough that he felt
certain it would not stand out. He could be himself without the myths tainting
every step he took, and no one would hear his name and fear death. It would be a
relief to rid himself of such a burden. “Very well. Henry it is.”

Calliope smiled, and this time it was genuine. But before long,
her expression faded into one of sadness once more, and she sighed. “Take care
of yourself, Henry.”

“And you,” he said, moving to kiss her on the cheek as he had
countless times before, but she stepped away. Her barriers slipped for a moment,
and the pain he had feared spilled through. It did not match the agony that had
flooded him since Persephone's death, but pain was not a contest, and hers was
as real as his own.

He watched her go, slipping out of the room before he could
bring himself to say goodbye. Even if she returned someday, it would never be
the same, and already he mourned their friendship. But it was for the best. For
both of them. She deserved a life he could never give her, one filled with
sunshine and love, and he would never forgive himself for hurting her as he'd
hurt Persephone.

Closing his eyes, he slipped through space and returned to his
bedroom to dream of the life he'd lost. Perhaps one day he would be more than a
shadow; perhaps one day he would find his own happiness in whatever new form it
might take. Until then, however, he would be content with his dreams.

His mind whirled with the possibilities of what small memory he
would find comfort in tonight. But though time flowed around him, forcing him to
go with it, his heart remained still. And it would now for always.

Defeat

  

Henry could not pinpoint the exact moment he gave up.
It crept upon him like a thief in the night, stealing away his future piece by
piece until he had nothing left. Maybe it was not one small thing—maybe it was
an eternity of small things combining to form the perfect storm. Or maybe it was
nothing at all.

Whatever it was, after that moment had come and gone, it took
him another hundred years to gather the courage to approach the council with his
decision. He knew in his heart of hearts that no matter how much they claimed to
care for him, they would not take this well. Even though he wanted it, even
though he was ready, they would see it as another burden on them—one none of
them was ready for. And though he felt guilty for what he was about to do, he
stood in front of the gathered council in Olympus, casting around to look each
of them in the eye.

“I wish to fade.”

The words he'd practiced for so long in his head slipped out as
if they were nothing. And given the council's silence, for a long moment he
wondered if perhaps he really hadn't said anything at all.

“Fade?” said Walter, as if he were speaking in tongues.

“Yes, fade,” said Henry with utmost patience. He'd expected
this. “I understand my role in this world is great, but I cannot bear to face
eternity any longer. We have all lived countless lifetimes, and I wish to end
mine now.”

“But—why?” said a small voice beside him, and Henry looked down
at Demeter—Diana. They hadn't spoken much since Persephone's death, but their
bond was still there, having grown even stronger in the everlasting fires of
grief. If she did not understand, he had no hope of convincing the others,
either.

He looked her straight in the eye. “I am alone. Up here, you
all have each other, but I have no one. And despite my best efforts to be the
king my subjects need me to be, I can no longer endure it on my own.”

“You can no longer endure what?” Calliope's voice rang out,
much steadier than his own. “You can no longer endure your rule without a queen?
Or you can no longer endure your existence without a companion?”

There was a sly tone to her question, but Henry ignored it. If
she was implying she could stay with him, either as his queen or his companion,
he would not have it. Nothing had changed in the past four hundred years.

“Both,” he said simply. “As a king, the influx of new subjects
is far too much for me to handle on my own. And as a man, I can no longer endure
being alone.”

“But surely there must be another way,” said Diana, reaching
for him. He allowed her to take his hand. “James knows the inner workings of the
Underworld. Perhaps he could—”

“No.” Henry spoke as gently as he could, but he would not work
side by side with James no matter what the stakes. “I have made my decision, and
if you wish for James to take over my position after I am gone, then so be it.
But I wish to step down from my throne now.”

“And we will not let you,” said Calliope.

“With all due respect, sister, you are not the head of this
council,” said Henry, and despite the look of utter shock on her face at his
dismissal, he looked to Walter for the final word. His brother may have been the
epitome of pride, but if he loved Henry at all, he could not deny him this. It
was his life; his eternity to spend as he wished. And he wished to step down and
fade.

Walter said nothing for a long moment, his eyes locked on
Henry's. “Is this what you truly want? To abandon us? To succumb to cowardice
over a few lonely centuries?”

“Over an eternity alone,” corrected Henry.

“Because you are not willing to go out and find a new
queen.”

“Because I cannot.”

“Your unwillingness to move on does not mean the rest of us
should be punished.”

“And your unwillingness to move on does not mean I should be
punished, either,” said Henry. “Allow me to be clear—this is a courtesy. For
now, I am willing to wait a century before I fade, in order to give the council
time to train my replacement. If you will not give me your blessing, then I will
step down immediately.”

Silence. Walter's lips formed a thin line, and in the throne
next to his, Calliope looked as if she were near tears. But what did they
expect? He was not one of them. He never had been. He had already lived the
happiest years of his existence, and his duties were simply no longer enough to
keep him here.

Beside him, Diana rose, sandwiching his hand in hers.
“Brother,” she said in a voice meant only for him. “I understand your pain. I
carry it, too, and I wish for nothing more than to move beyond it. But fading is
not the answer.”

“It is for me,” he said quietly.

“But there must be some solution. Something you would stay
for.”

He closed his eyes, and an all-too-familiar face appeared in
his mind. The same one that had haunted him for nearly a millennia. “You know
the answer to that,” he whispered.

Her throat constricted. She did. Of course she did. “And what
if I were to find you a new queen?”

A new queen. The idea was so preposterous that he nearly
smiled. “I have no desire for a new queen, or a new companion. That part of my
life is over.”

“Is it?” Something flashed across her face, a determination he
knew all too well. “What if we agreed with you, brother? What if we allowed you
to transition your realm to another for the next hundred years, under the
assumption you will fade at the end of it—but in return, you allowed us to find
you a new companion?”

His heart sank. Another game. “I would never be able to love
her, not the way she would deserve.”

“How can you be so sure?” Before he had the chance to protest,
Diana turned to the others. “I say we accept our brother's choice and allow him
one hundred years to get his affairs in order—with the condition that during
this time, he also allow us to find him a new bride. Someone he can love, who
loves him in return. Someone who can help him rule. Someone who will give him a
reason for staying.”

A murmur rippled through the council, and Aphrodite—Ava was the
first to nod her agreement. “I think it's brilliant,” she said. “I bet between
us, we could find someone who'd be perfect for you.”

Her enthusiasm was contagious, and soon enough the others had
joined in, planning in low, excited voices. Their words were nothing but buzz to
Henry as he watched his plans slowly slip away. They could say they would uphold
his choices as much as they wanted, but eventually, as the decades passed, they
would find a way to trap him here.

But the hope splashed across Diana's face gave him pause, and
at last he exhaled, his shoulders sagging. He would give his sister this, and if
they did break their pact, then he would do as he'd promised and step away
regardless. This was his choice, and he would not allow them to take it from
him.

“Very well,” he said. “One hundred years. That is all the time
I will allow. At the end of that hundred years, if we do not agree upon a
suitable queen to rule at my side—” he could not bring himself to say
wife
or
companion
or
lover
“—then I will step down from my role as King of
the Underworld, and I will fade.”

“So be it,” said Walter. “Sister, I entrust in you the task of
finding our brother a suitable wife. Ava will help you.”

Diana nodded, more radiant than Henry had seen her in an eon.
“I will find someone,” she murmured, once again for his ears only. She brushed
her lips to his cheek, and he ducked his head, focusing on the sunset floor.
“I've made many mistakes in my existence, but this will not be one of them, I
promise you that. I
will
find you someone. Not just
someone—but the person you have deserved all this time.”

He managed the faintest of smiles. It was no secret she blamed
herself for what had happened with Persephone, and if it allowed her to cast
aside her own guilt, then Henry could not deny her the chance to do this. But
the ache inside him, an eternal fire that turned every last piece of his
happiness to ash, would not be extinguished by a stranger. Even if Diana was
right, even if there was someone out there who was his match in every way, who
was somehow more a soul mate to him than Persephone, she would not be able to
heal him. No one could.

He would give Diana this chance though, because he loved her,
and because she had been through enough already. She deserved this as much as he
deserved his own choice, and it was the least he could offer her before he
succumbed to oblivion.

Ingrid

  

For three years, Henry waited.

He knew a girl was coming; Diana was relentless in scouring the
world, and it would only be a matter of time before she found someone for him.
And while he waited, he dreamed of who she might be. Young, old, funny, stoic,
happy or as miserable as he was—anything was a possibility, but whenever he
tried to picture her face, he only saw Persephone's.

Was it even ethical to ask a mortal to be his queen? To put her
through the test and demand she give up half of eternity if she passed? And what
would happen if she failed? Diana had sworn he didn't need to worry about any of
it, but of course he did. If he was going to be the reason this girl, this
woman, left everything she knew behind, then he had no choice but to give her a
happy ending one way or the other.

At last Diana came to him early one evening, while a few souls
still lingered from the latest batch James had led in. It'd taken him three days
to get through them—two days longer than it had only a millennium ago, and he
couldn't bear to think of how many souls were out there waiting for him to get
to them. There was no hurry, of course, but he was miserably behind. And they
deserved their eternities.

“Brother,” she murmured, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “You
look well.”

That was a lie and they both knew it, but he allowed her that
much as he kissed her in return. “As do you. I assume you bring news?”

“I do.” She stepped back enough to look him straight in the
eye, a mischievous smile dancing on her lips. “I found her.”

For a long moment, Henry was quiet. He'd known this was coming,
of course, but to hear her say it—to acknowledge the fact that there was a girl
out there who Diana thought would be a match for him…

“Who is she?” said Henry at last, and Diana squeezed his
hand.

“Her name is Ingrid, and she's beautiful. She has an easygoing
temperament, she's loving, cheerful, and Theo is certain she's the one.”

Theo, Apollo, who had access to the oracles of the world. If
Theo thought she was the one, then not even the Fates could argue. “Very well,”
said Henry. “Will you be bringing her down here?”

“You will be meeting her up on the surface,” said Diana. “At an
orphanage in New York City.”

His eyebrows shot up. “An orphanage? Is she a patron?”

“No, she's a resident,” said Diana with the patience of a
mother explaining something quite simple to her son. “And she has no idea you're
coming.”

A resident, which meant she was an orphan—a child. His sister
was setting him up with a child. “How old is she, exactly?”

“She turned seven last week.”

“Seven?”

“Naturally I am not suggesting you begin courtship
immediately,” she said. “Until she's of age, at the very least. But I thought
perhaps if she grew up knowing you, if somehow you were able to work your way
into her life—”

“As what, an uncle? A father figure? Perhaps that sort of
relationship is acceptable within our family, but for a mortal child—”

“Would you allow me to finish before you interrupt?” said Diana
with a huff, and Henry scowled, falling silent. “Thank you. Now, James will
cover you down here. And don't give me that look—he's the only one who knows the
Underworld well enough to do so. Besides, he needs the practice, in case we
fail.” But from her tone, it was obvious she didn't think they would. “In the
meantime, I thought perhaps it would benefit you best to integrate yourself into
the orphanage, as well. As a child.”

He narrowed his eyes. She wanted him to start a relationship
with a lie. He should've expected nothing less, but the thought of manipulating
a child into loving him, only to snatch her away from the surface when she was
old enough to marry…perhaps that was something Walter would have done, but Henry
liked to think he was better than that. “And what is the harm in waiting until
she is older?”

“By then, she may have found a reason to turn you down,” said
Diana. “And rather than take that chance, it wouldn't be such a terrible thing
to befriend her, would it?”

“I would rather not,” he said flatly.

“You promised you would try, and that's all I'm asking of you.
I'm not suggesting anything salacious or immoral. I'm merely suggesting you give
her a chance as a friend,” said Diana. “I'm a mother myself, if you care to
recall, and I would never condone you taking an interest in a child. But I also
know you would never do such a thing, and I realize there is a distinct
possibility that even if I do find you a queen, she may be nothing more than a
friend to you. I am willing to take that chance. A queen and a simple confidante
is better than no one at all.”

He sighed. “And you swear that if she and I do not get on as
friends, you will not pressure either of us any further?”

“I swear.” She squeezed his hand. “Now come. Let's go meet
her.”

The trip up to the surface was nothing special, but as they
appeared in the streets of New York City, panic began to spread through Henry,
numbing his entire body. The streets were crowded with the bustle of men and
women going about their day, avoiding the horse-drawn carriages passing them by
at alarming speeds. And—Henry blinked—horseless carriages that seemed to move of
their own accord. Despite his wonder, he couldn't stop and enjoy it, not today.
Swallowing his nerves, he took the form of a boy not much older than Ingrid, and
Diana held his hand as a mother would.

The orphanage wasn't far, and soon enough they entered the
narrow building. Squished between two other dwellings, the only natural light
came from small windows in the back and front. The rest was lit with a type of
lamp Henry had never seen before.

“Ah, Diana,” said a woman's voice from the floor above them.
Henry craned his neck as a matronly woman who reminded him of his sister Sofia
descended the stairs. “Is this the boy?”

His sister nodded. “His name's Henry. He won't tell me anything
more than that.”

“Oh, my dear.” The woman knelt in front of him, and Henry eyed
her, shuffling his feet in an attempt to adjust to his new body. He'd changed
forms before, of course, but never with this level of deception in mind. “You
look half-starved, you poor thing. I'm Matilda. Why don't we get some warm bread
in you before you join the other children?”

As she touched his shoulder to guide him up the stairs, Diana
let go of his hand, and Henry scowled.
Is this your plan?
Leave me here as one of them?

I don't see you suggesting anything
better.
He could hear the smugness in her tone, and he sighed.

How will I know which one she
is?

Oh, you'll know. If you have any
questions, dear brother, you know where to find me. And before you
immediately reject her, do yourself a favor and give her a chance. You never
know what might happen.

Henry may not have had access to an oracle as Theo did, but he
was relatively sure this was little more than a stab in the dark. To say a
little girl would be compatible with him was madness, and though he understood
his sister's desperation, this was taking it too far.

He would leave—he'd be doing her a favor, really, allowing her
the chance to live her life as she should have, without the heartache an
eternity with him would bring. He had promised Diana he would try, but to what
end? To trap this girl in the Underworld? To force her to be his friend when all
she wanted was her freedom? It helped that she had no family to miss, certainly,
but he could not be their replacement. He'd already made that mistake once.

Matilda led him into a room with two neat rows of a dozen beds
pushed close together. “Here are the others your age,” she said. “Why don't you
join in while I find you something hot to eat?”

Henry didn't reply. Instead he scanned the other children,
searching for a girl who might be called Ingrid. A few of them stopped playing
to stare at him, both boys and girls, but there didn't seem to be anything
extraordinary about them. And Diana would choose someone special, of that Henry
was certain.

But they all looked ordinary. Clean, well cared for, certainly,
but no one stood out. They played in three groups, each having claimed a third
of the room, and none of them asked him to join them. Not that he needed their
permission, of course. It was ludicrous to think that he, Lord of the
Underworld, could be bested by a roomful of seven- to ten-year-olds, but here he
was.

“You're Henry, aren't you?” A high, almost musical voice
sounded from the doorway, and he turned. A girl with two blond braids stood
behind him, holding a bowl of something that smelled like broth. And though he'd
been looking for her, the shock of seeing her for the first time made the blood
drain from his face.

This was Ingrid. He knew it as well as he knew himself, and
though she didn't appear to be anything but ordinary, everything about her
called to him. The kindness in her blue eyes, the bashfulness in her cheeks, the
way her small size made him want to protect her against every bad thing that had
led her to this place. In her he saw something—something wiser and deeper than
the others, something he couldn't explain. But it was there. That much he was
sure of.

“Y-yes, I'm Henry,” he said, surprised by how high his own
voice sounded. Had he ever been this young before? He was certain he hadn't. “Is
that for me?”

The little girl nodded, and he took the bowl, careful not to
spill. It wasn't the sort of rich fare he was used to, but there was something
distinctly homey about the scent that wafted from his meal. A soaked biscuit
floated in the center, and the little girl turned red upon noticing it.

“Oh! I'm sorry. I can get you a new one.” Her hands were
halfway to the bowl before Henry pulled it back.

“No, it's fine,” he said. “It smells good.” Sinking down onto
the wooden floorboards, he gestured for her to join him. “What's your name?”

“Ingrid,” she said with a slight accent he couldn't place, and
she sat down beside him. She eyed his bowl hungrily, and without a word, he
offered it to her.

“I'm not really that hungry,” he said, and despite her
hesitancy, she allowed herself a spoonful, along with a bit of the soaked
biscuit. “Didn't you eat?”

She shrugged. “Wasn't hungry before,” she whispered. “Had a
funny feeling, and my stomach was all twisty.”

He didn't know how to interpret that. Had Ingrid known he was
coming? Could she sense it somehow? Did she know, even now, that there was
something about him, as he knew there was something about her?

“You can have all you want,” he promised, and after she sneaked
a look at the others, she dug in with fervor, stopping only to take a deep
breath. He watched her with a small smile, reminded vaguely of Cerberus at
mealtime. But despite being so young, she managed not to spill a drop.

“We should be friends,” she said between mouthfuls, with the
shy boldness only a child could get away with. “I don't really have many.”

“I'd like that,” said Henry. “I don't have many, either.”

“You're my friend now.” After sipping up the last few
spoonfuls, she finally set the bowl aside. She hadn't left so much as a soggy
bite. “And we'll be good friends, won't we?”

“The best,” promised Henry. A moment passed, and she watched
him with those ancient eyes of hers, as if she could see right through him. As
if she knew exactly who and what he was.

“Why are you here?” she said without preamble, and Henry
hesitated. Did she know after all? Or was she simply asking about his supposed
parents?

“Why are
you
here?” he said

“Because,” she whispered, “I want a family.”

Henry smiled. “That's why I'm here, too.”

“Good. Everyone needs a family.” She hugged his arm and all but
dragged him to his feet, surprisingly strong for such a small girl. “Come on,
I'll show you my doll.”

With the same patience Diana had shown him only minutes before,
Henry let her pull him away. It was strange, and no matter her age, he could
never see himself loving anyone else the way he'd loved Persephone. But perhaps
being friends wouldn't be such a bad thing, after all.

* * *

On Ingrid's eighteenth birthday, he finally told her who
he was.

After eleven years by her side, he knew her better than he knew
himself; he knew she would cry. He knew she would be confused and ask more
questions than he could possibly answer.

What he hadn't expected was her acceptance.

Despite his deception, somehow she'd taken his hand, kissed his
cheek, and asked to see the Underworld. For him to show her his world and
everything he'd ever known before he'd met her. At first he'd been tempted to
comply, but he'd never brought a living mortal down there before, and some
fundamental part of himself refused.

Instead, as the tests began and the members of his family began
to watch her, he reopened one of the long-dormant manors he'd built for
Persephone. It was the least he could do, giving her a place on the surface
where she could stay when the Underworld became too much. He wouldn't make the
same mistakes with Ingrid. She would not be Persephone, and no matter what it
cost him, she would be happy.

And so, he thought, would he. Their friendship was just
that—perhaps to Ingrid it was more, but he still didn't have it in him to take
her as a true wife. He loved her dearly, more than he'd loved anyone since
Persephone, but it was a platonic love. And whether or not she accepted it, he
could never quite be sure.