She was afraid to lose him, but if she could not keep him at her side and still be herself…had she ever really had him?
In the end, as her thoughts twisted and turned in confusion, all that she really knew was this: if she violated the terms of the trial, she would lose him, forever.
Just as she was about to close her eyes or look away, he said something that made Aphrodite step back a pace and blink. And both fear and jealousy fell away as she realized she had won.
At least, this time.
Leo could not recall a time when he had felt so battered in body and soul. He had thought that the fight to reach Hades’s palace had been the hardest he had ever undertaken—harder than facing the Huntsman and Prince Desmond, harder than fighting off the Children of the Dragon’s Teeth.
This…this was even harder.
It wasn’t so much the combat by itself. It was the opponents.
One by one, he faced every fear, every humiliation and every defeat he had ever had. One by one, he was terrified, humiliated and defeated all over again. The first time it happened, he was petrified, thinking that to lose one of these battles was to lose Bru.
But as he picked himself up off the ground and his opponent faded away, he understood that winning wasn’t the goal after all.
It didn’t matter if he won or lost, only that he faced the things inside himself and survived. And, presumably, the same was true for Bru; he had heard nothing of her behind him, but that was the point, wasn’t it?
But it was hard. Bad enough to have dealt with these over the course of a lifetime, but to face them one after another, but with no breaks? By this point his strength was just about run out; he kept his eyes fixed on Hermes’s heels, and plodded along through the mist like an old man.
The one thing he didn’t have to face again was the temptation to give up; evidently Aphrodite was deemed the most potent weapon in the rack on that score, and there was no point in bringing out anything else.
Just as he was thinking that, he almost ran into Hermes. He looked up.
Ahead of them was a solid wall of ebon blackness. Night was not this black. It oozed despair, dread and fear, and the end of hope. Hermes pointed.
“You must follow me through this,” he said tonelessly. “This is your last trial. You must face the final darkness, the last fear, that of knowing that you are utterly, utterly alone. On the other side is the Upper World. This is your last chance to turn back and admit defeat.”
Leo looked at the Void, and shuddered. He didn’t want to go in there. He had never much liked being alone in the conventional sense, and to willingly plunge into that? Instinctively, he understood the import of Hermes’s words. This wouldn’t be merely being “lonely.” This would be—being alone. He would find himself in there with nothing for company but all his faults and fallibilities, and he would be unable to escape them.
He didn’t have a choice. Not if he ever wanted to be able to look at himself in the mirror again.
Hermes vanished into the black. Leo followed.
Five months since Persephone had returned to her mother and for the first time, spring and summer had come to the realm of Olympia, and now, on this the very first Harvest Moon of the Olympians, there was another occasion that would (hopefully) not be repeated. All of the gods and no few of the Godmothers had conferred and consulted; all agreed that Brunnhilde and Leopold had earned their respective rewards. As everyone had expected, for his reward, Leopold chose to have his beloved back, and Brunnhilde had chosen immortality for her love.
This was all agreed, and yet to make sure that The Tradition was properly satisfied, there was one more ordeal that they had to pass. The Harvest Moon, and the occasion for Persephone to return to the Underworld, seemed to be the most suitable moment. After all, there would be a trade of sorts—Brunnhilde for Persephone, one entering the Underworld, and one leaving. So now, as the Olympians gathered at one of the openings into Hades, Persephone among them, they waited and watched.
This would be a test of faith, in each other. Hades had decreed that Leopold could, indeed, fight his way down to the great palace and lead Brunnhilde out. But he had also decreed that once he began the journey back, he was neither to look back to see that she was following, nor speak to her, no matter what he saw or heard. And for her part, she was not to make a sound, nor touch him, nor give any sign that she was there—no matter what she might encounter.
And both of them would encounter a lot. Persephone, who knew her love very well, knew that he would not make this test a mere token.
What that long ordeal would be, what the two of them would face, no one knew, but since Hecate and Hades were the ones in charge of the obstacles Brunnhilde and Leo would encounter, they were bound to be very personal, and very dark. On the whole, Persephone reflected, she would rather face an ordeal created by any gods other than those two. Most of them would simply line up shades for a simple fight. Not Hades, and not Hecate.
Brunnhilde would have to trust that no matter what she saw, Leo wouldn’t lead her astray. Leo would have to trust that, no matter how tempted she was, nor how terrified, Brunnhilde would follow him.
The gods waited with bated breath. Others had failed this test before. Others would likely fail it in the future. As Hades had pointed out, this would set a precedent and he couldn’t afford to make it anything less than the worst that anyone could bear. It could never be permitted to be easy to take a soul from Hades’s realm, even when that soul wasn’t actually dead.
Finally the door opened. A great stillness settled over the clearing.
First to emerge was Hermes, acting as Leo’s guide. Then Leo, looking white and anguished. Then—nothing, and someone in the crowd groaned.
But then, stumbling and shaking so hard her armor rattled, Brunnhilde.
The assembled gods cheered, and Persephone ran from the crowd to meet them—
But she didn’t reach them before Hermes signaled to Leo that he could turn, and the lovers fell into each other’s arms.
Persephone stopped, right at the door into the Underworld, smiling so hard her mouth hurt. They clearly didn’t need her.
And then she felt the presence she had ached for over the last five months, just behind her.
She turned to find Hades behind her, smiling down at her.
She had thought of all the things she would say to him when she finally saw him again, but now, when she saw him, she forgot all of them.
“Welcome back,” said her love, and pulled her into his arms. And while the attention was on everyone else, she and he walked hand in hand into the darkness, and home.
EPILOGUE
Demeter had absolutely refused to make Leo immortal. She had flounced off to her temple to sulk for the seven months of winter, while the rest of the gods were still celebrating the Harvest Moon feast at the mouth of Hades’s realm.
Once she was well gone, Hecate appeared in her customary puff of blue smoke, this time without her dogs, but with a large amphora dangling from one hand as if it weighed nothing. Bru greeted her with a grin, Leo with a matching one.
“Stubborn woman,” Hecate muttered. “Well. As I told you both, thanks to Hades’s helmet, I was able to watch her when she was working the magic to make that little mortal child an immortal. I tried it out on that little lad Zeus kidnapped for a cupbearer, so I know it works. This is why I was making sure you never ate anything but ambrosia for the last five months.” She eyed Leo suspiciously. “Please tell me you obeyed my order to the letter.”
“I swear!” Leo protested. “Lady, I know how The Tradition works, and if you wanted me to eat nothing but ambrosia, then there had to be a good reason for it.”
Hecate sighed with relief. “All right, the last part is this.” She heaved the amphora at him. It definitely was much heavier than it had looked. Leo caught it with a grunt. “Come with me, we need privacy for this.”
Without any preamble, the blue smoke enveloped all three of them, and when it cleared, they wer
e in a windowless chamber that held a very comfortable-looking couch and a central hearth on which a fire burned. There was a good supply of firewood next to it. Leo smiled. Things were already improving.
“Now, Leo, you get completely undressed and bathe yourself in the nectar in that amphora.”
He waited. Hecate showed no signs of vanishing.
“Ah—a little privacy?” he begged.
She snorted. “Mortal, you have absolutely nothing I haven’t seen before, and nothing I am interested in. Strip. Bathe.”
Feeling his manhood withering under her gaze, Leo meekly did as he was told, covering himself in the sticky nectar. Which would have been very, very nice if Bru was going to lick it off, but with Hecate standing there looking like the incarnation of his disapproving old nurse, was less than erotic.
“Now go sit down in the fire,” Hecate ordered. “Or lie down, you might as well. You’re going to be there all night.”
“What?” Leo yelped.
“And every night for the next month.”
“WHAT?”
She tapped her foot impatiently. “Do you want to be immortal or not? By Kronos’s severed goolies, I didn’t get this much fuss and protest out of little Ganymede, and here you are a fully grown man! Bru will tend the fire, you’ll toast in it all night long while I recite the spells. It will take thirty nights to burn the mortality out of you. That’s how it is.”
Leo’s heart sank. It had been almost a whole year, and he had not wanted to spend his first night with his beloved separated by ten feet of pavement and a fire.
He certainly had not wanted to spend the first thirty nights with his beloved separated by ten feet of pavement and a fire.
But Bru was giving him the big-eyed pleading look. And after all she had gone through to get him this gift—
“Uh…question?” he said, wondering awkwardly where he ought to put his hands. And blushing enough for three.
“What?” Hecate glowered.
“Exactly what sort of immortality is this, anyway?” He’d learned quite a bit about “immortality” as the bargaining agent for the gods. “How does this work, exactly?”
Hecate stopped glowering and eyed him with speculation.
“I’d like to know too,” Bru put in. “I’d like to know if you lot are going to try to fit us into your pantheon, or if your local mortals will. Because, if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not.”
“Well.” Hecate offered a small smile, which looked very odd on her usually dour face. “Intelligent questions. What a change! It’s simple enough. It’s relative immortality, just like the rest of the half-Fae. Ambrosia comes from the Fae realms, which is why you’re supposed to eat only that for a set period of time. Then the spell takes the design, the ‘half-Faeness,’ from someone else and the ambrosia sets everything up. The fire is transformative. It doesn’t really burn anything away, it’s both a metaphoric and actual transformation. And the ambrosia coating you protects you from the very literal fire. In your case because, no, I do not want you two joining up with the Olympians, thank you, I’m using you, Brunnhilde, as the pattern. Demeter usually uses herself.”
Leo scratched his head. The ambrosia itched. “How long is ‘relative’ immortality?”
“I don’t have an answer for that. A very long time, unless you do something to get yourself killed. And if you do, your souls will go wherever you believe you’ll go. Elysium wouldn’t be too horrible, I suppose.” Hecate shrugged. “From what Brunnhilde has told me, I wouldn’t care for Vallahalia.”
Leo and Bru exchanged a long look. There would be many discussions about this in the future, he was sure.
“Now, will you please step into the fire?” Hecate added. “I’d like to get this started in the proper time.”
Leo sighed, and did as he was told. Although he had been expecting something painful, it wasn’t. In fact, it was rather pleasant, if…weird. Then again, he had gotten used to weird. He did have a hill for a mother-in-law, after all.
He made a mental note not to mention the immortality when he and Bru visited his family. Things were already complicated enough.
He made himself a little hollow among the coals and curled up, giving Bru a longing look.
She smiled as Hecate began chanting. “Don’t worry, husband,” she said, with a wink that looked as if she had stolen it from Aphrodite. “I’ve never heard it said that sharing a couch could only be done between dusk and dawn. There are many hours in a day, and we have nowhere to go till the end of Harvest Moon.”
He blinked. “Oh. Ha!” And the mere thought of what awaited him in the morning caused a great movement among the coals down around his nether regions.
“Worse than nymphs and satyrs, the two of you,” Hecate muttered, and went on with her chanting.
Hades and Persephone paused by the edge of the Acheron. The unhomed souls were building up again. Persephone eyed them thoughtfully.
“Perhaps a temple?” she hazarded.
“Eh?” Hades’s mind had clearly been elsewhere. Not that she blamed him. Five months was a very, very long time.
“A temple—no, several! Placed at caves or other places where mortals think entrances to your realm are. They can make offerings of coins for the spirits, and in return—” she thought quickly “—in return I will grant them guaranteed passage across the river. That way you remain the stern ruler, and—”
“And you are the sly little creature that works around my rules.” He caught her up and kissed her soundly. “I like it. I believe you deserve a reward.”
She giggled. “And what would that reward be?”
“Me, of course.” He raised his voice in a bellow. “CHARON!”
“Coming, coming,” came the lugubrious voice out of the fog. “I’ll be only too pleased to get you two to a room. You’re scandalizing the spirits.”
For the first time ever, Hades threw back his head and laughed, and laughed, and laughed until his sides ached.
CAST IN MOONLIGHT
MICHELLE SAGARA
CAST IN MOONLIGHT
The girl sat in a chair in the center of the highest point of the Tower of the Hawks. The aperture of the roof was open; moonlight touched her head and shoulders.
Lord Grammayre, Commander of the Hawks, one of the three bodies that enforced the Emperor’s Law, faced her while she waited; her knees were drawn up to her chest and she’d tucked her chin behind them. She didn’t look up.
She couldn’t leave the Tower, but hadn’t tried; the only time she had reacted at all was during his brief mirrored conversation with the Imperial Office. “You are familiar with the Tha’alani?” he’d asked.
She hadn’t answered, but her tight, strained silence was enough; she knew. “I’ll answer your questions,” she finally said in a low, low voice. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know. I’ve got no reason to lie.”
“You will forgive me,” he said in a voice that implied that if she didn’t he wasn’t concerned. “Your answers to my questions—any of them—will be suspect.” The girl hadn’t arrived as a guest; nor had she arrived as a messenger. She had arrived—through the roof—as an assassin, and it was clear that she understood the cost of failure. “The Tha’alani are best known for their ability to read thoughts, and they can approach memory clusters of events that you yourself might recall less clearly in a conscious fashion.” He watched her closely. “If you do not resist his examination, it will pass quickly. There will be some minimal discomfort.”
“And if I do?”
He didn’t reply.
In the process of ascertaining that she wasn’t armed, he had discovered marks that ran the length of her visible forearm and her lower legs; he was not certain how far they extended. They were a dark gray that was almost black, and they appeared to be writing, although not in a language that he recognized.
“How old are you, Kaylin?”
She didn’t look up at the sound of her name. Since he assumed that the name she had given hi
m was false, he wasn’t surprised. But there was no defiance in her now. “Thirteen.”
The Tower doors flashed a brief blue before they began to roll open. Standing between them was an older Tha’alani man. His expression was grim and set, and the single defining characteristic of his race—the stalks that occupied a third of his forehead—were weaving stiffly. He bowed.
“Lord Grammayre.”
“Garadin.”
“I apologize for my delay. I headed to the cells first, and was redirected.”
“It is a slightly unusual case.” Lord Grammayre nodded to the girl who occupied the central portion of the Tower.
“This is the subject?”
“Yes.”
“She is…young.”
“Yes. I’m sorry.”
Garadin hesitated. “May I suggest an alternate agent?”
“I have considered it carefully, but I do not have the luxury of time. I must make a decision, and it must be made with minimal knowledge and minimal paperwork.”
“As you wish, Lord Grammayre.”
The subject in question looked up. Her lips thinned and her body locked as if she were in sudden rigor. But once again, she made no attempt to flee. Her eyes and nostrils widened as Garadin approached. “What,” he asked the Lord of Hawks, “am I to search for? What am I to determine?”
“I wish to know who sent her to the Tower. I wish to know,” he added, “where she received the…tattoos…on her arms and legs, and if possible, the extent to which she understands them.” He hesitated, and then added, “I wish to know, in the limited context of an informational search, what your opinions of her state of mind are.”
Garadin nodded his graying head. He turned, reached for the girl’s face, and drew it closer. She struggled, but it was minimal and visceral; she probably couldn’t control the response. Garadin’s thumbs pushed her matted hair out of the way, exposing skin; he touched her forehead with his stalks.
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