Destroyer of Light (6 page)

“But— he’s— if you and Hypnos are back, that means he’s—”

“Did you not hear? Sisyphus escaped,” Thanatos said, setting the sickle against the wall. Merope paled in fear, panic seeping into her at the thought of her tormenter loose in the Underworld. He sauntered over to her, wings outstretched, his upturned arms presented to her. “But he was kind enough to gift me with these before he left.”

Merope gasped, and cupped her hand over her mouth as she stared at the deeply pitted scars decorating his arms. “Are you alright?”

“Mostly. Where it counts, at least,” he said with half a smile and his lower lip caught between his teeth. “Don’t worry about me, my lady. I’m a god; it won’t take long for the scars to disappear. By morning, I doubt you’ll even see them.”

Merope was too distraught to catch his insinuation. “How did he escape?”

“I was hoping you could tell me that.” Thanatos narrowed his eyes at her. “ When did Sisyphus learn how to bridge the divide between our world and the world of the living? What
didn’t
you tell us?”

“I… I don’t know how he—,” she trailed off in fear. Nightmares of Sisyphus, Tartarus, the Keres, burning, screaming, choking… “Please, you must believe me! For the last eight years he hid everything he did from me! Don’t send me back to the Pit, I beg of you! I swear to you, I h-had… n-no idea he could-d…” Her words were lost. She broke down crying, tears obscuring Thanatos’s softening expression. “I…”

“Shh…” Thanatos ran his hand along her cheek, cupping her face, trying to soothe her. She sobbed and shook and he felt her tears trickle over the back of his hand. He shook his head. This was not going the way he’d wanted, and he weighed whether or not he should even be here. Thanatos had spent the last month hunting down the sorcerer king, thoughts of Merope haunting his every step. He wasn’t used to waiting for women. For Thanatos, the time between desiring a willing woman and having them on their back was never greater than the span of an hour.

Once he had returned to Chthonia, he’d waited three agonizing days at his king’s bidding before coming here. Aidoneus had told him to wait until Sisyphus was in Tartarus. And so he waited. Against every instinct he’d ever had, he waited, until she became a torment in his mind. Sisyphus was gone, and he wasn’t about to wait
another
month. Merope was killing him just as surely as he, Death, was the end of all things. He’d read all the signals she’d given him since the moment they met, her eyes examining him just as carefully as he had looked at her. But now, when he was so very close, she was hysterical and feared him utterly.
What in Tartarus did that bastard do to you, Merope?

“Merope, it’s alright. Look at me,” he said, waiting until her eyes met his. Maybe she was too damaged for what he really wanted. Or, he thought, maybe this was the perfect means by which they could both have some brief peace together and forget about the cruelties of the world above. Her deep hazel irises swirled in fear, then swam in relief when he studied her calmly. Another tear fell, caught between his fingers. He brought it to his lips and darted his tongue out to drink its saltiness, hoping that wasn’t the last taste of her he’d have this evening. “Merope, I’m not him. You have nothing to fear from me— ever. Even if you
weren’t
under the protection of the Queen.” He leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead. “I just came here to make sure I had everything I needed before I left.”

“E-everything?” she said, confused by the grin on his face.

He looked down and laughed quietly to himself.

“What’s so amusing?”

“Nothing. You’re an innocent, in every
true
sense of that word, Merope. It’s an uncommon quality in a nymph, especially one who lived as long as you did.” Thanatos smiled at her, reassuring the woman that he wasn’t patronizing her. “I like it, truthfully. And since my attempts at subtlety obviously don’t work on you, I think I’ll have to be a bit more explicit,” he said.

He leaned in and brushed his lips past hers until he felt her sigh in acceptance. When Merope opened to him, he pressed them to hers, their unexpected warmth searing through her. She hadn’t thought the kiss of Death would hold any warmth at all, that he would feel cold. Thanatos started with her bottom lip, lightly nipping at its soft fullness. His tongue flicked against her teeth, tasting honeyed date wine, deep and sweet and fermented, before her mouth let him in. Her lips slanted against his and her hand came up to rest on his shoulder. Merope tried to gain some sense of balance against the relentless vertigo of his tongue stroking and battling against hers, filling her mouth with the heady, peppery first press of olives. She deepened their kiss and tasted him in turn, her head tilting back to allow him greater access. Merope broke away eventually, lightheaded, her head buzzing, her lips tingling, and for the first time since the pyre, her heart beating. An ache, a flood of liquid heat, dead and absent to her far longer than her fiery sacrifice in the
agora
, overtook her with a fierceness that made her gasp.

“Thanatos… I…”

“I’m leaving at dawn to kill your husband, Merope.” He took her head in his hands on either side of her temples and pressed his forehead to hers. He spoke low, almost breathless. “But before I go, I’m spending the night in your bed.”

“Why now?” The hand holding the sheet to her breasts clutched harder at his suggestion, as though she were afraid she would drop it right then, or that he would take it from her— rend it in his hands. Her breath hitched, realizing she didn’t mind either possibility. He drew away from her. When Merope shuddered, searching out his lips again, he knew that he had her, and would deny him nothing. Still…

“Because when I reap him, I’d like to do it for you. If I do it for the sake of my own vengeance, it will cloud my judgment. And I think spending tonight together will give both of us a chance to… lick our wounds. I’ve seen you,” he said shrugging off the weight of his cloak and letting it fall to the floor. “I know you,” He listened to Merope’s breathing waver in anxious delight. Thanatos lounged across the foot of her bed and continued. “I know you desire me as much as I
clearly
desire you, but I will warn you now— Do not expect me to return to your bed after tonight. When I take someone, I only take them once. Now… knowing that, if this is what you want, I’ll stay. If not…”

She glanced down the length of his body as he reclined unashamedly naked, unmistakably aroused, at the foot of her bed. Thanatos let her examine him, giving her complete awareness of her choice.

“Yes or no,” he whispered.

Merope looked him in the eye. “Did you come here, come to me, to take revenge on him?”

Thanatos drew back for a moment, contemplating his answer. Truth, raw truth, had always been his ally. And if she didn’t like his truth, then he would cordially leave now and find another to slake his unrequited lust. Tasting Merope’s full lips, feeling her respond to him, had been satisfaction enough. He cocked his head to the side. “Maybe.”

She nodded and saw his sinews tense, preparing to leave at her refusal. “You gave me your terms, Thanatos, now I’ll give you mine.”

“Go on…” he smiled. He relaxed his shoulders.

“I suffered Sisyphus in my bed and in my soul for seventeen years. And I won’t do it ever again. So if you’ve come to me, thinking about my husband when you should be thinking about me, then I’ll ask you to leave right now. But if you can put our scars aside,” she said, leaning back and letting the sheet fall to her waist, “and allow us to enjoy each other for one night— then yes; you may stay.”

“I’m certain I can agree to that, my lady.” He smiled at her and slowly pulled back the rest of the sheet, hand over hand, until she was fully exposed to him.

He took in all the things about her that had haunted his imagination for a month. She sat up to meet him as Thanatos crept forward. His knee parted her legs and his arms held him aloft on either side of her. He brushed back the tight ringlets of her hair, tucking them next to her ear.

“Every night, my brothers have quelled your nightmares and healed you while you slept…”

Thanatos kissed across her cheek, and lightly stroked his fingers down her neck and collarbone, caressing the outside curve of her breast, a dark berry nipple beading against the gentle pressure of one digit.

“Now that your eyes are open, it’s my turn.”

His next kiss lowered her to the bed. Their limbs feverishly tangled together several times before dawn, alabaster hands on olive skin, male and female, awake and alive, both marveling at the contrast. She needed this, and though his ethos didn’t always permit him to give women what they wanted, he always managed to give them what they needed when he had them. He wasn’t upset at himself for bending his rules with her; it was all within the course of one night, and he wouldn’t return to her. He knew in the back of his mind that even if he did want to see her again, it would be impossible. Their last coupling was leisurely and sublime, and as he rocked gently within her, Merope finally let go— ready— at peace. When light started filtering through her window, Death quietly draped himself in the black cloak that lay pooled at the edge of the bed. He planted a kiss on the nymph’s sleeping forehead and walked to the window, sickle in hand.

“Goodbye, Merope,” he whispered.

“She went to Aeacus today
to drink the waters of the Lethe.”

“Who?” Persephone asked. “Merope?” Aidoneus nodded. She sighed and sat on the divan.

He walked behind her, brushing a hand down her back. “Does that upset you?”

“Only a little, and mostly for selfish reasons,” she admitted. “I enjoyed having someone from my… previous life… that I could talk to, but every conversation would drift back to all the pain she endured. I don’t understand why she insisted on clinging to those memories day after day.”

“Many do,” he said. “Sometimes, it seems those who’ve suffered the most are the least willing to let go. Merope is not the first such soul I’ve encountered; and I assure you, she will not be the last.”

“Truly? I’m happy she finally decided to find peace in Asphodel.” She stilled his hand on her shoulder and laced her fingers within his, looking up at him. “Any idea what convinced her?”

“I have my suspicions,” Aidoneus said darkly. “Aeacus said that she was smiling, and calmer than he’d ever seen her. Merope told him she was ready and it was long overdue. She wanted to say goodbye to us, but told Aeacus it would only make it harder.”

“I just wish there were something more that we could have done for her.”

“What more? Merope is at peace now.”

She slid over so he could sit next to her and gazed out over the Styx beyond the terrace. Persephone shook her head. “I’m not sure. It is true; Merope will be at peace in Asphodel…”

“But…”

“…She will be reborn one day. And while the living world is a place of joy and sunlight…” she paused when she saw Aidon cast his eyes downward. He looked exhausted. She stroked his cheek and reassuringly looked him in the eye once more. “There is still so much suffering. Needless, endless suffering. And it’s so strange to think that she will come back as a mortal with no recollection of the aeons she was alive.”

“Not for a while, rest assured. Her circumstance is… unique, but we are the caretakers of the souls. We can’t make special exceptions in a cycle as old as mortality itself. But if we could, what would we do differently? What would you want?”

She smiled and dropped her gaze, tears in the corners of her eyes. No matter how vehemently the House of Nyx and the Hundred Handed Ones had insisted that this realm belonged to her, she was still amazed that Aidoneus sought to include her as his equal. “I’d let the better souls rest.”

He raised his eyebrows at her. “The better ones?”

“Merope, for instance. Surely she has done enough good and suffered enough ill?”

“Who else?”

She thought for a minute. “Tartarus is there for those who spend their lives destroying the lives of others, is it not? But what about their opposites? What about those who made the lives of those around them better? What about those who sacrificed themselves for others, those who were especially brave or kind…”

“And sacrifice their usefulness to the world above? Won’t the living world only deteriorate if we cloister them here?”

“If they decided to leave, they would have that right. And new souls are made here every day. They can take the place of those who wish to stay. People can change.”

He frowned. “You have more faith in them than I do, I’m afraid.”

“They can. After all,
we’ve
changed, and it certainly took less than a human lifetime. I would be unrecognizable to someone who knew me only before I met you. And you’ve changed as well.”

“Oh?” he said with a smile.

“Well of course you have,” she said, brushing the lines near his mouth and eyes. “This, for instance. You were so very grim and serious when I first arrived.”

“I was afraid.”

“You? Of me?” she said with a teasing smirk. He nodded. “The warrior who fought Titans?”

He lowered his head, the half smile still on his face. “Doesn’t compare to the terror of starting my married life with you, sweet one.” He chuckled when her nose scrunched up. “I don’t mean that to offend. Remember, it took me all the time from when you reached majority until two months ago to muster the courage to ask for you. And nothing in my life frightened me more than the possibility that I’d lost you forever, thanks to the manner in which I brought you here.”

“But nothing frightens you now?”

He looked away, exhaustion evident on his face once more. He’d barely slept the night before. She’d drifted out of sleep a few times over the course of the night, just as worried as he was, and each time she’d seen Aidoneus staring at the ceiling, willing himself to rest. She held his hand. “Sisyphus.”

“It’s more than just him. So many things have transpired that are
not
supposed to happen. And after what we were told— what we saw in Tartarus…”

“Husband, none of that was true.”

“There were grains of truth. And now…” he shook his head and paled with anxiety. “A mortal… a
living mortal
has stepped through barriers that
gods
cannot cross, and he could have done so at any time. But he chose that
last
moment, on the final leg to the Phlegethon. He only stayed as long as he did to observe our strengths and weaknesses. And I don’t know what he learned or what he’ll do with that knowledge, much less with the Chains he stole.”

“How can he possibly have done that?”

Aidon said nothing.

“The Titans are infinitely more powerful than he is, so if Sisyphus was able to escape, why haven’t
they
?”

He remained silent. All he could see was the last vision of Kronos.

“And why didn’t Hecate—”

“Because she was busy trying to reason with your mother!” he snapped. He looked at Persephone, her shoulders tensed, her face drawn. “Wife, I’m sorry. Forgive me.”

He dropped his forehead into his hand and shut his eyes. Persephone leaned against him. “It’s all right. I shouldn’t expect you to have all the answers.”

“I don’t think anyone has the answers right now. Too many impossible
things have happened since…” he silenced himself, knowing where this led.

“Since you brought me here,” she said, and watched him scowl. “Not all of them are bad things, Aidon. The grove, for instance.”

“Well, our grove— and everything we know— will either end in flames or vanish into nothingness if she—” he bit his cheek and took a deep breath. “If this continues much longer.”

“Do you think to somehow protect me from what my mother is doing?”

“No.”

“Then why are you holding your tongue?”

“Because you asked me to. It was the first thing you ever asked of me.”

“I recant. Speak your mind.” The gravity of the situation demanded honesty, but Persephone was quietly pleased that her husband had been so loyal to his promise.

Aidoneus opened his eyes as wide as the floodgates she had just parted. “There’s so much I’ve held—” he swallowed. Where would he begin? “When I took you from the fields it was because Demeter was willing to sacrifice all, including you, to keep you from me. And even now, her stubbornness is destroying everything from the heavens to the depths of the Pit. I don’t understand why I became the target of her wrath when it was your father who mistreated her in the first place! He deceived and abandoned her, left her heavy with child, he killed her lover—”

Persephone’s mouth went agape. “Her… My mother’s what?!”

Demeter’s policy of keeping Persephone ignorant had stopped surprising Aidoneus a while ago, but this instance didn’t stop him from shaking his head at the injustice done to his wife. “Some years after you were born, a mortal farmer came across the shores of the Styx with stories about Demeter, and an infant goddess named Kore. His name was Iasion— a very skilled farmer, in truth. The greatest mankind had produced in those early days. Zeus had caught them… coupling… and struck Iasion down as he lay beside your mother. He died instantly— he didn’t even know what happened.”

“Why would Zeus do such a thing?” she said, horrified. “He’d already abandoned my mother! Why couldn’t he just leave us alone and let her be happy?”

Aidon pursed his lips. “Because he still loved her, in his own selfish, foolish way. He sought an alliance with Hera because she was a better match. And that was the most frustrating thing for me. I always knew that Hera was a better choice for him, but what could I have told your mother? Hera was craftier, more influential— clever in all the ways Zeus wasn’t, and they complemented each other perfectly. But that didn’t mean he loved Demeter any less.”

Persephone scowled, angry, wishing she could have known at least something about Iasion, this singular man who had never caused her mother any grief. She also puzzled at why her mother hadn’t made her lover immortal— especially when he had given her so much joy.

“After I learned what I could from Iasion,” Aidon continued, “his shade drank from the Lethe and was at peace in Asphodel, his name forgotten. But I could see what manner of man he was. He was too valuable to the world above to languish below, and when the time was right, after mankind regained Prometheus’s fire, I returned him to the mortal world. Before he left, I did something I had never done before, and had his shade drink from the Mnemosyne before departing.”

Persephone shivered, remembering the flood of memories when she’d sipped a few drops of the Mnemosyne. “What happens to shades when they drink from it?”

“The Pool of Memories gives them a chance to recall fragments of their previous life when they return. It would be a dangerous thing to give mortals
all
their memories back; they would go mad. I’ve only allowed rare souls the privilege. Iasion had more to do, more to teach to his kind… but another part of me…”

She held his hand, tracing the lines on his palm.

“…I had hoped that when his soul returned it would find Demeter, somehow. Give her some happiness, be it as a friend or lover.”

“Aidon, why didn’t you ever tell my mother this?”

He clenched his teeth together. “Hermes was not yet born. Without the Messenger of the Gods, I had no way to tell her, short of rising out of the earth myself, which our pact forbade me to do. I later learned my efforts were for naught. Demeter had long since made her home in Nysa, where mortals cannot go. The shade returned across the Styx after a full life. She had been a mother of six, a grandmother of twenty. She milled wheat, baked bread with her husband, and bartered it at market. Her whole village mourned her death and buried simple, tender gifts for her to carry here with her. I was glad for it, but didn’t interfere with Iasion’s soul again.”

Persephone shifted and sat across from him, holding his hands. “This is why I wish there was something we could do for souls such as Iasion’s. A way for them to keep their memories, to rest, to be rewarded for a life well lived.”

“Sweet one, I only have what I was given when I came here, and this order existed well before you and I, before the current race of mortals even came into being. There is Asphodel, and there is Tartarus. It would be a torment for shades to walk the Fields with memories of their lives— imagine when they meet those they knew and loved, stripped of everything that made them alive. That fate serves as a temporary punishment for the shades that stand at the Cocytus, and eternal agony for those in Tartarus.”

Persephone bit the inside of her lip while she digested his rebuttal, helplessly sympathizing with those noble souls trapped by aeons of tradition. She lifted her feet onto the divan. “Will Thanatos be all right?”

“He already left to hunt down Sisyphus.”

“But he was seriously injured! Why did you send him?”

“I didn’t,” Aidon said, pulling away. “Hypnos told me this morning that his brother left in the middle of the night.”

“I didn’t mean to sound accusatory, Aidon,” she said. “How did they capture Sisyphus in the first place?”

“He was in Chios, and they snared him in the Chains while he was—” Hades stopped cold and stood up, his mind turning. He paced across the floor of their antechamber. “Gods…”

“Aidon?”

“That…
gios enos
kakodaimonos
suagroi…
” he snarled, cursing in the common tongue.

“Aidon!” she said incredulously, scrunching her nose in surprise at his profanity.

“I don’t know how I didn’t see it before!” He turned to her, eyes alight with new understanding. “Everything happening in the world above… it largely rests at your mother’s feet, but he’s been exploiting and
worsening
it! That’s why he was going from city to city, priestess to priestess… I
knew
this couldn’t be all Demeter’s doing…”

“What do you mean?”

“The earth has ways of restoring itself, with or without Demeter. She is
not
the only one watching over the earth. There’s Gaia, Rhea… It could not
have become this bad unless there was something else at work. And the
something else
is Sisyphus! He’s been using the wise women who’ve been trying to restore the earth to sap its vitality even faster.”

“How?”