God of Darkness, Page 2

  “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 affai
rs 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 nothin
g 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.