This time, she eased away from his mouth. “No, I’m not. I believe in you, Orpheus.”
“You shouldn’t.”
“I can’t help it. You keep doing things that prove to me you are not at all what you think you are.”
“Don’t put too much faith in me. I never live up to it.”
She trailed her hand down his chest and laid it over the element resting against his heart, warm from a power that didn’t come from his skin or hers. It came from within. Just like the strength that was hidden in him but which he couldn’t see.
“Even a Fate can’t see the heart of a person, and free will reigns in all men, you included. But something tells me your part in all of this doesn’t end here.”
His piercing gaze held hers, and though her need for him right here and now was great, it wasn’t as great as her need for him to believe in himself. The only way she knew for him to do that was to find his brother and set right a wrong he felt responsible for.
She eased out of his arms but captured his hand in hers and smiled as she tugged him with her. His fingers closed around hers—strong, steady, alive. “Come on. We still have at least half a day’s journey. And that’s assuming we don’t run into any problems. I want to get this done and get back to the human realm, where we can pick up where we left off.”
He frowned but followed, his boots kicking up dust, his hand never leaving hers. “Where we left off was me being mad at you for pushing your way along on this trip.”
She laughed. “Okay, then we’ll skip ahead to the part where you’re not mad and are thankful I came along.”
“Am I?”
“You will be. Trust me.”
“They’ve entered Tartarus, my lord.” Orcus bowed his head in that subservient way that made Hades want to praise the disgusting creature by backhanding him across the room.
“And my wife?”
“Waiting.”
Of course. Waiting for Orpheus to reach the Cursed Marshes. His wife would attack then. When the hero and Siren would be disoriented and unable to run. It was a good plan. A plan Hades himself would have come up with…if, that is, he only wanted the Orb.
But now, knowing the Siren was with the no-good hero, and knowing what Atalanta and Krónos had planned, the Orb wasn’t enough. He wanted them all. The souls of two Argonauts, a Siren, and Atalanta. His power would surge with the blessed souls of the first three, and the last…well, he just wanted to see that bitch Atalanta suffer.
His father he’d deal with later.
“Bring me my wife.”
“She will be most displeased, my lord.”
A wicked smile turned up Hades’s lips and he clasped his hands behind his back as he rocked on his heels and stared out at the swirling red sky. “I’m counting on it.
“Oh, and Orcus,” he called over his shoulder.
The creature’s scuffling stopped. “Yes, my lord?”
“Send Tantalus to the Cursed Marshes to tell them where they can find the Argonaut’s soul. I’m ready to hurry this along.”
The air grew stagnant and thick, the moans and cries for help so loud they were a never-ending buzz in Orpheus’s ears.
As he followed Skyla across Tartarus, they stayed to the shadows as much as possible but found it impossible in places. They passed rivers of lava where souls were being thrown into the boiling streams, racks where souls were stretched and tortured with instruments that ranged from knives to scythes to chains. Everywhere, pain and torment rang out around them but none paid them any mind. They were allowed to pass as if they were invisible. Which just seemed…wrong.
As they walked by a particularly gruesome scene—a soul staked to the ground, being devoured by dogs—Skyla covered her mouth and looked away. “How does he decide who suffers what atrocity?”
“It’s different for each soul.”
Skyla turned his way. His feet stopped. Again that sense of déjà vu washed through him, the one that had grown stronger the deeper they’d delved into the Underworld. “I don’t know how I know that. I just do. At judgment, Hades determines what punishments fit the perpetrator and he sets them up on a cyclical pattern. A day of each until the soul is killed, only to suffer through a new scenario the next day.”
“That’s awful,” Skyla whispered.
It was. Horrendous. To know that day after day you’d be tortured until you died in different yet equally heinous ways, only to awaken and do it all again. An endless repetition of life, torture, and death.
Skyla slid her hand into his and tugged. “Come on.”
He focused on her familiar amethyst eyes. Eyes that also brought a sense of déjà vu. Eyes he knew he’d looked into long before that day at the concert. “Skyla…”
“Yes?”
His chest filled again with that warmth only she could bring. “I…” Why do I feel like I know you? What is this weird connection we have? But he knew she wouldn’t answer his questions. He’d tried that before. Maybe he should just stop questioning and be thankful she was here with him. To be in this place alone…
A shiver ran down his spine even in the blistering heat.
He shook off the thought and stepped toward her. “Yeah, let’s go.”
They walked another few hours until the barren ground shifted to wet, seeping marshes where all five rivers of the Underworld converged in a murky, bubbling, swampy mire. Souls could be seen floating amidst the muck, struggling to break free, but the surface was as impenetrable as glass, and the muffled screams echoed in the air.
Please don’t let Gryphon be down there.
Orpheus had no idea how they’d get him out if he was.
A shout echoed to their left. On instinct, Orpheus pushed Skyla behind him and turned that way. She grunted and stepped free of his protection, then reached for her bow.
The voice grew stronger, and then a body came into view. A real body, not a soul like every other person they’d encountered. How Orpheus knew that he couldn’t be sure. The souls looked real down here, but there was something about them that struck him as not complete.
The man, being, whatever, stepped out of the scraggly trees and stopped a few feet from them. He was dressed all in white, with dark hair, and two scars that ran down his cheeks. But he was definitely real. And very, very familiar. “You seek the Argonaut’s soul.”
Orpheus slanted Skyla a look. She had her bow up and ready to strike. “How do you know what we’re here for?”
“Souls have ears,” the male answered. “And secrets waft on the wind.” His voice lowered. “Do not be so naïve as to think you were anything but allowed to venture this far amongst the dead. The Argonaut you seek is not among the Cursed Marshes. He’s on the plains, over the ridge to the west.”
Orpheus’s gaze followed the sweep of the male’s hand. “Why are you telling us this?”
The male stepped closer. “Because I’ve been told to.” He slid a small teardrop-shaped vial of liquid into Orpheus’s hand and whispered, “Even here, in the land of the forgotten, hope remains. Watch for the unexpected. They’ll strike when you think you are free.”
He turned and headed back the way he’d come.
“Hey!”
The man stopped. Glanced over his shoulder.
“Do I know you?” Orpheus asked.
“You did. Once.”
Why that left Orpheus more uneasy than the fact this guy had approached them, he didn’t know. He raised the vial. “What’s in here?”
“Ambrosia. It has the opposite effect in the Underworld.” The man turned and headed back into the mist.