‘Time to go,’ Thanatos called, his voice cutting through the stillness. ‘They’re starting to notice you.’
Mal turned her head and, sure enough, saw a cluster of souls drifting closer, their hollow eyes locked onto her with unsettling hunger.
Both goddesses rose swiftly and followed Thanatos back through the field, keeping close together. They walked in silence until they reached the river’s edge, where a small boat bobbed gently in the water. Thanatos gestured towards it with a casual tilt of his hand.
‘It’ll be faster than walking,’ he said.
Mal glanced at the offered hand, the temptation to slap it away surging within her. But when he extended it instead towards Makaria, who accepted it gladly, she could only bite back her irritation. The gleam of amusement in his dark eyes was enough to make her long to stab him, and yet she said nothing, stepping stiffly onto the small boat behind them.
Mal watched her two companions in silence as the boat glided across the river, seemingly guided by invisible hands. Thanatos leaned against the side, surveying the passing scenerywith a faint, smug smile playing across his arrogant features. It was difficult not to look at him, difficult not to be drawn in by a face that so achingly resembled Ash’s. That same sharply cut jaw, the long, elegant nose, the eyes that could have been carved from night itself. But where Ash burnt with light and fire, Thanatos was the embodiment of shadow and death.
His white curls, cropped short, still tumbled messily over his forehead, and those black eyes—gods, those eyes—were deep, endless pits in which she feared she might fall and never find her way back.
At Mal’s side, Makaria began humming under her breath, the soft tune weaving into the misty silence.
Mal studied her sister, as she often did, with a strange sense of wonder. It was impossible to place an exact age upon Makaria. She appeared no more than sixteen, perhaps a little older, yet there was something ageless woven into the lines of her slight frame. She was slender, her body not yet marked by the curves of full womanhood.
Her face, to Mal’s surprise, bore an uncanny resemblance to her own—those same sharp, striking features. Her hair was even whiter than Thanatos’, a pale crown that shimmered faintly in the Underworld’s dim light. And her eyes, her eyes never ceased to captivate Mal.
One as black as endless night, the other burning red like the heart of a dying star.
The boat drifted to a small dock, bumping gently against the worn wood. Thanatos, with a casual flourish, offered his hand to Makaria, helping her ashore. Mal followed behind, one brow arched in silent derision as the god chuckled to himself, clearly far too pleased. Did he truly believe she cared whether he noticed her or not? She was not a child in need of coddling.
They had returned to the mountain’s base, and Malimmediately recognised the village Hades had first brought her to upon her arrival in the Underworld. This time, however, a sign greeted them at the entrance, something she had not seen before.
‘Asphodel,’ it read, the letters carved with a delicate, mournful hand.
‘Who governs this region?’ Mal asked as they wandered slowly through the narrow, winding streets.
The buildings towered high, black stone structures clinging precariously to the mountain walls. The streets were so slender it felt as though the buildings might at any moment lean forward and collapse upon those who dared walk between them. Only the faint, eerie glow of blue lamplights kept the oppressive darkness at bay.
Here and there, the river had burst through the cracked black cobblestones, carving watery channels through the streets. Fragile bridges had been hastily erected, arching over the broken ground, allowing travellers to continue their path where the river had overtaken the way.
‘This was meant to be your region,’ Thanatos said, his voice oddly gentle.
Mal froze mid-step. Of all the answers he might have given, she had not been prepared for that.
‘Why?’ she breathed, barely trusting herself to speak.
‘You are his daughter, Melinoe,’ Thanatos replied, stopping beside her. He stood so near it seemed for a moment as though he might reach for her hand, offer her some unspoken comfort. ‘Believe it or not, you are Hecate’s child. And he...’ Thanatos’ voice softened, ‘he loves Hecate.’
‘Don’t,’ Mal said sharply, shaking her head. ‘Don’t make it sound as though he cares for me. I’m nothing more than a tool to him.’
Thanatos exhaled, a slow, weary sigh.
‘Just because he uses you,’ he said, meeting her gaze levelly, ‘does not mean he does not love you.’ He leaned in closer, his dark eyes searching hers. ‘Sometimes using and loving are one and the same.’
‘How so?’ she demanded.
‘Have you never wondered,’ Thanatos said, his voice low, almost coaxing, ‘whether the only reason we love is because we are selfish? Because of how it makesusfeel? And when that love no longer serves us...’ He let the thought trail off into the shadows.
Mal brushed past him, unwilling to hear more.
‘I don't agree with you, Thanatos,’ she said, her voice cold. ‘A mother’s love is selfless. She expects nothing in return from her child.’
‘Perhaps,’ he said softly, offering a smile, one so sweet it almost masked the bitterness behind it.
They continued their slow passage through the dark, winding streets, never once encountering another soul. Mal wrapped her arms around herself, frustration simmering beneath her skin.
