And then Morrigan’s plans—so perfectly aligned with the Fates’ design—would crumble. Persephone would take it all back. Hades, the throne, the dark realm.
Mortis Bloom blazed for a heartbeat, then its glow settled into a soft, steady pulse.
“It’s done,” Bloom said.
“Good job, Bloom,” Morrigan said, watching the girl struggle through the black water. “Nero will be saved.”
“Thank you for coming with me,” Bloom replied, her voice thick with gratitude.
Innocent. Trusting. Stupid.
“Anytime,” Morrigan said smoothly, and sent a silent signal through her siren’s call.
Footfalls broke the silence, crunching through the frost from every direction.
Bloom went still, then swam faster, one hand cradling the Mortis Bloom protectively against her chest.
“It’s Kingsley’s men!” Morrigan hissed. “They followed us.”
Over a dozen figures closed in from the trees. Minor gods in various forms. She had let the Fates know about this trip, and the sisters had sent their agents to collect the goddess-turned-mortal.
On the surface, Morrigan had always helped Persephone. But she had never hated anyone more—not the goddess’s innocent act, not her wide gray eyes, not the way Hades looked at her as if she were his sun.
Bitterness, hot and corrosive, brewed in Morrigan’s chest. Persephone always ruined everything. Did she even understand the torment she caused? She died and escaped into oblivion each time, free of memory and pain. But Hades could not escape. He remembered every death, every lifetime, every loss. He was broken because of her.
And Morrigan was always there to pick up the pieces. To comfort him. To wait for him to see her.
And he only ever waited for Persephone to return.
“Swim!” Morrigan urged, her voice taut with feigned fear.
A net appeared in the hunters’ hands.
Bloom sucked in a sharp breath, standing a dozen feet from the bank, her soaked clothes hugging her willowy figure. “I won’t make it,” she said, and Morrigan hid her glee. “But you will!”
Bloom was right about one thing: she wouldn’t be returning to Hades.
With a flick of her wrist, Bloom hurled Mortis Bloom toward Morrigan, who dove and caught it.
“They don’t want you,” Bloom continued. “It’s me they’re after. The cure has to reach Nero.”
“I can’t leave you!” Morrigan clutched the bloom to her chest. The lie was smooth, honed by centuries.
“You must!”
“Nero will kill me if I return without you.” That, at least, might be true.
“This is the only way.” Bloom’s voice cut through the cold air. “Tell Nero I knocked you out. Say whatever you need to. Just get him the antidote!”
“But—” Morrigan let her expression fracture, a mask of torn loyalty.
She would deliver the cure, heal Hades, and claim the credit. His gratitude would be a gateway. He’d finallyseeher.
Hunters encircled the lake. Several plunged into the black water, and some of them shifted toward Morrigan with predatory speed.
“Go!” Bloom screamed. Her wind blasted forward, hurling hunters aside. From the frozen earth, thorned vines exploded, snaking around limbs and dragging figures down.
Morrigan’s hands flicked outward. Metal stars whirred through the gloom, sinking deep into the shoulders of the two hunters who came after her. They crumpled.
