He had healed her multiple times, but her wounds had never been anything like this. Still, he was the God of the Dead and had the ability to bring them back to life. Surly this wasn’t beyond his abilities?
Still, he shook his head, a grim expression on his face.
“No, for this we will need Apollo.”
“I never thought those words would come out of your mouth,” Apollo said, appearing suddenly. He was dressed archaically, in a gold breastplate, a leather linothorax, and sandals with straps that wrapped around his strong calves. A gold cape hung off one shoulder, and some of his dark curls stuck to his sweaty forehead. Persephone thought that he must have been practicing, perhaps for the Panhellenic Games.
He was smirking, his dimples on full display, until his gaze fell upon Harmonia, and then his expression morphed into something fierce. It was almost frightening, how serious he could become in seconds, much like his brother, Hermes.
“What happened?” He demanded, moving to kneel beside the chaise and Persephone couldn’t help detecting that the god smelled…different. His usual scent of laurel—sweet and earthy—was overpowered by something spicier, like cloves. She might not have noticed as much, but he had wedge himself between her and Aphrodite to reach for Harmonia.
“We do not know,” Hermes said.
“That’s why we summoned you,” Hades replied, his voice dripped with disdain.
“I…don’t understand,” Persephone said. “How would Apollo know what happened to Harmonia?”
The god grinned again, his horror momentarily forgotten as he bragged, “As I heal, I can view memories. I should be able to tap into her injuries and discover how she received them…and by who.”
Persephone stood and retreated a step, watching as Apollo worked, and she was surprised by how gentle he treated the goddess.
“Sweet Harmonia,” he said quietly, placing his palm upon her forehead, he brushed at her tangled hair. “Who did this to you?”
As he spoke, his body began to glow, and soon that glow was transferred to Harmonia. Apollo’s eyes fluttered closed, and Persephone watched as his face contorted—brows furrowing, body spasming—and she realized that he was experiencing her pain. Apollo’s breath grew ragged the longer he worked. It wasn’t until his nose began to bleed that she started to worry.
“Apollo, stop!”
Persephone pushed him away. He fell back, his hand going to his nose where crimson now dripped to his lips. As he pulled his fingers away, he seemed confused by the effects of his healing.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
Apollo looked up at her, his violet eyes were tired. Still, he smiled.
“Aw, Seph,” he said. “You really do care.”
She frowned.
“Why isn’t she waking up?” Aphrodite asked, drawing their attention back to Harmonia who had not stirred.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I healed her as much as I could. The rest…is up to her.”
Persephone felt the color drain from her face. She thought about Lexa in limbo, choosing between returning or staying in the Underworld.
“Hades?” Persephone asked.
“I do not see her lifeline ending,” he answered, and she got the feeling he was only answering her unspoken question for her sake, not Aphrodite’s. “The more pressing question is what you saw as you healed her, Apollo.”
He winced like he had a headache. “Nothing,” he said. “Nothing that will help us, anyway.”
“So you couldn’t view her memories?” Hermes asked.
“Not much. They were dark and hazy, a trauma response, I think. She’s probably trying to suppress them, which means we may not have any more clarity when she wakes. Her attackers wore masks—white ones with gaping mouths.”
“But how did they manage to harm her at all?” Aphrodite asked. “Harmonia is the Goddess of Harmony. She should have been able to influence these…vagrants and calm them.”
That was true. Even if her aggressor had managed to land a surprise blow, Harmonia should have been able to stop any further attack.
“They must have found a way to subdue her power,” Hermes said.
All the gods exchanged a look, even Hephaestus seemed concerned, uncrossing his arms to step out of the shadow just an inch.
“But how?” Persephone asked.
“Anything is possible,” Apollo said. “Relics cause problems all the time.”
Persephone had learned about relics while she was in college. They were any item imbued with the power of the gods—swords, shields, spears, fabrics, jewels—basically anything a god had owned or gifted to one of their favored. The items were usually scavenged from battlefields or graves. Some ended up in museums, others in the hands of people who intended to use them for their own disastrous gain.
“Hades?” she called his name because she could tell his mind was working, turning over possibilities as they spoke. After a moment, he replied. “It could be a relic or perhaps a god eager for power.”
She noted that his gaze was on Hephaestus. The blacksmith had created many things over the centuries—shields and chariots, swords and thrones, animatronics and humans. “Any ideas, Hephaestus?”
He shook his head, his expression grim as his grey eyes fell upon his wife and sister-in-law.
“I would need to know more.”
Persephone got the sense that wasn’t exactly true. Still, she understood wanting more information than what Apollo had been able to give.
“Let her rest and when she wakes give her ambrosia and honey,” Apollo said, rising to his feet. Persephone rose with him and steadied him as he stumbled, placing his hand to his head.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah,” he breathed, then he laughed. “Stay alert, Seph. I’ll summon you soon.”
Then he vanished. Persephone met Hades’ dark gaze and while he seemed focused upon her for a moment, he quickly shifted to Aphrodite.
“Why summon us?”
Persephone winced at Hades’ tone—it was void of emotion, but she thought she knew why. This made him uneasy like it made her uneasy, and if she had to guess, he was probably imagining her on that chaise beaten and bruised, not Harmonia.
Aphrodite’s back straightened and she looked at Hades.
“I summoned Persephone not you,” she replied briskly, glaring at Hermes.
“What?” he countered. “You know Hades wouldn’t let her come alone!”
“Me?” Persephone asked, eyes widened in surprise. “Why?”
“I would like you to investigate Adonis and Harmonia’s attacks,” she said.
“No,” Hades said evenly.
The goddesses glared at him.
“You are asking my fiancée to put herself in the path of these mortals who hurt your sister. Why would I say yes?”
“She asked me, not you,” Persephone pointed out. Although, Hades had a point. If Adonis and Harmonia were attacked for their connection to the Divine, they would not hesitate to hurt her based on the mere fact that she was to marry the God of the Dead. “Still, why me? Why not ask Helios for assistance?”
“Helios is an asshole,” Aphrodite spat. “He feels he owes us nothing because he fought for us during Titanomachy. I’d rather fuck his cows than ask for his assistance. No, he would not give me what I want.”