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“IS THIS A MISTAKE?” I ask the closed door.
The etchings of gliding boats shift but don’t answer.
Body tense, I finally knock. The door is too thick to hear footsteps approaching.
The door cracks open.
I inhale and raise my chin. Or should I lower it? Try to look as pathetic as I feel?
No.
No more manipulation.
Still, when Charon appears in the doorway, framed by the ink sky and pale stone behind him, the urge to hunch and plead needles. I square my shoulders and stare into his eyes. They’re fierce but not burning; cooled by what I’ve done.
What do I do? What do I say? The silence drags out. Unease is an itch between my shoulder blades I can’t reach.
Eventually, he nods. “Agathe.”
Less than a day has passed since we argued. Yet already, my knees threaten to give out at him saying my name.
“I need your help.” I inhale and try again. “Will you help me? Please.”
I force my expression blank instead of pouting like my first instinct says I should. From Charon’s quirked brows, I must be grimacing more than anything.
He’s going to say no. Hades, he should say no.
“Yes.”
I knew he’d say no! I deserve no better after what I’ve said and done. Pin your smile in place, I remind myself. Don’t beg or frown or cry.
Wait.
He said yes? He said yes.
Wide-eyed, I try not to gape. “Yes?”
He snorts a laugh but his eyes are flames snuffed to embers. “That’s what I said.” He steps back, beckoning me into his room with a wave. “What do you need help with?”
“Thanatos.” I step over the threshold, heart swelling. My hands sweat and shake. “I want to ask him to return his protection against the sickness.”
At Charon’s titled head, I’m compelled to add more. “After I apologize, of course.”
If anything, he seems more confused. “Are you all right?”
His hands raise, reaching for my forehead. I lean closer. He remembers himself halfway. His hands fall, twitching at his sides.
“I’m fine.” I run a hand over my hair, grimacing when it comes back more sweat-damp than before. “Can you call for Thanatos? Will he hear?”
I pause, heart in my throat. He won’t. He’s returned to Nekros by now, well beneath Nyx’s underground sky. Could I call on Nyx to find him? She would see right through me. Besides, can I trust her?
Not anymore. She did nothing for Molpe.
I touch a hand to the necklace. The gossamer fabric surrounding Charon’s bed rustles with a gust of sudden wind. Does she watch all the time? Were any of my moments with Charon truly private? I shiver, goosebumps rippling across my skin.
I unclasp the necklace, the metal becoming like liquid in my hands. The ends spool over the edges of my palms, reaching for the floor after being as big as my neck moments ago. The jewel glimmers. Charon watches but says nothing while I set it on the window ledge, the jewel pointed out toward the sky instead of at us.
“Charon?”
He startles, raising his head. “I can call for him but I can’t guarantee he’ll show himself.”
My rigid shoulders fall. “Don’t bother. He won’t hear you all the way in Nekros, anyway.”
I sigh and rub at one cheek until it stings. What did I expect? Charon is many things, but he’s not one of Nyx’s children. He and Thanatos have no reason to keep in touch, let alone wait on the other to call for them.
Perhaps I could ask Hermes? But as much as he ventures between realms, I doubt he knows where to find a god he almost never interacts with.
“You truly don’t know, do you,” Charon says. Strangely, it’s not a question.
“Know what?”
He huffs a laugh containing no actual humor. “He never left the palace. I catch glimpses of his smoke near your room often.”
My heart races. Breath comes in short gasps. Why would he stay? After I told him to leave, why would he stay? Nyx’s orders, maybe.
“Thanatos!” I yell, then wait for his telltale smog.
Nothing.
“Thanatos!”
“Why are you yelling?” he asks from behind me. “I can tell you’re calling for me whether you yell or not, idiot.”
I whip around, batting smoke from my face. The acrid smell invades my senses, burning my throat. Coughing, I still manage a grin.
Until I get a good look at him. Bruises mottle his right cheek, extending to his collarbone, then arm. They end at a finger-shaped bruise around his wrist. They don’t fade. Whoever hurt him did it deeply.
Thanatos huffs. “Oh, don’t give me that look, Charry. Even you must admit she can be a bit of an idiot at times.”
I turn back around. Charon’s glaring. Massive horns jut from his head in branching curves. They end in wickedly sharp tips.
Thanatos chuckles. “Or not. Love makes even the best of us blind, I suppose.”
“Thanatos,” Charon hisses, a forked tongue flicking from between his pointed teeth. His eyes are wide. Wild. They refuse to meet mine.
Love? Could Charon love me?
“What happened to you?” I ask instead.
He waves away my concern. “I disobeyed a direct order. My mother felt punishment was needed.”
Nyx did this? I step closer, eyeing the handprint. The skin surrounding it shines oddly in the light. Not just bruises. Burns.
“What order?”
He sighs. “What do you think? She wanted Molpe to live.”
If Molpe lived on Nyx’s order, where would I be now? A bargain with Zeus rendered fair by using Molpe as leverage. Zeus would’ve killed her before the bargain could be fulfilled. She would’ve died not through her own choice but by Zeus’ command.
And warm, motherly Nyx—how much of her was an act?
I shake my thoughts away. Not now. I need to focus.
“Well?” Thanatos drawls. “Got on with it.”
“With what?” I ask.
He sighs, looking toward the ceiling in a long-suffering expression. “Begging and pleading.” He snaps his fingers. “You may begin.”
Jolting, I try to unstick my tongue from the roof of my mouth. It dries into a shriveled husk as soon as I do. Should I beg, strewn out at his feet? Promise anything to get his protection back against the sickness already a constant ache in my bones?
Desma is lost to me but suffering from her own sickness regardless. She has a week, maybe less, before she’s sick again.
I bow close to the floor, my arms spread forward. My fingertips graze his cloak, billowing toward the floor in a storming gray tide.
The hem is embroidered not with skulls or bones like I expect. Instead, there’s flocks of delicate birds. Captured mid-flight, their silver bodies are startlingly detailed. I focus on the shape of their feet, capped with pointed claws, and the individual feathers within their wings.
I gulp once. Sometimes the best way to begin is to do just that: begin.
“I was wrong about Molpe.” My voice cracks. “You thought of her and her needs, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” he says.
“If Nyx ordered her to live, why didn’t you listen?”
All the air is sucked from the room, replaced with his smoke and a charged tension. Sweat beads on my neck, then forehead, and droplets fall from my nose to puddle on the floor.
“She’s my mother.”
I stand, ducking my head but flicking my gaze upward. He stares straight ahead, his mouth pinched into a tight line.
“But why didn’t you listen?” I ask. He needs to say it.
He inhales, sharp. “Because her order wasn’t right.”
I swear Nyx’s necklace rattles against the windowsill. The jewel lights from within. I blink and it’s back to a normal stone. No one else turns to look.
Sickness warping my thoughts or something more? But all those times something similar happened in the Akri—I wasn’t sick then.
“Agathe,” Charon says.
I snap back to the present, shooting him a grateful smile. He doesn’t smile back.
“I thought so.” For the next part, I look at Thanatos head-on. “I thought of my wants, not hers, and she suffered for it.”
He tilts his head, staring at the wall over my shoulder.
“Her last moments should have been peace or us wishing her well but she died with me squabbling over her instead.”
I don’t dare look at Charon. I can’t handle his disgust.
Wiping my sweating hands against my dress, I continue. “I can’t say sorry to her, not truly.”
Thanatos finally meets my stare.
“But I can say sorry to you. I’m sorry, Thanatos.”
He hums, a smirk twisting his mouth. “And what do you want?”
Swallowing, I rub a hand over my matted hair. What do I want? I want his protection back. I want immortality. I want Charon. I want Desma’s forgiveness and Hermes’ friendship. I want a home away from the barren sea.
But what do I need?
“Desma’s suffering with sickness. Will you help her?”
“Why?”
“She deserves better than what I’ve given her.” I wipe a hand over my damp cheeks. “All of my family and friends do. And I can apologize, and I will, but if I can help her in the meantime, I want that.”
“That’s all?” he asks.
“Please help her. I must bargain for all of the sirens, but Desma needs to be well first.”
He sighs. “Promise me.”
“Promise you what?”
“Promise you’ll free your sirens. Promise you’ll begin changing Prasinos.”
A chill ripples across my skin, raising the fine hairs on my arms. Changing Prasinos. His goal or Nyx’s?
“I promise.”
“I may be death, but I’m not cruel.” He inspects his nails, bitten to bloodied, jagged skin. “Your Desma will be feeling better. And I suppose—”
He pauses, face filling with mischief. “I suppose you’ll need some relief yourself for this bargain to succeed. Consider it done.”
I nearly sob with relief. Not at the ache in my bones dulling but at Desma saved for now. At his kindness. His willingness to forgive.
Yet he’s staying distant. Why? For my sake or his?
I shiver. The trick of the light minutes ago...was it real?
No. Her necklace didn’t shine. Only my tired eyes mixed with imagination.
“I’m glad we’ve gotten ourselves sorted out.” He claps, startling us. “And here I thought you’d break my heart worse than Heracles did.”
Heracles? The hero of legend who both suffered by Hera’s wrathful hand and lived to complete more tasks than any thought possible. So many Aunt could spend weeks telling the stories.
The child Cosmas’ life spared—Zeus’ half-god son. For the first time, I wonder what will happen to him. Will he follow in Heracles’ footsteps?
“Don’t mention Heracles,” Charon says, scowling.
“Why not?” I glance between them.
Charon’s frown deepens.
“He beat Charon with his own boat oar once.” Thanatos grins, covering it quickly by rubbing a hand over his face.
Charon growls. “There’s a reason I don’t use one anymore. But you were tricked into chains by him, remember. How did he distract you again?”
“Oh, shut up.”
Charon talks over him, grinning with all his pointed teeth displayed. “He took off his shirt.”
“And I’m leaving.” Red creeps onto his cheeks. Smoke surrounds him in a seething whirlpool, obscuring him entirely. “Tell the idiot siren how you feel. No one can stand being around you two anymore.”
Charon takes a menacing step toward the smoke. “Screw you.”
“Go screw your siren!” Thanatos cackles, smoke swirling in wider loops.
For gods, they’re no better than immature children.
My throat burns. I cough, waving the smoke away, but it’s no use. With each breath, my head is fuzzier and my senses duller.
I stumble, bumping into unseen furniture, until plush cushions are beneath my palms. Charon’s bed. I sit and lean forward. My head lands between my knees. I cough until my lungs ache.
The smoke begins clearing, sucked through the large window against the far wall. A crisp breeze gusts in, lifting hair from my forehead and cooling the sweat left on skin. I gasp for the fresh air like a fish returned to water.
“Children,” I rasp. “You two act like children.”
Charon sighs, his silhouette appearing through the leftover smog. Half in shadow, he runs a hand over his hair. “He’s an annoyance.”
As the smoke clears wholly, he stops a hand-span from my knees. Half of me is tempted to grab him by his rumpled tunic and pull him down. The other half flames pink at the thought. My face burns.
“The same could be said for me, I suppose,” I say.
He tilts his head. For the first time, there’s a glimmer of resemblance between him and Thanatos. Something in their avian mannerisms and crooked smiles. Though they’re not related by blood, Charon is born of pure Chaos. Nyx is the same. Thanatos, as her son, is close enough.
“You’re not an annoyance.”
I raise a brow.
He smiles, the crooked one for me and me alone. “Not too often, anyway.”
But his smile drops. He shuffles away, remembrance to be cold toward me returning. Gods, I can’t bear this anymore; can’t bare his careful distance nor his iced-over eyes. One day since our argument and already I miss him. His warmth, his comfort, his compassion.
So I listen to the part of me I often ignore.
I pull him close by his tunic, threading the fabric tight between my knuckles. He stumbles. Our knees touch. Even through two layers of cloth, his warmth spreads as a slow shiver across my skin.
“I’m sorry.” I speak to the coarse fabric of his tunic, my head bowed.
He runs a hand across the crown of my head, fever-hot. “I know.”
The silence stretches taut. I try not to cry. For all his knowing, there’s still a barrier between us. One I can’t touch but feel regardless.
His tunic dampens beneath my cheek. I haven’t tried hard enough.
“You have to let me go.” His hand never stops stroking across my hair.
My heart fractures into shards. I have one chance. Just one. There’ll be no more half-lies or omitted information. I’ll tell him the truth.
“I can’t lose you.”
His throat clicks in a harsh swallow. He hunches over. His arms drape across my shoulders. “Because I’m an asset to your plans.”
It should be a question, gods it should, but after all I’ve done he truly believes those words. I pull him closer, muffling a sob in his tunic, and breathe in his river water scent.
“No, to Hades with the plan. I will be Nyx’s pawn no longer.”
“Then why? Why bother with a mere deity when you stand among gods?”
I push him away. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done. My vision wavers with building tears. I stare at his wide-eyed face. His hands rest on my shoulders, the tendrils of pitch stark at the corner of my sight.
“You are kind and supportive and loyal. You are enough, Charon.”
And to his stunned, slack-jawed face, I tell another truth. “Because I love you.”
Before now, I’ve never admitted it aloud. Never dared think it to myself. Yet the moment I say it, I know the words are true.
I love him.
I love him, I love him, I love him.
“No one has ever said that before,” he croaks.
I could joke. I could divert his attention. Instead, I look at him straight on. “They should have. I should have.”
“Agathe,” he breaths, something like awe lacing the word.
All at once, the barrier is gone. He might not forgive me entirely, not yet, but I intend to whisper I love you as long as he’ll have me.
I pull him with a sharp tug. He falls. Elbows, knees, and skin; so much I can barely tell our limbs apart when he lands atop me.
I sink back into his plush bed, the silken sheets, and smile. “What now?”
He threads a hand through my tangled hair. I wince, hissing. By the time I stop, he’s close enough for our noses to brush.
My eyes flicker bright. His turn molten gray.
One blink. Another. Then we’re kissing. I sink into him. His taste, tongue, and the feverish warmth of his mouth. His lips are chapped. Has he been biting them?
He swipes his tongue against my lower lip. I forget everything. The world becomes the rapid-fire heart beat beneath my hand and his hands bracketing my hips.