“Mother Gaia!” Persephone burst into the throne room. Her gaze went from her husband to the two demigods, and finally to the particulate matter that was once a bar service. “Stop this at once.” With a wave of her hand, the shards of crystal disappeared.

Athan’s heart jumped with anticipation. “Is Hope okay?”

“Is she awake?”

Xan asked his question at the same time, and Athan felt the increasingly familiar anger swell. But it wasn’t anger, not really, because anger was always something else at its core. He pushed away the introspective thoughts and focused on the queen of the Underworld.

Persephone shook her head. “She is not awake, nor is she in any way okay. She is sleeping in oblivion, and the longer she stays there, the more she will forget.”

“Can you not wake her?” Hades asked.

Everything in Athan hinged on the answer to this, and he willed Persephone to make it so.

“I cannot.” She frowned.

Athan wanted to yell, but he clenched his fists and held his frustration inside.

Xan did not. With an obscenity, he turned and punched the black rock behind him. His face was ravaged, and his fist dripped blood.

Persephone grimaced. “I don’t need more work.”

The tall redhead came through the door. “My Lord and Lady—”

“Imogen, will you take the hothead here and bandage him up, please?” Persephone offered a weak smile as she indicated Xan.

“Of course.” The thin girl bowed and waited for Xan to join her.

“Not happening, Ginger. It will heal up fine in a bit.” Xan shooed her away.

“But—” Imogen’s gaze flitted to Persephone.

Persephone closed her eyes. “Never mind. Thank you, Imogen. That will be all.”

Imogen shot Xan a glare, the first real expression Athan had seen from her, but it was gone as she glided from the throne room.

“How do we wake her?” Xan asked.

Persephone looked back and forth between the two young men. “It must be a strong memory. Something with a lot of feeling or emotion. A big success, her first kiss, or her mother’s voice, although this may be traumatic as she is dead, correct?”

Xan looked at Athan, and Athan looked at Xan.

“Is her mother dead?” Persephone asked again.

“It wasn’t that long ago, right?” Xan asked.

Athan shook his head.

“Were you her first?” Xan choked on the words.

Persephone turned to Athan. “Are you her first kiss?”

Was he? Had she told him that? “I . . . I think so.”

“If he kisses her, will it wake her?” Xan clenched his hands, his face stricken with emotion.

It was like out of a fairy tale.

“It might,” Persephone acknowledged, “if the memory is strong enough. If there is enough emotion behind it.”

“Will she get her memories back?” Athan asked.

“Perhaps. The longer she sleeps, the more she will forget.”

Xan grabbed Athan’s arm and started for the door. “Right now.”

Persephone crossed in front of them and then led the way.

“We’re not finished, Son of Hermes,” Hades intoned, his deep voice a chilling promise. The god of the Underworld followed them out of the room and down the obsidian hall.

The room was dark, with only a single candelabra lit in the corner. A plush bed occupied the middle of the room with a large fur rug underneath it. Hope lay atop the pale-blue comforter, her eyes closed.

She’d been changed from her wet clothes and wore a loose white nightgown. Her golden hair was almost dry and fanned out on the pillow. Her lips were parted and her breathing slow and deep.

Xan stopped inside the door. “Go,” he said and shoved Athan toward the bed.

Athan took two steps and stopped. What if it didn’t work? What if she didn’t wake up? What if she didn’t remember him? What if she didn’t love him?

“What are you waiting for?” Xan growled.

Athan pushed down his fear even as it clawed at him. The what-ifs continued to bombard him, and he was paralyzed by the onslaught.

A warm hand rested on his shoulder, and Xan looked him in the eye. “This isn’t about you. It’s about her. Please, go kiss her.”

And in that moment, Athan knew he was right. This wasn’t about getting the girl, or getting anything. This was about Hope having a chance at life. A chance to break the curse and choose her own path. This was about Hope’s freedom.

The surroundings seemed to fade. His heart pulsed with feeling. This was for Hope. He sat on the edge of the bed and slid his hand behind her head, his fingers threading into her golden hair. He leaned over her, relishing her nearness. The heat of her body, the sweet smell of her skin. He thought of sunshine and freedom, friends and family, and what could be . . . if only.

His lips brushed hers, and the sun burst beneath his eyelids. Warmth blossomed from his heart and spread outward, like melting honey. This. They could grow old together, have kids together. Defeat curses and raise kings. He’d never let himself believe he would find someone he loved more than Isabel, but Hope . . . he wanted her.

“Athan?” she breathed.

And then her arms were around him. Her strength pulling him closer. Her lips moving with him, telling him secrets, giving him strength.

He wanted to cry with joy that she remembered.

He pulled her close and buried his face in her hair. “Gods, Hope, I thought I’d lost you.”

Her body relaxed, and her eyes closed. A sigh escaped her lips.

Glowing with his triumph, he turned to Persephone only to see concern still stamped across the goddess’s face.

Why was she—?

Hope’s body twitched and twitched again. Then it started to shake violently, thrashing as if trying to escape invisible binds. Her mouth opened, and her body heaved. Liquid the color of crystals poured from her mouth, soaking his shirt, pants, and the bedding beneath him.

Hope shivered, sat up, and scooted away from him.

Her eyebrows drew down in a look he recognized with a sinking sensation.

“Who are you?” she whispered, her voice raspy from vomiting. “Where’s my mom?” As soon as the question was out, her hand flew to her mouth. She covered one with the other. Her eyes filled with tears and skirted through the room. Her look morphed from confusion, to surprise, to fear. “Where’s Priska?”

Athan stared at her, willing her to remember. “I’m Athan. We met in Goldendale after your mom passed away.”

She nodded. “I remember moving to Goldendale.” She pointed to Xan and then Hades and Persephone. “Who are you guys?”

Persephone stepped forward and introduced herself and her husband. “These young men came to rescue you here in the Underworld.”

Hope’s lips formed an O. “Am I dead?”

Hades cleared his throat. “No, my dear, you are not.”

“And you?” Her chin jutted out in a look of sheer determination as her gaze fell again on Xan.

He swallowed, but he seemed to choke on his words.

“I know you, right?” When he didn’t answer, she closed her eyes. “It’s like I know you, but I can’t remember from where.”

“Aye, lass. We met a bit ago, and we’re friends. I came to help Athan get you back.”

She leaned forward and froze. “No. No, no, no! You!”

Xan stepped away and held his hands up. “I’m not here to hurt you, Hope.”

She scrambled back, until she was against the headboard. She continued to regard them warily. “Hades? Am I safe here?”

Athan wondered what made her ask him, the god of the Underworld.

“You are safe in this room, right now and as long as you stay here. I will not, nay, I cannot, promise your safety elsewhere.”

She pursed her lips. “Then I want you all out, right now. Is that okay? Can I . . . May I have some time to myself?”

Persephone shooed them out into the hall. “Hades, please wait for me,” she said and then shut them out.