Page 121 of Hades

“Gardeners,” Hermes said.

“Botanists,” Asclepius added.

“Herbalists,” Apollo said quietly.

My blood cooled. Not froze. Cooled. Like the door to my underworld had cracked open and let in a draft. Lettie. The thought came so fast I almost missed it. Then I rejected it just as fast. No.

Not my queen.

Not the woman who fed people because grief shouldn’t come with worrying about returning a dish. Not the woman who wrapped Rhea in compassion without asking for a goddamn thing back. Not the woman who opened her home to strangers during a time of grief, who loved her monster of a dog and treated chickens like tiny citizens. She was too sweet. Too loving. Too fucking soft.

Except she wasn’t. Not all the way.

I’d known from the first moment I saw her standing at the edge of Kronos’ funeral, light pooling around her like a halo and darkness tucked beneath her skin. I’d kissed her on her porch and felt it thrumming between us. I’d walked into her kitchen and watched her make tea like every movement carried intention. I’d seen the iron gate behind her house, locked and hidden in all that green. A garden inside a garden. A secret garden where she grew plants for her potions. My stomach clenched. Fuck. No. I shoved the thought away because there was a difference between knowing plants and killing people with them.

Then I remembered.

Me, doubled over and sweating, cursing and emptying my guts because I’d disrespected her. She hadn’t denied it. Hadn’t apologized either. Then Echo, bent over a toilet because she’d put hands on what belonged to Lettie. The club whores had called it poison. Lettie had smiled that sweet fucking smile and played innocent with eyes that were anything but.

But that wasn’t the same. That had been personal. Echo touched what was hers. I’d earned my punishment by being an arrogant asshole.

Those weren’t deaths.

Those weren’t bodies.

Those weren’t calculated executions carried out across towns against predators and abusers. They were acts of petty vengeance. A warning. A queen slapping hands away from her crown.

Not murder.

A thought slid in, quiet and deadly.

Pegasus.

He’d been assigned to follow Rhea on her trip. To protect her, yes, but also to report back to Zeus where she went and who she spoke to. His job was to spy on Zeus’ mother.

Rhea had lunched with Lettie the day before she left. Had Lettie given Rhea something to hurt Pegasus? To disable him and keep him from following her?

My fingers curled against the armrest. Rhea wasn’t stupid. If she wanted to disappear, she would’ve known Zeus would never let her walk away unprotected. She would’ve needed help. Lettie would’ve given it because Rhea asked. Because Lettie understood cages. Because my queen knew how to open doors no one else could see.

Fuck.

Fuck.

“Hades.”

Zeus’ voice cut through the room. I looked at him. “What?”

“You got something to add?”

Every eye was on me. I’d gone too quiet. That was never good in church. Never fucking good.

I leaned back, forcing my face into the bored expression I wore when the world was coming apart and I didn’t want anyone knowing which piece had cut me. “No.”

Apollo kept staring at me. That son of a bitch was too perceptive for his own good.

Zeus’ eyes narrowed. “You sure?”

“Yeah.”