Page 29 of A Single Thread Of Hope

Yes, Asclepius was one of the few people who Hades cared about. Possibly even loved. I knew that in the Underworld, Persephone had created a little harem of men, though I’d always assumed she was the nexus that held them all together. But Hades’s words, coupled with the look in his eyes, told me that maybe they all loved each other.

Given our situation, I wasn’t one to comment. “I’m glad it works for us all then.”

The Valkyries had gone to the house that Morrigan and Cliona had rented, and were having something called a mani-pedi-murder night. I hadn’t asked questions.

Erus reappeared with drinks. Persephone drifted toward Wren, stopping next to Asclepius, her hand resting gently on his spine. “I appreciate you coming on such short notice,” I said to Hades softly, who had flopped back into an armchair, like the weight of being topside was almost too much to bear.

“Any reason to get out of the house, you know?” He said it flippantly, but I knew he wasn’t as casual as he seemed. There were depths and treacheries to the Lord of the Underworld that made him a powerhouse, and also the perfect person for our life-altering request, just as Erus had said. Hades raised an eyebrow at me. “Plus, I must admit, I’m a little intrigued why a God who has studiously avoided me for a handful of centuries now wants me to make house calls.”

Curiosity would kill us all, eventually.

“Let’s eat first.”

Nodding, he lifted his glass. “Yamas.”

Cookingtraditional food made me feel like I was still in touch with my past. It was something that I’d fallen into after the Goddess had faded, something to keep me grounded in the world when I had nothing left but sadness and a desire to follow her.

And anger. I never talked about the anger, but I’d felt a rage that had burned hot enough to level cities at her betrayal of me, of my brothers, of the village that had devoutly followed her for so long, of the memories of those who fell in the fight for her. She had faded with little concern for those of us that were left behind, and I’d felt so betrayed.

So I’d cooked. It had kept my brothers fed in their own grief, and had been a way to connect with the village that also felt betrayed. I’d learned from the villagers, who’d continuously offered to cook for us, but understood when I wanted to do it for myself.

After all these years, it was the one thing that kept me sane. And now, as I looked down the long, rough-hewn table covered in food that I’d worked over diligently for the last two days, I felt pride. Wren was squished between Erus and Tryp, across from Persephone and Teron, and she was laughing and smiling. It was a brief moment of normalcy for her, which made me proud too.

Plates were heavily laden, and Asclepius was making happy humming noises around thick chunks of smoked meat. I looked over at Wren, who nodded.

She needed to ask the question. They were her children, first and foremost. As much as I wanted to navigate this for her, she had to do it herself. Clearing her throat, she got everyone’s attention. We were all tense, which none of the Mythics seemed to miss, especially not Hades, who lifted an eyebrow.

Wren, to her credit, didn’t waver. “Thank you for coming. I really appreciate it. And I’m not going to patronize you by pretending that we all don’t know there’s a reason I asked you here.” Sucking in a deep breath, she straightened her shoulders. “When I first arrived, on the word of some Oracle in the drive-thru of my barista job, I had no idea what the hell was going on. I unintentionally bonded these guys, tied their souls to mine.”

I found I had no anger about that anymore. I hadn’t felt this fulfilled in so long; it was hard to remember why I’d been so against it in the first place.

As if she could read my thoughts, she smiled over at me. My heart felt like it was blooming in my chest. “Apollo brought a second prophecy, after the attack with Ekhidna. I can’t remember the exact wording?—”

“With the death of the mother, the new weavers will be born into the tapestry and a new age will begin,” Cy interjected, the somberness of his tone so at odds with his normally bright nature.

Wren tilted her head at him. “That’s the one. It was a prophecy from Delphos.”

Hades’s jaw was tight, and I wasn’t sure if it was the mention of Apollo, or Delphos, or just the situation in general. “That seems problematic, but unfortunately, Asclepius can no longer resurrect people from the dead,” he said nonchalantly.

Wren just gaped. “Uh, what? No, that wasn’t…” Shaking her head at Hades, and then Asclepius, she blinked at them owlishly for a moment. “I didn’t even know that was anoption, and even if it was an option, I’m not sure I’d want to be a zombie?” Her voice rose an octave toward the end, and I almost laughed. Nodding, Hades waved for her to continue. Wren was still shaking her head softly from side to side, but went on. “If the prophecy is true, and I die, it is possible that they will all come with me.” She pointed to me and the others around the table,each of us looking so serious, it was like we were already at her wake.

“And then these babies will be alone and nearly defenseless in a world where they’re hunted by all the different Pantheons for power. We decided, as a group, that we would ask—if the worst-case scenario happens, and we’re no longer around to care for them, would you consider taking them in and caring for them? Protecting them?”

Persephone gasped. Her eyes bounced between Hades and Asclepius, the former staring so intensely at Wren that I wondered if he was using his magic, and Asclepius, who just looked surprised. Persephone and Asclepius both turned to Hades, because the final decision would end with him.

“You want us to take your infants to the Underworld?”

“Yes, if we all die.” Wren sounded resolute.

Hades and Persephone had one of those silent conversations born from being with a person for centuries. Finally, he turned back to Wren. “We agree. We’ll care for them and protect them, until they are old enough and well equipped enough to protect themselves, and then we will return them to the living plane.”

Persephone reached across the table, gripping Wren’s hands. “We’ll love them like they’re our own flesh and blood.” She paused. “In the modern sense. Gods haven’t traditionally been great parents.”

Letting out a shaky breath, I watched something loosen in Wren’s frame. One more worry, gone.

Asclepius laughed. “Well, that was a curveball. I thought you might have called us here because Wren is so close to active labor. I’d give it about an hour?”

As one, the whole table turned and looked at a sheepish Wren. “Oops?”

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