Page 18 of A Touch of Chaos

“Yuri!” Persephone said and went to the young soul,drawing her into a tight hug. She had not seen her since the chimera attack and had yet to thank her for distracting the monster. “Are you well?” she asked as she pulled away, studying the soul, uncertain of what she had faced as the battle continued.

Yuri seemed puzzled by the question. “Yes, my lady,” she said. “Are you?”

Persephone opened her mouth to respond, but she still had no words to describe exactly what she was feeling. Instead, she looked toward the roaring flames in the field beyond Asphodel.

“What is going on? Why are you all here?”

Souls did not really need sleep, but they tended to maintain the routines they had while living.

“We are preparing for war,” Yuri said, and while Persephone could see that, she still could not quite comprehend it. “After what happened, we think it is best.”

Guilt tightened her chest. She could not help thinking that they had chosen to do this in part because she had not been able to protect them.

If Hades had been here, things would have been different, though she knew she was not being completely fair to herself. She, Hecate, Hermes, and Apollo had done all they could to defend the Underworld from the threats Theseus had unleashed, and the souls had helped. They likely only wished to be better prepared for the next attack.

“The next attack,” she said aloud, her voice quiet as she looked toward Tartarus.

“What happened, Persephone?” Yuri asked, but Persephone was not really prepared to answer becauseit meant revisiting the terror she’d faced over the last twenty-four hours.

It took her a moment to meet the soul’s wide-eyed gaze. When she spoke, her voice was mournful. “I am still trying to understand that myself.”

The sound of a hammer on metal suddenly echoed throughout Asphodel, and Persephone’s focus shifted to Ian’s outdoor forge. She had first met Ian when he had presented her with a crown, a gift from the souls. Later she would learn that he had been murdered for his skill and the favor Artemis had bestowed on him. Any weapon the man created ensured its wielder could not be defeated.

Several souls worked alongside him, some forging weapons while others hammered metal into shields and armor.

The thing about those who lived in Asphodel was that their skills matched the century in which they lived. Some had worked with wood and leather, some with iron and steel, but no matter their expertise, they shared one thing—the ability to prepare for war.

Humanity was unchanging, and it had never been more apparent to her as it was right now.

She scanned the souls gathered when her eyes snagged on a woman with a long braid.

Her brows lowered, and her heart hammered.

She took a step forward.

“Zofie?”

The woman looked up from her work and turned to face Persephone, who could not contain her tears. She had watched the Amazon die, taking a blade to the chest. She’d screamed so loud, even now she couldhear the ring of it in her ears. It had all happened so quickly.

“My lady,” Zofie said, a smile spreading across her face. She bowed so low, she nearly touched the ground.

“Zofie,” Persephone said again and crossed the short distance toward her, hugging her close as she straightened. “Zofie, I am so sorry.”

The Amazon held her shoulders as she pulled away. “Do not apologize, my queen. You have given me honor in death.”

Honor.

It was the thing she’d sought as Persephone’s aegis, though she still did not know what had caused the Amazon such shame among her people. In the end, though, it did not matter because Zofie had found peace in the way she needed.

Perhaps Persephone could find the same peace, though she was not sure anything would ever remedy the horror of watching her die, even seeing the Amazon so happy in death.

Persephone’s eyes shifted over Zofie’s shoulder to Ian, who stood with the other souls gathered behind him. In his hands, he held a blade.

“Ian,” she said.

“My queen,” he said and bowed. “Allow me to present you with this dagger.”

She stared at the knife, which was sheathed in a scabbard inlaid with the same florals that adorned the crown he’d made for her—roses and lilies, narcissus and anemone. They climbed effortlessly over the hilt too, crowned with a piece of black obsidian atop the pommel.

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