Elysian Fields

CHAPTER 22

The Saturnalia had never been Hades's idea of fun. The night of mischief and debauchery was always held in his palace because his fellow Olympians claimed that his was the largest palace. He knew this was not true; it was just a different setting for them to frolic about and release whatever weird inhibitions they harbored. The Underworld was the perfect place to do so, he supposed. It was secluded and nobody was ever allowed to enter apart from the souls of the dying and the gods and goddesses on the Saturnalia.

Ever the dutiful host, he had to attend the damn party to be certain that his home wasn't destroyed beyond repair. There were years in the past when he decided to abandon the party early, only to awaken the next morning to shattered windows and chandeliers hanging from the ceiling at precarious angles. The memories of previous gatherings had his ears roaring, and he pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut. Sprawled out on his throne, he stifled a yawn, lowering his hand and gazing out over the crowd of people, a dazed look taking over his face.

Beneath the strobing lights and twirling beings, everything seemed to move too quickly and too slowly at the same time. A trick of the light, all bodies looked like one robotic mass moving together on the floor. The sight was giving him a headache and he closed his eyes once more, head falling to rest upon his hand while the other hand tapped upon the arm rest. Surely it had to be almost over. Sunup was certainly just around the bend. But a glance at the clock proved him wrong, proudly declaring that the night's festivities had only just begun, the night still unnervingly young.

A snap of his long, slender fingers had a sprite disappearing, reappearing in an instant with a goblet full to the brim with wine. He lifted the glass to his lips, taking a long draw of the pungent liquid. He allowed the wine to coat his tongue, taking the mouthful down in a series of small swallows. Growing warm from the inside out, he took another long draw of the liquid, setting the glass down at the side of his throne. The music filling the room beat in time with his heart, and he tapped his foot to the melody. Eyes closed, he felt himself relaxing, a smile beginning to form until an all too familiar voice brought his relaxation to a screeching halt.

"Hey, Hades, baby," Minthe breathed, her offensive fingers working their way into his dark hair. Attempting to massage his scalp, her sharp nails dug in, abrasive against his skin.

"Minthe."

"Aw, why the sour puss face?" She leaned against his seat, continuing her ministrations in his hair. "Mad because baby brother Zeus is getting all the attention?"

Hades let out a growl.

"Jealousy isn't a great look on you, Hades."

"I'm not jealous, Minthe. Simply confused as to why you insist to plague me with your presence," he hefted a sigh, shifting to the other side of the throne, roughly removing his head from her touch.

"Well," she began to draw circles on his chest with a nail, fiddling with the deep black buttons lining the center of his torso, "I don't know that you're ever going to get your fated. Perhaps you should set your sights elsewhere."

Hades felt his lips curl and he whipped his face to hold her gaze with his own, eyes narrowing; darkening. "Even if I never got my fated, I wouldn't set my sights on the likes of you. You've been desperately chasing after me for what, decades? Millennia? I've stopped counting because it just tends to make time drag on at an ungodly pace. It's torturous, your presence, and I torture spirits for a living. Can you see what I'm getting at?"

Minthe leaned in, smelling of sickly sweet Viburnum. "That's the thing. I know that torture is pleasure for you and your cronies in the Pit. Don't tell me you don't like the torture, even a little bit." Her whisper was hot and wet on his ear, and he physically shrank away, turning to meet her eyes again.