Page 67 of The Ferryman’s Rest Inn & Grogshop

“It’s cold, though.”

He sat up straight, his brow furrowed. “It’s not cold in here.”

Nodding quickly, I said, “You’re right. The temperature is perfect. I just meant…” and then my brain told my mouth to shut up.

“Then what did you mean?” he demanded.

Mentally, I was flailing. Eventually, I said, “It’s a lot of marble, which can be cold and severe. Beautiful,” I assured him, “but cold. I just meant maybe some rugs and couches would be nice. Bookshelves. A fern. Something homey.” I shrugged. “That’s just me, though. Maybe you prefer austere—and that’s perfectly fine.”

A trickle of blood ran down my forehead—or sweat. It could have been sweat. He waved a large hand at me and all the pain disappeared. I moved my bad shoulder. The stabbing sensation was gone. “Thank you.”

He tipped his head in acceptance of my thanks. “I was waiting for input on the hall. We’ve been trapped in a preparatory, in-between state for a very long time. I suppose I became accustomed to it this way.” He glanced around, as though seeing it afresh, before his gaze found me again. “You’re far more attractive without the blood and dirt all over you.”

“That’s good to know.” I looked down at myself. Even my clothes were clean now. Nice.

He waved a hand again and a bench appeared behind me. “Sit.”

I did. God, it felt good to sit on something beside the rocky ground. A cushion appeared under my butt. “And thank you again.” I hadn’t allowed myself to think about falling into my soft, warm bed at home, not once during this trip. I worried it would mess with my head and make this journey even more difficult. Now, though, with a little softness beneath me, I was longing for home.

“What will your mate do if you never return?” His dark eyes examined me while he waited for my response.

My hands were in a white-knuckled knot in my lap. “I was really hoping you’d let that obol rule slide or maybe that Alecto would find my bag.”

“She did.” His head tipped toward the door, and I spun in my seat to look.

The backpack hung shredded from one taloned hand, the dented canteen from the other. Even from here, I could see the pack was empty. The soldier and I had been fighting for a while, and I’d been covered in cuts. My pack being ripped apart probably shouldn’t have surprised me, but it did. I’d been holding out hope.

“What will he do?” Hades asked again.

I closed my eyes, the defeat almost making me buckle. I blew out a breath and said, “He’ll wait, restraining himself, imagining my return. As it drags on longer, rage will eat at him. He’ll threaten everyone he can and then fight anyone he sees as keeping him from me. Eventually, regardless of how many people tell him that entering the Underworld will end his life, he’ll do it.”

Hades stared up at the blue ceiling for a moment. “Yes. That sounds right. But what about you? Would you risk your life for him?” He tipped his head to the side, his focus back on me. “He’s already mostly dead, after all.”

My eyes filled with tears. I was so tired, I couldn’t stop them. Looking up, I blinked repeatedly, trying to clear them. “There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do, wouldn’t risk, for him.”

He nodded, still watching. “And if he just disappeared one day, would you look for him? Wait for him? Or would you assume he’d found someone else? He has, after all, lived far longer than you, taken many lovers before you. Perhaps an old love returned and he’s realized he prefers her.”

I blew out a long, slow breath. These questions weren’t random. I could feel the calculation behind them. I didn’t want to give him a throwaway answer, so I considered the scenario he’d presented.

“I’d be sick to my stomach with worry. I’d look for him every place I could think of. I’d talk to everyone who knows him. Now that I have the language gift, I wouldn’t need an interpreter who might get important details wrong. I’d fly to speak to anyone who wouldn’t talk to me on the phone. Clive has a lot of powerful friends—come to that, so do I and I’d use every single one of them to help me find him. If that didn’t work, I’d hunt down every one of his enemies and question them.” I tapped my forehead. “I’ll know if they’re lying to me.”

“And what if what you keep hearing is that he’s fallen out of love with you and has moved on?” he asked.

I shook my head. “No.” After a second, I held up a hand. “I don’t mean that it’s impossible for him to stop loving me. As much as that would destroy me, he has the freedom to love who he chooses. I meant he would never just walk away and leave me wondering. I know my husband’s character. He’d tell me what was happening before he left. Knowing Clive, he’d also make sure I was safe and financially secure before he left. He’d never let me suffer, worrying about him.”

I shook my head again. “Those people trying to convince me that Clive was a faithless cheater would catapult to the top of the suspect list. Until Clive tells me himself that he wants out, I won’t believe it.”

Hades nodded slowly, considering my words. “And what if those top suspects prove to have had nothing to do with the disappearance? What are your next steps?”

I shook my head, lost. “Start over at the beginning, I suppose. See what I could have possibly missed.”

The fingers on Hades’ right hand twitched. “Maybe you can’t find him because he’s dead.”

“Until I find his dust or the memory of someone who watched it happen, I won’t believe it. He’s survived this long because he’s nearly impossible to kill.” I rested my hand on my stomach, feeling sick. “Can we not talk about Clive being dead anymore? Please?”

Hades’ expression relaxed. “He’s fine, by the way. When I saw him, he was listening to a recording of your voice.”

I blew out a breath, my stomach muscles unclenching. “Thank you for sharing that with me.”