“I just,” she stammered, uncertain of how to acknowledge what Apollo was saying. She thought of her mother’s words—you should consider, given the circumstances, can a daughter of spring truly be death’s bride? It was a question she couldn’t answer. Could she exist beside Hades, the god who would let her best friend die? Could she rule a world that was responsible for the unbearable pain she felt? “There is no way I can be the goddess he wants.”

Apollo snorted.

Persephone glared. “What?”

The god raised his brows. “It just sounds like you think he wants something other than you, which is not what I witnessed when I came to punish you in the Underworld.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “What would you know about it, Apollo?”

She didn’t like how serious he suddenly looked. “More than you could ever imagine, little goddess.”

She felt the truth of those words. She wanted to ask more questions—what exactly did you witness when you came to the Underworld, but she didn’t want Apollo to know she was curious.

“Just…heal my friend, Apollo.”

“As you wish, goddess.” He held out his hand. “Where are we going?”

“Asclepius,” she said. “Second floor, ICU.”

“Oh, yes—my son’s namesake. Did you know Hades complained of his skill so much my father killed him?”

“His skill?”

“He could bring the dead back to life,” Apollo said. “I imagine Hades put him in Tartarus for that.”

Apollo took her hand, and the pull of his magic made her stomach turn. He smelled like wood and eucalyptus.

They found themselves in Lexa’s dark room. Her parents were asleep in the corner. The room smelled stale and the air was sticky and hot. Persephone glanced at Apollo, surprised to see his face was drawn and grim.

“I can see why you were desperate to bargain,” he said. “She’s nearly gone.”

The comment was an affirmation that Persephone had made the right decision, and as if Apollo heard that thought, he met her gaze.

“Are you sure you want this?”

“Yes.” Her voice was a whisper in the dark, and in the next second, the God of Music was holding a bow and arrow. The weapon was ethereal—glowing and shimmering in the shadow of the room. It was bizarre to witness a god dressed in a floral robe, holding such a majestic weapon.

Apollo strung the arrow, the veins in his arm popping as he pulled it back on the string, releasing soundlessly. The arrow hit the center of Lexa’s chest and vanished into a shower of shimmering magic.

Silence followed.

And nothing happened.

“It’s not working,” Persephone said, already feeling a sense of terror at the thought.

“It will,” Apollo said. “Tomorrow they’ll take her off the ventilator and she’ll wake up and breath on her own. She’ll be a living, breathing miracle. Exactly what you wanted.”