Hades Descendants (The Games of the Gods Book 1) Read online

  Hades Descendants

  Games of the Gods Book One

  Nikki Kardnov

  Cadence Price

  Tortoise House Press

  Copyright © 2020 Nikki Kardnov and Cadence Price

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  Cover design by Jennifer Rush

  Contents

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  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Epilogue

  Also by Nikki Kardnov

  About Nikki Kardnov

  About Cadence Price

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  Prologue

  There was blood on Haven Knightfall’s face. Minotaur blood. He’d killed two of the monsters in the maze. From what he could tell, there was one left.

  He raced down a row and went right, then raced down the next. He’d trained for this moment his entire life.

  He was destined to win the God Games.

  Victory was in his blood.

  Every Knightfall that came before him was a champion of the games. And up until a few days ago, Haven believed he’d be the next.

  He came to a halt at an opening in the maze wall. The opening spilled into the maze’s center and there, by the fountain, stood Ana rimmed in the glow of the firelight.

  Ana, the orphan that had been plucked from obscurity. Picked to compete alongside him in the God Games.

  Everything about her made Haven furious. He hated how fucking gorgeous she was and how stubborn she was and how she refused to bend to him.

  And now she was the only thing standing in his way.

  Did she really think she could steal the win from him?

  It was his by birth right.

  The minotaur roared from beyond the wall. The monstrous sound made the hair on the back of Haven’s neck lift.

  Fear etched itself onto Ana’s face as the monster’s hooves beat at the earth. It was close now. It’d be in the maze center in minutes.

  Haven should keep moving. If he left Ana to face the minotaur alone, she’d likely lose.

  And if she lost against a minotaur….

  There wouldn’t be much of her left.

  He’d be the winner. Just like he was supposed to be.

  As the minotaur thundered closer and Ana froze up, Haven had to decide: help the girl or win the game?

  Knightfalls were not known for their mercy.

  Haven gritted his teeth and surged forward.

  Chapter 1

  Eight days earlier…

  I am cursed with the power to murder innocent flowers.

  I don’t know where this power came from, but I’d like it to go away thank you very much.

  “Look at this one, Ana!” my best friend Clea says and holds up a peony she’s just cut from a meadow on the northwestern side of Mount Olympus. The peony is the size of her head and its bloom lists to the right it’s so heavy.

  This is our daily chore. We pick fresh wildflowers for the houses of those who dwell in Olympus City.

  It’s an absolute bore.

  I’d rather be scraping barnacles from Poseidon’s fleet of ships. At least in that duty, I’d be doing something practical. And Poseidon does have this bad habit of strutting around shirtless all glistening wet and covered in tattoos…

  “That’s a lovely pick,” I tell Clea, forcing myself out of a beach fantasy with the god of the ocean.

  I return to snipping lilies and bluebonnets from the ground, both of which are bigger than they ought to be, and smell sweet like the seeds of a pomegranate. Nothing in Olympus is as it should be.

  Including me.

  With a full bouquet, I turn for my basket, but by the time I scoop it up, the flowers in my hand have wilted. The petals curl in on themselves and then turn black.

  “Son of a nymph,” I mutter and toss the dead bouquet beneath a bush.

  I can’t seem to control this super annoying power anymore.

  I literally have one job as an orphan at the House of the Virgin Goddess and that’s to pick wildflowers. I can’t even do that right anymore.

  “Did you say something?” Clea asks.

  “I said look at that patch of daisies!” I hurry to the flowers while Clea heads further downhill to the rambling hibiscus bushes.

  Once I’m out of sight, I drop to the ground and fold my legs beneath me. A faint breeze kicks up and the grass sways around my knees.

  I’m only midway up the mountain, but the vantage point is a good one.

  The world of Olympus spreads out before me. In the distance, the rolling hills of farmland and beyond that, the ocean and all of the islands that make up a chain of divine domains and monster haunts.

  And down below me, slowly coming alive in the dewy morning light is Olympus City. It hugs the northwestern side of the mountain and then curls around Lake Nisa to meet back up with the southern tip of the mountain. Sura once told me that our city rivals the size of the mortals’ Manhattan. I’ve never been, but I’ve seen photos and I have to say I agree.

  Hestia’s House, the House of the Virgin Goddess, sits prominently in the heart of the city and shines in the sunlight like a jewel in a golden bezel. Across from it and down the slope from the shops, Lake Nisa is quiet and still. It’s a perfect reflection of what’s above.

  Swans skim the water’s surface, noisily honking at one another.

  It’s paradise. But sometimes it’s too perfect and I’m too...well...not.

  Even in Hestia’s House, I’m like a blackbird in an aviary of sweet chickadees. A child of one human and one god, but with no knowledge of who either are. Basically I’m a divine unwanted brat.

  I twist around and look up the slope of the mountain to the peak just barely visible through the cloud cover. All of the Olympian gods have palaces in Olympus City, but most of the time they reside up there above the clouds where none of us half-breeds and demi-gods are ever allowed to tread.

  Clea calls, “We should be getting back. We’ve much to do before the ceremony!”

  “Right. The ceremony,” I mumble to myself, where I’ll be forced to face other gorgeous, power
ful descendants.

  Like Haven Knightfall.

  Haven is the one everyone will be whispering about tonight.

  He’s a descendant of Hades, favored to win the God Games of his house.

  I can only imagine how smug and gorgeous he’ll look tonight.

  I don’t really know him well, only of him. Everyone in Olympus knows Haven Knightfall.

  Not only does he have the Knightfall family name behind him, but he’s also one of the most ruthless, powerful descendants in the city. He’ll win his trial and secure himself a spot among Hades’s elite inner circle.

  If only I had a destiny as big as that. I wouldn’t have to waste my time picking flowers and then watching them die in my hand.

  “Ana!” Clea calls again.

  “Coming!” I call back and grab my basket, careful not to touch the new pile of flowers I somehow managed to leave untarnished.

  Chapter 2

  “Anastasha,” Sura says, using the full name I was gifted and hate about as much as I hate thistles in my fingers. “Did you water the cabbage before you came in?”

  Clea has already abandoned me to prep for the ceremony tonight. She seems overly worried about her appearance, though I’m not sure what all the fuss is about. It isn’t like we’re going to the ceremony to be chosen. We’re going to work.

  I set both flower baskets on the worktable across from the sink. “Yes,” I reply to Sura. “I watered all the vegetables including the monster cabbage that we never harvest or eat. Someday that thing will overtake the house and then where will we be?”

  Sura huffs at the stove, her back still to me. “You know Hestia has her reasons, and who are we to question a goddess?”

  “Who indeed,” I grumble.

  Sura is Head of Hestia House. She’s a tall sliver of a woman with hair the color of poppy seeds and eyes the color of honeydew. She’s been Head of House for as long as I can remember, and in that time, I’ve never seen her display any kind of magical godpower. There are rumors about who her godparent is, but none of them based on any kind of proof.

  If Hestia is my surrogate godparent, Sura is my doting aunt—helpful, caring, and always on the brink of being scandalized.

  “I made you a flower crown for tonight,” she adds.

  “Which one is mine?” I ask and look worryingly at the twin crowns on the worn wood table. One is braided with hibiscus flowers, the other moon roses and baby’s breath that seems to change color depending on where I stand.

  I’m stalling because I don’t want to touch either. I’m too afraid of what’ll happen if I do, and more afraid of what’ll happen if Sura learns this secret.

  Will I be tossed out of Hestia House? The Virgin Goddess is literally known for giving life to the home and if I’m killing things left and right....

  Funny that on a daily basis, I think about what life might be like outside the house of the Virgin Goddess, but when faced with the possibility, I want to curl into a ball beneath my bed and never come out. For as much as I want things to be different, mostly I want to belong where I am.

  “What do you plan to wear?” Sura asks as she shakes out peppercorn into the bubbling pot. “Take whatever crown matches best.”

  “I was planning to wear this.”

  Sura turns away from the hearth to face me and shrinks back in a hiss. “Anastasha Hearthtender! You can’t possibly wear that to the ceremony!”

  I look down at the black leggings and the white cotton blouse sewn by Sura’s very hands. “Why? What’s wrong with it?”

  “It’s too...too...well!” She huffs and flits away. I follow her down the soaring, arched hallway. Morning light spills across the stone floor through the windows on my right. When we were children, Clea and I used to sing “Bless Me Aphrodite” at the top of our lungs in the hall and giggle when our voices rang back to us.

  Sura turns left into my bedroom. As the eldest daughter still in Hestia’s house, I have the best room. There’s a sitting room with a giant hearth lit with Eternal Flame and two extremely comfy slipper chairs that I’ve fallen asleep in more times than I can count.

  Through an archway trimmed in white sandstone sits my bed, the four posts of which are dressed in curling ivy that sometimes perfume the air with the smell of honey and sunshine.

  I left the balcony doors open when I went out this morning and now a fresh breeze steals in, bringing with it the crisper, earthier scent of Lake Nisa down the hill and across the boulevard.

  Down below in the street, Gregor the baker is shouting, “Fresh pastry! Sweet treats!” Two bluebirds flit past the balcony and chirp at one another before disappearing from sight.

  Sura is already inside my dressing room flipping through hangers.

  “No. No. No.” She harrumphs and switches sides. “Here we are. This is more in line with a choosing ceremony.” She holds up a long blue dress the color of lagoon water. It’s sleeveless and backless and the material is so silky and thin, it’ll likely mold to the hollow of my belly button.

  I scowl. “I’m only attending the ceremony to stoke the flame. Do I really need to dress up?”

  Sura wrinkles her nose at me. “Being a daughter of Hestia’s House and stoking the flame is an important position to have. Our participation in the event is a tribute to our goddess mother. You can’t show up in rags!”

  I gesture at the blouse. “You made this for me!”

  “Out of rags!”

  I turn to look out the window so Sura won’t see my oh-so-goddess-like eye roll and then sigh in resignation. There really is no point in arguing about this. As much as I might wish to be comfortable, I know that every female descendant of age will be wearing something similar to the dress Sura is laying gently on my bed. The difference is that those descendants are preparing for their future and the very real possibility that they’ll be chosen to compete for a spot among the gods’ elite inner circles.

  I look more closely at the dress and try to appreciate the beautiful work. The threading is done in gold and shines like it was woven with sunlight. Sura really is a wonder with textiles.

  “You will do your mother proud, Ana. The Fates have smiled upon your path since your birth.”

  I snort. Sura scolds me with a cluck of her tongue.

  Sura seems so sure that the Fates are guiding my path. That I’ll go to the choosing ceremony and that Hestia will pull my name from the Moirai Box lifting me to the ranks of the elite.

  But a name of a descendant can only be plucked from the box if the god or goddess has previously submitted it. And in all my years, I’ve rarely seen Hestia make the effort. There isn’t much to do up there in her higher ranks. Not like there is in Ares’s House, where a chosen one can command his army. Or at Hades’s House, where there are always rogue souls to be hunted.

  Would Hestia want me to serve as one of her chosen? I can’t even pick flowers. And she’s never given me any indication that I’m favored in her house. I’m more like a sturdy table that you keep around because it’s useful and practical.

  No, I think if I have a destiny, it’s to remain as I am. Stuck. Unclaimed. Never belonging. And a little bit broken on top of it.

  I glance up to see Sura watching me. She reads my resignation as nervousness and pats my cheek gently. “You’re a proud daughter of Hestia. You’ll serve this house well.”

  I resign myself to her doting and bow my head to her. “Goddess bless you, Sura.”

  “And you, my child. This day and always.” She leaves the room smiling.

  The Choosing Ceremony happens every five years.

  Descendants aren’t allowed to officially go to the ceremony until after their 18th birthday. For the last ceremony, I was almost a year shy of being of age, but I talked Clea into sneaking away from the house to watch the ceremony from the bushes.

  We huddled there like forest animals waiting for a storm to arrive. And in a sense that’s what it is. The choosing is our most sacred and terrifying ceremony. To be chosen is to be favored by a god
, but it could also be the end of your life in Olympus as you know it.

  Because of the ten chosen, only one can win the ultimate gift of power and prestige in the court or legion of their god.

  The rest—the losers—are stripped of whatever divine power they possess and banished to the mortal realm. And once they’re banished, the memory of them is stripped away. On Mount Olympus, to be forgotten is a fate worse than death.

  Although I sometimes fantasize about something more, I would never, ever want to live in the mortal realm. I’ve heard gossip that mortals no longer talk to each other, they only talk to their phones. Their air gets harder and harder to breathe with every passing day and they’re literally killing their wildlife.

  And worse yet—rarely does their food come from the earth—instead it comes from a box.

  I pull on the beautiful dress. The blue silk shimmers as it pools around me.

  I hardly ever have reason to dress up and the fine fabric feels too delicate for something as pedestrian as walking. But like everything Sura does it has a secret strength hidden beneath its beauty. It really is a dress fit for a chosen one.

  For one delirious moment, I allow myself to imagine what it would be like to have my name plucked from the Moirai Box, to be chosen by a god and the Fates.