Description: Promise of Shadows CHAPTER ONE I MOVE MY SHOVEL, PUSHING the mud back and forth at a glacial pace. Next to me, my friend Cass moves just as slowly. They have a saying down here in Tartarus: There''s no need to hurry when you''ve got forever to get the job done. The saying is just one of many. It''s easy to be clever when you''re staring eternity in the face. I''ve just dumped a load of dirt on top of my steadily growing pile when Cass speaks. "I think you got a visitor," she says, looking past me toward the guard shack at the far edge of the plain. We work on the line with a few hundred others, digging a ditch the same way we have every day since I got to the Pits. The lowest point in the Underworld, the Pits of Tartarus is a bleak place. A muddy plain edged by a forest of black trees, the sky a constant twilight, it''s a place reserved for criminals and lowlifes. All we do here is dig, moving the mud into long rows. I''m not sure why we dig all the time, since no one ever tells us anything except when to work, when to rest, and when to eat. I''m not even sure the work serves a purpose beyond keeping us from killing each other, and we still manage to do that just fine. Cass elbows me hard in the side, and I wince. My ribs are still bruised from our most recent attack. A couple of Fae who thought kicking me to death would get them out of Tartarus or at least get them some respect. Thanks to Cass, all it got them was dead. She nudges me again, and this time I groan. "That hurts." "It''s the Messenger this time," she says, jutting her chin toward the figure at the far end of the line. "They''re getting serious." I don''t look up. The last thing I need is the guard taking his whip to my back. Panic rises, tightening my chest. I take a deep breath and force it down. I cannot freak out. "You don''t know that he''s here for me," I tell Cass. The words are more for me than for her. One of the guards, who are all minotaurs, starts to move in our direction, and I lower my voice. "If he''s here for me, they''ll let me know." I hold my breath until the half-bull, half-man creature heads back the other way. I don''t want to get in trouble for talking. Cass doesn''t really mind the punishments the bulls hand out. I do. I''m not as strong as she is. "Mourning!" The bull''s voice echoes across the plain, carrying down along the line of prisoners toiling in the dirt. I keep my head down and my shovel moving, not bothering to acknowledge the shout and buying some time to compose myself. It starts to rain, and I sigh. It''s the least of my problems, but the downpour gives me something to focus on besides my visitor. Rain in Tartarus means a lot of different things. Today it''s a fine mist of excrement falling from the sky. It''s like having an outhouse upended over your head. Cass keeps telling me that at some point I''ll get used to it, but she''s been here longer than anyone else. There''s no time in the Underworld, but from what I can tell of her penchant for togas, she''s been here a while. Like, centuries. I don''t think I''ll be kicking around here that long. Too many people want me dead. And the weather sucks. The best way to keep the muck out of my eyes and mouth is to keep my head down and wait until it passes. I''m a smart girl, so that''s what I do. Deep down, I''m hoping that the guard won''t call me again. "Mourning. Zephyr Mourning. Get your lazy carcass down here, Godslayer." I wince at the tone in the guard''s voice. I''ve waited too long to answer, and now I''m in for it. The bulls down here are no better than the prisoners, just as violent and rude. What do you expect from a minotaur? I''m not very good at taking a punch, and I have no desire to provoke the guard any further, so I plant my shovel in the mud and jog in the direction of the shout. I slow down to a walk when I see a familiar figure walking beside the bull, a whip-thin man with a shock of white-blond hair. The "Messenger" Cass called him. But she''s old school, and most vttir these days refer to him by his given name, Hermes. The Messenger of the Gods. He carries an oversize golf umbrella and picks his way around the larger muck puddles. The wings on his ankles flutter in agitation. His blue eyes glow in the constant dusk of Tartarus, their metallic blued-steel sheen denoting his thereal blood and causing the other prisoners to subtly shift away from him. There''s too much shine to them for him to be anything but Exalted, and even the dumbest vttir knows better than to cross paths with one of the favored sons and daughters of the universe. Their powers are so vast that they are gods among gods. Still, all the ther in the universe can''t keep the rain from splattering Hermes. His impeccably tailored dove-gray suit has several dark spots. It serves him right. Only Hermes would wear couture to hell. A few feet still separate me and Hermes when a fight breaks out on the line. A couple of Fae grapple, their wrestling match carrying them right into our path. The scent of their rage pushes away the stink of the rain, and for once I''m grateful for my ability to smell emotions. Their anger is the acrid aroma of burning flesh, which is better than the bathroom scent of the rain. Whatever they''re fighting about, it''s clear that the Fae hate each other. This is more than a normal Tartarus scuffle. The Fae are more intent on their fight than on the thereal walking toward them. They go down a couple of feet away from Hermes, landing in a deep puddle. The contents splash up and across the legs of Hermes''s pants, soaking them with crap and mud. I swallow the hysterical laugh that threatens to bubble up. This can''t end well. Everyone freezes for a moment, even the fighters on the ground. They''re all waiting for Hermes''s wrath, for the outpouring of ther that follows any thereal temper tantrum. But this is Tartarus, and there''s no ther here. Hermes is as powerless as the rest of us. That doesn''t stop him from closing the umbrella and swinging it at the nearest Fae. The fiberglass snaps as it catches the slim man across the face, snapping his head back with an audible crunch. The other Fae tries to scramble away, but Hermes is much faster. With one hand he hauls the Fae up by the scruff before slamming him face-first into the soft mud. Then, with the detached expression of a man buying groceries, Hermes holds the flailing Fae down until he no longer moves. Bile burns the back of my throat, and it''s hard to breathe. I push down the fear that makes me want to run away, to keep running until I can forget the coldness in Hermes''s eyes as he killed a man. Cass appears next to me with a sigh. Even though I can smell the mixed fear and relief from the rest of the vttir, I get nothing from her. Cass''s emotions are always a mystery. "Great, now I''ll never get that food ration he owes me." She''s serious. Cass never jokes about anything. Life is cheap in Tartarus. A couple of bulls run over to haul away the two Fae. Their bodies will be thrown beyond the tree line so that the unseen things that live in the woods can feast on them instead of on us. I relax so my expression doesn''t reflect the horror I feel. Hermes straightens, tossing away his ruined umbrella. "Hey, Zephyr," he says as he adjusts his suit. Cass slides back into the work crew as I cross my arms. It feels like a lifetime since I last saw Hermes. Time passes differently in Tartarus, so I have no idea how long it''s actually been. A month? A year? Some days it feels like it was just yesterday that I landed here. Others, it feels like I''ve been here my entire life. No matter how long it''s been, I can''t forget that he''s the one who put me in Tartarus. I thought he was more than just my sister''s boyfriend. I thought of him as family, the big brother I never had. And he turned me in to the thereal High Council. That''s what I get for trusting an thereal. Never trust the gods. Reminding myself of his betrayal centers me. "Hey, Hermes. If it isn''t my favorite psycho . . . pomp." My voice is even. I''ve learned a few things down here, especially from Cass. I won''t let him know how his presence fills me with a burning rage that blurs my vision and makes me want to scream. He gives me a wide smile, his chiseled cheekbones looking even sharper. "Funny. Did you think of it yourself?" I sigh, feigning boredom. "What do you want? Can''t you see I have a very important ditch to dig?" Hermes''s lips twitch. At least he still appreciates sarcasm. He clears his throat. "I''m here to speak with you on behalf of the thereal High Council." I shrug. "Okay." I''m not sure what else I''m supposed to say. I was never important enough to garner the High Council''s notice before they sent me to Tartarus. Not many of the vttir are. We''re second-class citizens, lucky to avoid the gods'' notice. "This is a private interview," Hermes says. He eyes the nearest bull. The minotaur straightens, steam puffing out of his bovine nostrils as he snaps to attention. "You may use the nearby gatehouse, Exalted, if it suits your needs." The minotaur executes a clumsy bow, muck flying off one of his massive horns and landing on Hermes''s pants. Hermes sighs and pinches the brid

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