by Lianyu Tan
“What can I say? It’s much too cold here, Grandfather; I need my little luxuries.” Persephone stood up and leaned over, kissing him on the cheeks, once on either side. “And seeing as you’ve robbed me blind again, I could do with a soak to drown my sorrows.”
Kronos scoffed. Coins clinked as he tucked them away in a pouch. “Do send my regards. Tell her to visit some time.”
“Yes, Grandfather,” Persephone said, though they both knew Hades would do no such thing.
She’d been telling Kronos the truth about the bath, however. The palace had needed its plumbing extended anyway, and what better time to install a new bathhouse? Persephone was almost giddy with excitement. Hot springs might have been nicer, but considering the environment, an indoor facility with a hypocaust heating system was the only practical option. As their fuel source, Perdix had used ever-burning stones from the river Phlegethon. The mortal had all the talent and half the ego of his more notorious uncle, Daedalus. Hades had been right about one thing—the underworld counted the best of humanity amongst its ranks.
She rapped on the bars of Kronos’s cell, waiting for a guard to unlock it so that she could leave. Kronos’s cage was still literal, unlike Persephone’s, but neither of them could ever forget they were here on Hades’ whim. Perhaps that was why they had developed a connection, unlikely though it might have been.
When she arrived back at the palace, she took a moment to admire the new wing. Scaffolding still remained against one of the walls, which gleamed in the daylight—obsidian, to match the rest of the palace, glowing with newness and smooth as a well-polished blade.
Inside, the black gave way to graceful white columns. Persephone turned to the women’s side of the baths, her critical eye running over the interior but finding nothing to fault. The space was far roomier and more inviting than the old facility had been, gleaming in white marble.
In the changing room she slipped off her sandals and undressed, then picked up a towel, wrapping it around herself. As she approached the bathing chamber, the air grew pregnant with warmth and humidity, the tiles losing their chill against her bare feet.
When she turned the corner and beheld it for the first time, she sighed at the beauty of it. The skylights, sparkling with precious glass, flooded the chamber with light. The ceiling was high and airy, arched trusses supporting it. The walls were inset with enspelled light fixtures and lined with a glittering mosaic border of flowers and fruit.
It was perfect, except—
“Perdix outdid himself. Pass him my congratulations, would you?”
Persephone almost dropped her towel when she saw Hades reclining at one end of the bathing pool, the waterline only reaching to below her breasts, the light brown of her nipples contrasting with her pale skin. Her hair hung loose as a wet pelt across her back, gleaming like a raven’s feather.
“What are you doing here?” Persephone asked before thinking twice.
Hades raised one hand out of the bath water to gesture carelessly, droplets scattering from her fingertips like diamonds. “What does it look like?”
“You have your own bathing chamber.”
“True, but this one is ever so nice.” Hades shifted on her seat, sinking down until the water reached her collarbone, her eyes half-lidded.
“Your fingertips have turned to prunes. It’s not healthy to soak that long,” Persephone said, her hand on the tucked-in fold of her towel, ensuring it was secure. She hated herself for sounding like her grandfather, but she would’ve said anything to make Hades leave.
Hades shrugged. “Have I spoiled your dream of deflowering your bathhouse? I apologize.”
“What? That’s not—I—”
“Perdix and his crew might have taken a dip besides, we would never know.”
Persephone huffed. “That’s not the point!”
Hades closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the rounded edge of the bath. “Do not be cross, Persephone. I have had a very, very long day.”
Persephone was not about to let this one little thing ruin her enjoyment after months of hard work. There was room enough for thirty people, with space aplenty. She could just ignore Hades and pretend she wasn’t there.
She had bathed nude with her nymphs many a time and thought nothing of it, but still she blushed to set aside her towel, keeping her back to Hades all the while. She walked to the open showers, standing under the cold spray to rinse herself, shivering as her skin turned to gooseflesh.
Once she was clean, she squeezed out the excess water from her hair, delaying the moment when she had to turn around and cross the steps between the showers and the bath. It took a few deep breaths to relax the muscles in her forehead. Deflower a building? She had never heard anything so ridiculous. Hades just had to sweep every innocent thought into the gutter.
When she turned around at last, Hades wasn’t even looking at her, preoccupied with weaving her hair into a braid. Persephone stepped into the bath, flinching as the warm water enveloped her. She lowered herself on a seat until she was covered up to her chin. “You shouldn’t do that when it’s wet,” she said. “The strands will break.”
Hades finished her braid and tossed it over her shoulder. “You seem unusually concerned for my well-being today.”
Persephone crossed her arms over her chest and glared, then forced herself to look away and relax her posture. Her well-meant intention to ignore Hades seemed impossible, like the gesture of an opium addict throwing away their pipe. She would always come back to her.
Wait. Always?
Persephone stewed in silence, trying to draw comfort from her warm and lush surroundings and failing miserably. The staccato drip of a water clock wore away at her consciousness, her thoughts spiraling in ever-decreasing circles.
She hated Hades. She hated her.
She didn’t know how long she sat there, mute and miserable in her own personal level of Tartarus, when Hades waded to the steps and climbed out, water sluicing down her back in rivulets, leaving beads on her bare skin as it dripped down from the end of her braid. Persephone caught a glimpse of some discoloration on Hades’ stomach—a birthmark?—but Hades turned away so quickly that it might’ve been a trick of the light.
Hades picked up a towel and dried herself before walking toward the lounging area. With her back to Persephone, she set aside her towel and fussed with something out of view. She placed one foot on a bench and leaned over, massaging scented oil into her skin. She worked her way around her calf, up over her knee and along her thigh, then straightened up and repeated the process on her other leg.
Persephone knew she ought to look away, but she did not, even when Hades began turning her attention to the rest of her skin. She watched the way light and shadow played over Hades’ body as she massaged the oil all over herself, her hands running over the curve of her hips, dipping in toward her waist and flowing out over her breasts. Hades raised her arms over her head and ran her hand over one wrist and down toward her shoulder before gathering more oil in her palm and repeating it on the other side.
When Hades was finally done, she picked up her damp towel and left, without ever once looking back.
It was as though a spell had been broken. Persephone sucked in a mouthful of air, then stood. The bath water had grown too hot for her flushed and over-heated skin. She went to the showers and blasted herself with a jet of cold water, yelping as the pressure hit her in the chest. She turned off the flow, shivering again as she leaned her forehead against the wall.
Alone at last. What she’d wanted, but there was no peace to be found, not here, not with the scent of asphodels still lingering in the air.
At the front of the bath chamber, the water clock continued to drip, and a small bell rang out to mark the changing of the hour.
Persephone found no rest that night, not with the image of Hades’ nude and glistening form seared into her eyes. She shifted uncomfortably in her bed, cheeks pinking as her mind betrayed her, going back over and over again to the sl
ightest of details. The curve of Hades’ thigh. The way her shoulder blades shifted as she stretched. The smallest glimpse of the side of her breast.
She settled further down on her pillow and parted her knees under the sheets. Her hand crept between her legs, and she was not at all surprised to find herself already wet, her folds parting at the slightest touch.
She’d thought she’d been cured of this, cured of wanting her, but it seemed there was nothing in the underworld that Hades had not spoiled.
Persephone tried to put Hades out of her mind, to think of anything else. The plump pink bow of Aphrodite’s lips. The sleek, long legs of Artemis’s huntresses. That serving girl who had worked for Demeter one harvest, until Demeter had caught them behind a grain silo, their lips locked in a kiss.
None of it was helping.
Persephone bit her tongue in frustration. The sharp bright tang of ichor flooded her mouth, grounding her. She rocked her hips from side to side, seeking peace, seeking an end to the images that tormented her, but it would not come.
Was Persephone so debauched, so broken to need Hades’ touch and hers alone?
She pictured herself in the bathhouse again, but she was different this time. A huntress. She plucked the oil flask from Hades and took over, running her hands over Hades’ nude and warm flesh, kissing the surprise from her face. Pushing her onto the bench, pressing on her shoulders until she was at the perfect height. Entangling her hand in Hades’ braid, tilting her face upward. Watching the lust smoldering in her eyes. Jutting her hips forward and pulling Hades in to meet her, until her lips were upon Persephone’s sex, until her tongue was inside her, until—
Persephone pressed her face into her pillow and silently screamed, her hands fisted in the sheets. This wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair.
Her knees locked together as she shuddered, her skin feeling alive as though she had touched one of Zeus’s bolts. Her fingers stilled between her legs; her wrist ached.
She kicked off the blankets covering her and curled up with her knees hugged to her chest. Demeter had always said there was something wrong with her. Perhaps she’d been right after all, and there was some kind of sickness lurking inside Persephone, a sort of darkness only a mother could see.
No one in her position would want Hades. Would they?
Hades had brought her to ruin, made Persephone unfit for any virtuous marriage. The idea of someone else touching her—gently, lovingly—aroused nothing, no emotion either for good or ill, but left her feeling hollow and vacant. Even if she left the underworld, someday, somehow, she would never truly be free.
She sat up, went to her wash basin and cleaned herself up. She smoothed her tunic down over her hips and ran her fingers through her hair.
A sliver of light shone beneath the door to Hades’ rooms. Persephone had no idea what time it might be, though it felt late. She took a deep breath and knocked. Hades made an indistinguishable sound, and she took that as assent, opening the door.
Hades was seated in bed, a scroll in her hands. Her shoulders were bare, her hair lying loose over them, the furs pulled up high to leave her entirely covered.
Persephone wasn’t sure if that sudden sharp stabbing feeling in her chest was relief or disappointment.
“What do you want?” Hades asked. “The hour is late.”
“I can’t sleep,” Persephone said, then silently rebuked herself. Sleeping was practically her function, or a part thereof—she’d lost the habit of drifting down into her earth dreams sometime in the last few months because there was so much to do and Xenia always struggled to wake her from them. It hadn’t even occurred to her to try.
Hades gave her a long, hard look. “Someone in the kitchens could prepare you a tisane,” she said.
Persephone shook her head. “What are you reading?”
Hades glanced down at the scroll in her hands. “A land development report.”
“That sounds boring.”
“It is.”
“Would you read it to me? I’m sure it would help. Put me to sleep.” Without waiting for an answer, Persephone walked to the side of Hades’ bed. She gestured. “Move over.”
Hades lowered her scroll, staring at her with cold and unwelcoming eyes.
If she had to suffer, Hades would too—she had only brought it upon herself. Persephone slid into Hades’ bed, forcing Hades to move over or be crushed. Hades moved.
When was the last time she’d been here? That night before her first lesson with Stephanus. An eon ago, now.
Hades had said she would not touch Persephone unless invited. Her words were both Persephone’s shield and the walls to her own cage; she had given Persephone the key and set herself as jailer.
Persephone molded a pillow to fit her head and arranged the furs to her liking. The sheets were warm from the heat of Hades’ body, with the queen herself clearly naked under the bedclothes. It created a sweet ache in Persephone’s chest, knowing she was so close, and yet a cubit of empty bed separated them, forming the no man’s land between their opposing wills.
“Are you quite done?” Hades asked.
“Mm.” The faint scent of asphodels tickled Persephone’s nose. “Go on,” she said. “Don’t let me interrupt.”
Hades continued to watch her for a few moments, her grip on the parchment so tight it threatened to ruin her report. She glanced down, struggling to find her place.
The report was just as dull as she’d promised. Apparently, the Asphodel Fields only had room to expand in one direction: east, toward Elysium. But it disturbed the shades in the Asphodel Fields to catch even a glimpse of Elysium—so close, yet forever out of reach. The report detailed various options to shape the landscape, to prevent this from happening.
Persephone let the details wash over her and instead studied the shape of Hades’ lips, the contours of her face. She had such focus, radiating stillness like the depths of a frozen pond. Hades worked too much. All these clever humans surrounding her, but none worthy enough to read a simple report? Work was her addiction, her crutch. If Persephone remained in the underworld... If she had to stay, she wouldn’t allow herself to be put in second place.
Hades finished her sentence, then looked at Persephone. Her fingers creased the scroll. “This is a dangerous game you play. Are you certain you wish to trifle with me?”
Persephone opened her mouth, then closed it again. Certain… Nothing about Hades made her certain about anything, least of all her own feelings.
“Go to bed, Persephone. Your own bed.”
Persephone pouted. “Maybe a few more lines—”
“No.”
It wasn’t always easy to tell when Hades was actually angry with her, or when she was using anger to mask some other, more dangerous emotion. Hades’ pupils were dilated, her nostrils slightly flared. Persephone had thought she’d washed herself well, but now she wondered if she still stank of arousal.
Persephone flung back the blankets and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She was about to leave, then turned, leaning over to kiss Hades’ cheek. “Good night, Hades.”
Hades said nothing.
Persephone went to her room and closed the door, resting against it as it clicked shut.
She had no idea what she wanted. Not anymore.
19
Summer, Again
Some time later, Hades hosted a banquet to celebrate some obscure piece of underworld history or some forgotten god. Feast days in the underworld did not match those on the surface; Persephone knew she ought to study their calendar at some point, but it had never been a priority.
The fare at her table was noticeably poorer than it had been on previous occasions. Persephone toyed with the food on her plate in a desultory manner. Wheaten cakes, again, with a little fish, but her greens were badly wilted, and there were no other fresh vegetables to speak of.
“Hades,” she began, “what season is it in the overworld?”
Hades paused, her chalice halfway to her lips. She set it down. “S
ummer, I should think.”
“Again?” Persephone dropped her knife. She looked down at her hands. She would never be as pale as Hades, but her skin had lost its sun-kissed glow, her freckles faded. She’d been here for more than a year, but she’d scarcely noticed the time passing. There was so much to do—her little infrastructure projects, the care and maintenance of her grove, of course, and the various official duties that she performed in her role as Hades’ consort.
She’d become disconnected from the seasons, distant from all the natural cycles. Nothing else could explain her distorted perception of time. If this went on, she’d forget who she once was, just like poor Cerberus, only she wouldn’t need Lethe’s water to break her mind. Simply remaining here, stranded in a world separated from Gaia’s rhythms, would be enough to drive her mad.
“That would mean our wedding anniversary was some time in the past,” Persephone said.
Hades eyed her warily over the top of her chalice. “Yes.”
“We did not exchange gifts.”
“Is there something in particular that you want?” Hades asked, enunciating each word carefully, as if she were dreading the answer.
Persephone played with her wheat cake, tearing it into tiny shreds. “There is only one thing I’ve ever asked of you.”
“Untrue, but you know why I cannot grant your wish.” Hades’ hand hovered near Persephone’s shoulder as though she was going to touch her, but then she must have thought better of it, as she withdrew soon after.
Persephone pushed back her chair and stood. The entire hall went silent, with every assembled person and deity of the underworld turning to glance in her direction. She looked at Hades, expecting some reaction, but Hades did nothing to stop her. She turned and fled from the dining hall, taking the stairs down three at a time.
She didn’t have to suffer this, didn’t have to bear witness, trapped and silently screaming as she slowly lost herself. She could go to Lethe now, drink of its waters. It was always there as a fallback, in the event that she could not endure this captivity any longer and simply wished to drown her sorrows. But then, if she no longer remembered who Hades was, what she’d done to her, why would she try to resist Hades’ silken tongue and her warm hands and warmer bed? No, she couldn’t bear that. Lethe was not an option, not unless she wanted to let Hades win.