by Eileen Glass
But not when his nose is in Seph’s hair again, and Seph turns to get a look at him. Then he has his almost-happy expression. And it does not disappear when their eyes meet. Seph wants to kiss him.
But he also wants to land safely, very much so, and their balance begins to tilt as Hades guides the horses into a wide downward spiral. The river below looks more like a creek. The River Styx is wide and coils endlessly onward, never narrowing nor ebbing away in its depth.
Cocytus on the other hand is small and spriggy, running through and over rocks, breaking off into creeks, making trees into islands, their roots bare and reaching out through the water.
“Duck down now,” Hades says. “All the way to the floor, in front of my knees. This will be too scary for you.”
“I can handle it,” Seph says bravely, but a moment later the horses swoop downward, the chariot dives forward, and the ground rushes up at him. A sensation of weightlessness and terror comes over him, his heart thudding, the wind rushing past his body with nothing to catch him. His grip on the chariot’s front, while solid and white knuckled, seems insubstantial as he is falling with it.
But Hades is not falling forward. Not the way Seph is. If so, he would be pressing against Seph’s back, and Seph would be the only barrier keeping them inside. They would be flung over the front, and all would be lost.
Seph closes his eyes, makes sure he continues to breathe, and the terror…
It doesn’t leave him, but it becomes manageable.
As long as he closes his eyes and Hades is still there, his stance unaffected.
He would not let me crash. If it was going to happen, he would prevent it. He would hit the ground before I would.
Seph doesn’t know if that’s true or not. But imagining the sentiment helps.
Again, there is no clash of the chariot wheels striking the earth. Or in this case, the water. He notices that the wind has lessened, a shadow passes over his eyelids, and then he hears the hooves of the horses splashing in water.
Hades presses on the back of his head, and they both duck to squeeze under the bough of a tree that is bent far forward in the current, its roots barely hanging on. The water here, however, is calm, shallow, and widens to a sandy beach on both sides. A lovely place to wade. If only the sun would show brightly here and warm the sand.
Hades guides the horses onto the beach, the chariot wheels allowed to make deep treads into the sand, and they step off, the horses completing a half circle to wet their noses in the river. Seph kneels to the sand at once, gathering it in one hand and letting it fall slowly. It is dry and softly fine, but cold. Cold like stinging snowflakes that don’t melt, not even in his warm hands.
“Grateful to be on the ground again?” Hades asks in a friendly manner, fumbling with the ties of his cloak.
“I was not afraid,” Seph says playfully over his shoulder. The cold, while not as pleasant as sun-warmed sand, does not bother him much. He wishes he could stretch out in it, but…
“My chiton is too short to sit. I’ll get sand in my ass.”
“Never fear, my stallion. Your ass shall be free of coarse sediment in my kingdom. Our kingdom. Forgive me for misspeaking, my king.”
Ah. He is playful then. Or at least mildly happy, which seems to be the most optimal setting his face can achieve. Seph grins at him, thinking that smirks and smiles might be easier for the dark god in the future, with a little practice. This playful personality is a surprise, and one that he loves.
He is doing more than making the best of a bad situation. This marriage to Hades might not have been his free choice, but it does seem to be one that he wants.
Hades puts his cloak down on the sand, the fur and everything unfortunately touching the dirt. He takes his boots off one by one while standing, toeing out of them from the heel, and Seph wonders how rare it will be for the dark god to perform any act of dressing himself. It is endearing to see a somber man in that wicked black crown wobble for balance on one foot.
Seph removes his own sandals quickly and easily. He feels bad for sitting on the cloak though.
…Though he does like the soft material against his thighs. He has not asked Hades for longer chitons yet.
“Tell me about the narcissus flower,” Seph says, watching the water rush around the bent tree. “You had something to do with that, didn’t you? I heard the story from my mother, but I have never seen one until… until you abducted me.”
“Ah, yes. That reminds me, I would like to plant some here. They are quite hardy and should spread naturally all along these banks.”
Hades does not continue right away, settling on the cloak beside him instead.
“You don’t want to answer?” Seph asks after a few moments, when it seems the dark god has forgotten.
“You want to know the morbid parts of me. The parts I’m holding back,” Hades counters, though not angrily. He speaks as though stating facts, and not particularly interesting ones.
“I know that you have good qualities as well. I have already seen them. Your subjects are not afraid of you. Not even the way that I am afraid of Zeus, my father. Which I find rather confusing since you punish them so harshly. So your good qualities must outweigh the bad.”
“Not necessarily,” he says, brushing off his knee. “The souls know that running off is one of few crimes I personally punish. Everything else is handled by their village leaders. There is not much I need to do since everyone in Elysium is a gentle kind of soul. So there is no reason to fear me. That does not mean I am as gentle and sweet as them.”
“So you would say you are the opposite?” Seph is careful not to look at him. He is careful to keep his tone neutral as well.
Perhaps I should stop this line of questioning.
Offending the dark god will not go well. Especially in this far away, private place.
Though, Seph suspects that it wouldn’t matter.
“I am sorry. We can talk about something else.”
“No, it’s okay. Eventually you need to know these things about Tartarus… and Sisyphus, Tantalus, and so many others. I do not…” He seems to search for words. “…judge others. Officially. I do not pursue the act of torture. But there are some souls that I recognize can only be punished by me, and who should be punished.
“In the case of Narcissus, a mortal boy with the fair face of a god, his beauty prevented him from suffering the consequences of his actions. The young man was destined to become a king or emperor for how people worshiped him so. For nothing other than looking beautiful.
“Did you know that men committed suicide when he rejected them? That’s how much they fell in love with him! And even these terrible acts did not cause sympathy in his heart. He was a little mortal Zeus but without the justification and Hera keeping him on a chain.”
Hades removes his crown, looking into it as he speaks.
“I came close to observe the boy. A mountain nymph who had fallen in love with him lured Narcissus away to protect him. I hardly wanted to scour the upperworld for him for very long. My beasts do not do well up there.
“So I sent Hermes, my messenger, to Artemis, and she trapped my quarry with a puddle of water from the River Styx. It is true that I named my flower after him. His namesake was given as an honor, for it seems unfortunate that something so fair should be lost forever.”
He looks up at the river.
“However, Narcissus was not turned into a flower. That part of the story is wrong. He is still in Tartarus, gazing at himself and eternally starving to death.” He lets the crown dangle from his fingers and looks over. “So that’s it, my king. You’ve heard one of the terrible stories about me. And you’ve seen our kingdom. Eight tenths of it anyway. What do you think? Are you miserable in your new home?”
Seph feels like he’s falling again, his breath held in his chest as though to scream, but he faces his fear head on like he did with the chariot’s descent.
“If I run, will you hunt me?”
“Most certainly,
yes. But not with Cerberus, not with my dog. And I’ll try not to bring you back in chains unless I have to.”
“Why would you have to?” Seph faces him unflinchingly at last, in the direction of the dark god’s knees. Getting to his eyes requires more determination and passing seconds. He’s relieved that Hades seems to be as relaxed as ever and is not becoming angry or stern at this unexpected questioning.
“I have to keep you here for your protection. There are two gods to protect you from—well, six if you include your rowdy cousins, who will not entirely be dissuaded to steal you for a romp or two until I catch up. Oh, they probably won’t rape you outright, but they may succeed in tempting you. Your mother will become a villain against me, if she ever sees you again. She’s never going to let you come back to me. Not willingly.
“And your father, Zeus, is not known for his respect of marriage. In fact, none of the gods are. Thus, the still existing danger despite our marriage.
“The best place for you is the underworld. There’s one entrance and one exit for gods. I have other dogs guarding the gate, and no god is allowed to linger down here without a purpose. I’m picky about who I let in my kingdom. That is how I keep you safe.”
“It doesn’t make any sense,” Seph says, squeezing the bridge of his nose. “Why all this trouble? Over me? I am nobody. My mother appointed me the God of the End of the Harvest, but she makes all the things grow. She’s the goddess who brings the spring, when important conditions have to happen. I just… help reap the wheat sometimes. That’s it! With an ordinary fucking scythe. I don’t have magical powers or anything!”
“Ah, Seph.” The dark god reaches over and puts his crown on Seph. It’s heavy, like balancing a pot on his head, and it sits slightly lopsided on his thick, wavy tresses. “You are what Narcissus should have been. If he was perfect.”
Eighteen
They have an early dinner at the palace—at home, since this is where Seph’s home is now. Hades’s cloak is given to the servants for cleaning, and his crown is also removed for the meal. He looks more like the man he is with Seph in bed, and today he wears a chiseled orange stone around his neck that seems to glow from within. His sapphire earrings are deeply hued and beautiful, and Seph stares at them almost as much as he stares into Hades’s eyes.
After they finish the meal, Hades takes him to his indoor courtyard, which Seph learns is called a solarium. He talks a lot about the plants, with some words that Seph doesn’t understand, like ‘germinating’. Seph learns that the base of a plant is called a crown, which must not be buried, and Hades goes on to say something about phosphorus, a nutrient required to keep the plant growing.
He doesn’t really follow and just nods politely. He is more concerned about keeping his arm positioned so that Hades won’t see the little bulge of cooked vegetables he’s keeping in the folds of his chiton, above his belt.
He is especially worried that Hibus won’t be under the bed when they finally make it back to their private quarters. After speaking with Minthe yesterday, Seph hunted around the palace until he found a little vase that he filled with stones from an outside garden. It is rather heavy for a rabbit to drag around, and it’s anchoring Hibus at the center underneath the bed. But that doesn’t mean the little rabbit didn’t find a way to knock it over and make it roll. Seph made it as sturdy as he could.
But he also worries that his fresh straw, acquired with the help of Minthe, will start to kick up a smell. Now there are rotting vegetables from his wedding night that need to be replaced and thrown out.
Seph begins to wonder, How long can I not tell him?
Minthe was very firm in saying that Hades would no way, no how approve the bunny. Every time Seph started to doubt or offer a solution, Minthe would remind him no way, it’s not a possibility.
But neither is keeping a secret pet under the bed forever. If Hades doesn’t find him, the servants eventually will. And when Hades’s dog returns to the palace, which he mentioned once today, being relieved that Seph doesn’t mind dogs—well, Seph had better have a new home for the bunny by then.
“Are you tired?” Hades says suddenly, looking at him instead of the flowers. “I’m sorry. I think to myself by talking aloud sometimes. None of this information is supposed to be part of the tour. I hope you didn’t start to think of me as your dusty old tutor or something. Botany is fascinating to me, but I don’t expect us to share the same hobbies.”
“No! That’s not it. I like listening to you. Um, I don’t understand very much, and I’m not really the reading type.… My mother just makes plants grow naturally with her powers, I think. She doesn’t have to know all this stuff.”
“Ah. Well, that works too, but the difference is that plants grown and cultured in the natural way can continue to proliferate themselves. I am making improvements on my narcissus flower to make it quite hardy. My hope is that someday this beauty will spread across my world and the upperworld both. I have nearly reached a strain that could make my flower quite common, like a beautiful weed. But not so invasive.”
“I’m sorry,” Seph says, since he would really like to listen to Hades talk about his flowers and his interests—all day in fact—but he’s also really worried about Hibus. “I have to use the latrine. If it’s all right, would you excuse me?”
Understanding lights in Hades’s eyes, and he smiles and nods toward the large door leading to their private chambers. Unfortunately for Seph and Hibus though, he also follows after Seph, and even gets the door for him.
“Thank you,” Seph says and tries to hurry forward without looking like he’s hurrying anywhere.
“Do not make yourself uncomfortable just because I am lost in one of my speeches,” Hades says in a friendly manner, and then thankfully gets distracted at his desk, opening a drawer.
Seph moves on alone and calculates how weird it would be to close the bedroom door completely after him. He decides a half close is not too strange, and then he rushes on the side where he’s covered, going to his knees by the bed and fetching the vegetables at once.
He can pretend to just be looking for his sandal or something if the god follows him a few seconds after. So the new vegetables join the old ones, and Hibus hops toward him hopefully, like he’s happy to see him. Only to greedily take the first radish and start munching on the top.
That should keep him from exploring for a while. Cleaning up shall have to happen later. And yes, his basket of straw does have a detectable smell already. He hopes the bed blanket hanging low over the edges will help contain the odor for a little while. Just until morning. Seph will find a moment away from Hades to fix it. Somehow.
He doesn’t come up with any ideas or clever plans as he goes through the motions of using the latrine. When he is done and returning to Hades, he stops at the vanity, looking in the mirror.
His cousins were squabbling over him, sure, but that had more to do with masculine rivalry than anything about Seph. His cousins are infantile, trying to best each other for no reason other than competition, and Seph was not flattered by their attention.
Nor does he see anything special about his face. Tan skin and a few darkened sun specks across the bridge of his nose, lightly scattered into his cheeks. He looks like an ordinary Greek. And a young one, since he doesn’t have a beard.
Fimus resisted his charms just fine. And certainly, no one has ever committed suicide over him before! Seph can’t imagine such a thing.
I am nothing like Narcissus. Nor am I what Narcissus should have been. Whatever Hades sees in my face comes from his eyes alone.
Certainly, Teysus never composed any poems for his features, as some writers are still doing for Narcissus, his beauty, and his punishment.
“Are you perusing for jewels?” Hades asks from the doorway, watching him with his arms crossed.
Seph jumps. He’s been caught for doing something extremely silly. Looking at himself in a mirror is vain foolishness.
“No! I was just thinking about Narcissus. That’s a
ll. The mortals don’t know what really happened. They think he turned into one of your flowers.”
“Of course. That is because I gave it his name.” Hades crosses to him, touches Seph’s jaw, and points his face back at the mirror. “I wonder what would look best on you. Something red, do you think?”
His scrutiny makes Seph feel like uncarved marble that’s just arrived at an artist’s shop. “Or a diamond, perhaps? Those are my favorite.”
He opens a drawer and many rings are set in rolls of velvet cushion. He picks up one as big as Seph’s own thumb and holds it up by his ear. Then under his throat.
“Hm. So beautiful. But anyone who sees you in diamonds will know you were dressed by me and not of your own choices. Here, why don’t you pick a stone.” He opens more drawers, revealing more rings and bracelets and earrings and necklaces. He picks a thing or two out of each and sets them atop the vanity in a row.
Seph doesn’t know the names of any of these. He can only describe them by their shininess and color. None of the gems appeal to him greatly. He is not a gem-wearing kind of guy, nor would he care to set his own hair in rollers if his mother didn’t insist on it. Curly hair is fashionable with the Greeks, and being fashionable is the basic grooming standard for the son of a goddess.
He supposes being the husband of a god amounts to the same thing.
“There. Pick something. What do you like?”
There are two and a half rows of jewelry on the vanity now, in no particular order. Seph looks them up and down, back and forth, and does not feel drawn to any particular one. Some of them are so close in color that Seph would say they’re exactly the same. Though he knows by their distance from each other that Hades would disagree vehemently.
“They are all amazing,” he says with a shrug, realizing he’s about to offend his rich and fashionable husband. His mother made keeping up with the trends a downright decree when he complained again and again about the tightness of hair rollers.