by Eileen Glass
“I think I have to go back. To the upperworld.”
Fifty-Seven
Seph’s arms around Hades are tense, like he is waiting for something in the room to explode. Or maybe he’s expecting Hades to grow, like his mother. He now remembers talking to her waist, or her knee, her giant hands big enough to swat him like one of the errant flies in the room. And to make matters worse, he remembers that Demeter grew more animated the more furious she would become, stopping the ground or waving her fists. She certainly flatten a barn or two in their home city when the offerings were meager that year.
She would never hurt me though…
He thinks. He still can’t remember her well enough to say he knows her.
And he does know Hades, and he knows of Hades’s love for him, but that is not comforting at this time. What he knows about his husband, most of all, is that Hades does not like things in the underworld leaving the underworld. Ever.
His domain is here. This is where he looks after what he cares about most. And once things leave, they are out of his control.
Seph runs the back of one finger down his lover’s face. An affectionate gesture, and a test to see if it’s bitten off. It would not be out of character for Hades’s head to twist all the way around and for his lips to lift in a snarl. Cerberus does that sometimes.
“Did you hear me?” He checks that the god’s eyes are open, and they are. That feeling again pressures him as if the walls are closing in on the room. As if the ground is shaking, and something is about to burst out from underneath the bed.
But Hades’s voice is cool, almost tranquil enough to be called untroubled, as he finally asks, “Why do you say that?”
“I wrote a letter to my mother to appeal to her pity, but it’s not going to be enough. I don’t know how I know, but I just know. I think I remember trying to get away from my mother all the time…” He says this to pacify Hades, for his instincts tell him it’s necessary. In truth, he is not sure what he felt around her. Apprehension. Irritation. Sometimes a kind of trapped seething, but always in mild quantities. What he knows for sure is that he wants to see her again. He’s curious, if nothing else.
“But at the same time I want to see her. I couldn’t put the right words on paper because I don’t remember enough about her. If I see her, my memories will come back, and I think I’ll be able to speak to her in such a way that she stops this evil that seems to be killing everything in the upperworld.”
“No.” Hades closes his eyes as if they are done.
“What do you mean ‘no’?” Seph picks himself up to hover over his husband’s face, wanting to see his expression.
Hades mimics sleep with closed eyes and a slack expression, but his words are spoken clearly and not tired.
“Supervising you on such a journey will put us more behind in our work. And besides, Demeter is not your responsibility. Or mine, like you said. The Elysium citizens are ours to look after, no matter what Hermes claims.”
So Hades figured out where Seph got the idea. But that doesn’t change what Seph knows. He needs to go back.
“It’s not just for Hermes or Demeter or even entirely for the poor humans—who are dying by the scores you know. They are disappearing off most of the continents. You know that. But it’s also about me.”
His husband’s eyes open. He’s listening.
“I’m missing most of myself, Hades. You know this. I can barely remember anything that happened before I woke up.”
“Well, you weren’t here very long. We talked about that.”
He sits up, his back to Seph, his elbows put on his knees. And when Seph looks around, he holds his face in his hands as if he’s weeping. But when Hades lifts his face, he only appears worn. And slightly mad.
Seph chooses not to use a soft or comforting tone. He speaks as the king now.
“It’s true, I told you not to worry about Demeter. But I’ve changed my mind. A matter of death is a matter of ours, wouldn’t you say? And I think we should want our citizens to lead prosperous, fulfilling lives before they come here. They should learn and develop as much as they can, unless you want them with a half-starved nature, wild and unthoughtful. You know that the temperment of humans is equal parts consequence and spirit. I’ve read from many scholars in the library, and a lack of resources teaches them to fight and steal when they’re young. Abundance is necessary for sensitivity.”
“This is all Hermes,” Hades says, standing up. Even while they’re arguing, Seph notices the signs of distress in his physical form. Hades may very well be able to stay awake a week with ten hours of sleep, but he has a physical body while the souls don’t. Without illusions cast to hide his imperfections, shadows and lines of stress stand out starkly against his skin. More so than before.
What used to be a round and perfect but dainty little ass now has a lean look to it. The dimples behind each hip bone have become knobby instead of muscular and alluring.
They especially protrude, along with the line of his spine, as he bends down and pulls on his northerner pants.
“Hermes was an adviser. I am the king and the decider.”
The scoff Seph hears, for Hades doesn’t look at him, makes his jaw close tightly. He rises out of bed too, though it is just to sit up for now. He feigns a relaxed pose.
There is something simmering here. Something old. Talking about Seph’s mother and Hades’s disregard for him has brought it back.
“Our kingdom is here,” Hades says right before he pulls a shirt over his head. His hair is tousled, and he does not look kind as he scans the floor for his socks.
“Stop dressing and speak to me. Our kingdom is everywhere.”
To his credit, Hades does pause as requested, in the act of leaning over even. There is a faint old memory playing over this one. His mother, again in a blue dress, moving around the room, waving her hands as he tries to tell her something important. The frustration he’s experiencing is both present and past.
“You do not have any pull over Demeter,” Hades says. “You never have.”
And that is true. Seph feels it in his very soul, as if these words are a beacon to all those memories he’s missing.
“Nobody does, really,” Hades continues. “Not even me. I might have to kill her to sway her. And Seph, how do you kill a mountain? What do you do with it after?”
“I’m certainly not saying kill her. I’m saying I have to go back.”
“And tell her what?” He resumes dressing, but it is not so hurried. He sits on the bed by Seph to put on his socks.
“That is what I’m going to improvise. When I see her and remember her, I will know how to address her with all the right reasoning. I will persuade her. We were…” He tries to put a label on it. “Not enemies. We were close. Fighting… but close.”
“You were family. And trust me, in this family, that is no benefit.”
“She will listen to me.”
Hades’s fist thumps the bed, though not with furious force. “No. She won’t. Do you know why I came to get you in secret? Usually collecting the ‘bride’ from the parent’s house is a public ceremony. But I stole you down here like a thief in an alley. You know why? Because you don’t move a mountain, that’s why. You go around it.”
“I can move her. I’m her son. Hermes told me something… He says that the Earth was cold before I was conceived. He says my mother made the upperworld warm and taught the humans how to farm specifically for me. She made the world for me to live in it.”
“Her affection for you is a danger more than it is a benefit.” Hades goes to his vanity. He picks up bottles like he’s searching for something, occasionally untopping one to sniff. Seph knows he is looking for the serum he applies before brushing his hair. Something to keep every strand straight.
“Hades, do you think that because I am not kept in this bed by chains, that what you’re doing to me now is not any different than what she would do to me up there?”
Hades pauses, the correct bottle i
n hand (Seph can recognize it by now), and stares at him for two seconds.
“Well. It is different.”
A second later… “We are married.”
“I do not want to be your bride, Hades. Not in the Greek sense. You told me on my first night here that you despised men who rape their wives.”
“And you disagreed with me.”
“Yes, because I didn’t understand it then. I’m not sure why. I must’ve thought all gods preferred only Greek culture, and that human culture would never change. I was naïve. Stupid even. I was not very educated, I think. I can’t remember.” Seph picks at the blanket a moment, wishing he had a better memory of that night. Who was he?
But he also recognizes a distraction from the main topic at hand.
“I understand it better now. And you are right. Men can rape their wives. And husbands can hold their spouses hostage. Even with the best intentions. You know that’s what you’re doing to me, don’t you?”
Hades drops the bottle of serum rather suddenly. He did not finish corking it, and so it rolls and spills oil across the vanity wherever it goes.
It smells lovely. Like him. Seph imagines standing where his husband is now, pulling his hair back, inhaling deeply, and kissing his neck.
He is relieved to see Hades have some strong reaction to what he says. The god’s expression is still mostly impassive, though he spreads what’s on his hands hurriedly through his hair, taking none of the time and care that he usually does. Hades does not even seem to notice the mess, or the bottle which finally, loudly, drops to the floor and clinks against the wall.
The mess will be cleaned and the bottle replaced by Verah by next morning.
“Is that what you think? I am sorry then, Seph. Deeply sorry. Especially after what I’ve done.” He faces Seph finally, his impassive mask breaking to show sadness. His eyes are downcast and his frown subtle, but the emotion in his voice is true. “I suppose you are right. I am one of the bad ones. I… never expected us to be close. I didn’t hold out hope that we would consummate the marriage even. But I never had any intention of letting you leave.”
Quieter, he admits, “I still don’t.”
Seph takes a long, slow breath before he responds. That old and new frustration is brewing, but he’s only confused by how he has let it persist for so long. He can’t remember why it did. With Hades’s admission, the actions needed of a king—an equal king, Persephone, King of the Underworld, Ruler of the Dead, God of the Harvest’s End—are clear.
He only has one question to ask first.
“Why?”
Hades looks miserable. And tired. And half-starved. And while he may have applied the serum, he’s already forgotten to pick up the brush, so his hair is in disarray with its natural waves. He sits on the vanity stool, unsuspecting of what’s next for him.
This will be my best chance.
“Seph, you’re born to a family of extremely powerful gods. And yet, you are…” He makes a vague gesture in the air. “There’s too much risk,” he says with his palms up and a shrug. “I could overthrow anyone who tried to harm you. I will in a second. I will even eliminate Demeter—and that would be a terrible thing. Talk about dooming the Earth! That would not only upset the balance she’s created, it would cause a civil war amongst the gods. And while Zeus and I are not friendly, we are united in a single goal. A better world for everybody.”
“You are worried because I’m weak.” Seph feels like he’s doing an impression of Hades, though it all comes naturally. A closed-off expression, a calm voice. He’s learned well.
His heart beats faster under this shell because he knows what’s coming. He knows he might lose. And he knows that no matter how it happens, the relationship between him and Hades will be shaped forever.
“I still love you, husband. Even if you lock me up in Tartarus or chain me to the bed. I want you to understand that I’m not betraying you. I’m not trying to leave you permanently. I am simply standing on the ground you’ve given me. And I have to do this. Hades—I remember what the nymph said. And he was right. The King of the Underworld cannot have a meek mate.”
“What are you saying?” Hades asks, looking confused.
He’ll figure out a challenge is coming in moments. So Seph has to take advantage of the first strike. While he can’t feel his own magic, he pretends that he does as he uses a command spelled to his tongue.
“Hecate. Subdue him. So that I can leave.”
Fifty-Eight
Hecate appears before the first syllable of her name has left his lips, the spell somehow detecting his intention to call her before he actually speaks. And though she may have been doing something personal before he had need of her, the spell must have some sort of detection for the nature of the task he called her for.
She arrives knelt, her hair bound at her nape in a warrior’s knot, one hand clutching a dagger and the other her whip. Her skirt is short, like a male warrior’s chiton, and her breasts are bound by a simple red wrap. She wears Greek sandals laced high on her calves so that they won’t slip.
“My enemy…?” she asks, rising and turning at the same time.
And there is Hades, dressed, but messily, his hair in disarray and the laces on his trousers still undone. He sits on the vanity stool looking rather stunned, uncomprehending. But the stupidity clears quickly from his eyes. He refocuses on Seph, intention honing his features, and he opens his mouth to speak.
But Hecate comments first, smirking, “Ah. I see. I knew a domestic squabble would benefit me soon.”
She lowers herself into a fighting stance and raises both the whip and the dagger toward Hades.
Hades doesn’t look ready to stand up from the vanity, much less fight a war that determines whether Seph is a god of the underworld—or merely a warm body to entertain its true king.
Seph has given Hecate the best chance she has. Hades is run down, exhausted, and they’ve just finished making love for the second time in one day. If there is a good time to challenge Hades’s authority, it is now.
“Seph, Hecate cannot raise a blade against me.”
“Oh?” she says, her battle stance unaffected. “Did you not make it clear that I am the extension of Seph’s will? That I am to be the source of his magic? And that he is to yield control over me as easily as he would call flames to his fingers.”
“You are putting words in my mouth.” Hades ties the front of his pants and tends the laces on his shirt. “I said you were to be the source of his abilities, and that is it. Since he has none.”
“And you said his protection was my utmost duty.”
“Yes I—”
“I knew that someday protection would mean guarding him against you.”
“Yes, but that…” Hades stands, looking perplexed. His boots slide out from their places by the bed and prop themselves up in front of his feet. He steps in. “That is not what I meant.”
“I remembered the words of our agreement very carefully. I can repeat them back to you if you wish, exactly as they were spoken. I am the extension of Persephone’s will. I am his guardian, his servant, and his tool. I am whatever he needs me to be, for I have given up personhood to be the force of Persephone, the underworld’s second king.”
She ends, in a less grand voice and with a quick half shrug, “It is slavery. But I figured I shall get to fight something, at least. And if there’s one thing every married couple does, quite often…” She smiles. “…it’s bicker.”
Hades looks past her. And when he takes a step toward Seph, her whip unfurls.
He does not take a second step.
“Seph, I am afraid Hecate cannot stand between me and you. I am far, far more powerful than her. Don’t you think if Hecate could kill me she would have done so a long time ago?”
Seph lets his alarm show. He is doing his best Hades impression otherwise, trying to be a strong, assertive king, while he worries and his gut twists itself in loops. Hades will see this as a betrayal, whether Seph means it t
hat way or not. Hades does not want anything under his domain leaving his domain. Ever.
But Seph must act as he has decided, or he is not truly a king.
“I don’t want to kill you!” he explains. “In fact, Hecate, you are not to cause any permanent damage to my husband. No matter what happens. Not even to defend yourself. You must run or otherwise wound him in a manner that can be healed completely. Those are my orders.”
She frowns deeply, but does not protest. As she said, her position is like that of a slave, and she has willingly given up all free will of her own. But as she told Seph once, when they were patrolling the woods behind the palace…
I am bored of a long existence down here. I have no ambitions, nor any true enemies of my own. I am not burdened by being exercised by your whim. Actually, all your tasks are quite easy. And I think as you grow into a king, you will make a great many enemies. And I will fight a great many battles.
Finally, I will raise my whip against something other than a dog.
“I can make it work,” she says with her unhappy expression. Seph has made her job far more difficult.
Hades sighs and looks around the room.
“We can make amends by speaking, my love. Let me explain again how Zeus, his wife Hera, and several of your cousins are a danger to you. Your own mother is a danger to you. This is the only realm where you are safe to go and act as you please. Have I not given you every freedom among this world?”
It is time to get dressed. Seph throws the blankets off himself, exposing his nakedness, and crosses the room to the wall with the wardrobe. Somewhere they have a full storage place of nothing but their clothes, and Verah rotates a few outfits for each of them to choose inside the wardrobe.
“You did more than that, my husband. The love of my life.” He throws Hades a smile as he chooses a chiton. But at the last second, he changes his mind, and picks up a shirt meant for Hades instead. It will be tight on him.
“You made me a king. A king! And not a prisoner.” He pulls the garment over his head. On Hades, this would drift well past his waist, giving him extra material to tuck in. Seph decides he will be best letting the hem stay out of his pants.