*~*~*
After that, she caught glimpses of him from time to time at the edges of her meadow.
It wasn't truly her meadow; she'd seen mortals walking through it from time to time, picking flowers or stopping to rest while traveling, but it was hers in her heart. It was shaped in an almost perfect circle, and the only time flowers didn't bloom was in the midst of winter. Pink and violet and light blue flowers blossomed in the spring and summer, while deep plum ones with rich green leaves appeared in the fall. The trees at the edge of the clearing alternated between the majestically tall trees that seemed to reach as far as they could toward Apollo's sun and smaller trees with draping leaves, themselves blooming with flowers the moment the weather warmed.
Once or twice, another God or Goddess had accompanied her here, and she'd always felt bristly about it. She would've expected to feel the same way upon realizing that he was watching her, but instead a smile came unbidden to her face before she quickly hid it.
If he wasn't quite ready to speak yet, then there was no reason to let him know he'd been seen.
Every day, when she took her assigned 'relaxation time' and was finally able to escape from her mother's lessons and Zeus's lewd looks, she looked around for him.
First it was out of simple curiosity. Then, on days when she didn't see him, she finally had to acknowledge that the small twinge she felt was disappointment.
Then one day, instead of standing in the shadow of the trees, she arrived at her meadow to find him at the edge of it, in plain sight. Taking that as an invitation, she smiled and walked over to him.
"You've been watching me," she said, still smiling, no accusation to the words.
"Simply returning the favor," he said, and though he didn't smile back, he did look slightly more relaxed than he had the past several times they'd encountered each other.
"Any particular reason why?"
"I'm not sure," he said, and he sounded so honestly baffled that she grinned. "Though part of it," he continued, "has to be trying to figure out how you move around in those things."
She looked down at the frilly yellow abomination that her mother had chosen for her today, and sighed. "Once I know the answer, I'll tell you."
"I hear the Muses have requested my presence at another party."
"They do love their celebrations," Persephone said. Every time one threw a party that went even halfway well, at least one of her sisters would get jealous and try to one-up it. "Terpsichore says it's been far too long since she's held a dance."
"At least it isn't star-gazing with Urania again."
She winced at the memory. Somehow what was supposed to be a peaceful, beautiful night had turned into an argument between Ares and Zeus and many of the others about who had the most constellations in their honor.
"I didn't know you were there," she said.
"I was taking bets with Dionysus about who was going to throw the first punch."
"You mean one of you actually bet against Ares?"
"Dionysus was drunk enough that he actually bet on Aphrodite."
The idea of sweet, calm Aphrodite throwing a punch for any reason had her laughing until she couldn't catch her breath. When she recovered and looked up at him again, she saw he'd moved slightly closer, as if he was drawn.
She understood the feeling.
Then a loud voice came from off in the trees, making both of them flinch.
"Time's up! Come on; we have things to do!"
Persephone sighed. "I have to go." She held out her hand-- though she was sure he had to know who she was, it felt only polite to actually introduce herself. "Persephone."
"Hades," he said in return, though he didn't take her hand. She pulled her own back, arching an eyebrow.
"You saw what happened to the mortal," he said. "Do you know what would happen if I touched you?"
She saw the bitterness flash across his face, remembered all the whispers up on Olympus whenever his name came into conversation. How he'd kill anything he touched, how all energy would drain even from a God; that he'd absorbed so much death in his time below that he inexorably brought it with him everywhere.
He was expecting her to remember all that. Expecting her to recoil.
Instead, she reached out and grabbed his hand. "Nothing," she said.
He stared at her, surprised and pleased, and clearly a little bold with it, because then he leaned forward to whisper, "I suppose it would depend on where I touched you, wouldn't it?"
Fire arced through her at the words, at the feeling of his breath against her neck, and she shivered in response.
Taking a step back, she hurriedly gathered her composure. "My answer still stands," she said archly, "because my hands are the only thing you'll be touching."
"Understood," he said, though there was still a gleam of humor in his eyes.
"Persephone! What did I just say?"
Still a bit too flustered to make a proper exit, she just nodded once in acknowledgment and then turned, lifting up her overlong skirt slightly to hurry toward the sound of her mother's voice.
*~*~*
As punishment for her 'tardiness' that day, her mother kept her busy on Olympus for a solid week, telling her that if she didn't see a problem with neglecting her duties, then clearly she needed to learn more about how important they were.
Relief—and yes, anticipation—in her heart, Persephone finally descended one of Iris's rainbows, stepping off in the forest surrounding the clearing to give herself a few more moments to think about what she might say.
He might not even be there, she reminded herself. After all, you haven't been here in days.
Still, she imagined him standing there waiting for her, imagined that he might even tease her again the way he had a week before. It had been all the more memorable for being so unexpected; the other Gods and Goddesses spoke of a dour, humorless man.
Persephone had remembered his words, the tone of his voice, at the oddest moments. When her mother was timing how quickly she could grow a hazelnut tree from seed; when she was watching the hearth in Hestia's stead so she could take a walk; when she was ferrying water to Hephaestus because Demeter had volunteered her for it, saying "she doesn't do much else around here".
She especially remembered them at night.
When she lay in her bed, Persephone closed her eyes and focused on the look that had been in his, wondered what would have happened if her mother hadn't summoned her. Would he have kissed her?
Would she have wanted him to?
The answer to that question was clear, she'd thought wryly. Inexperienced she was, but that didn't make her a fool. She recognized want when she felt it.
Now she wondered what would happen if he was there today. Could they pick up where they'd left off, or would he have retreated back into the quiet shyness she'd first seen?
She didn't realize she was being followed until it was too late.
Zeus spun her around, his lips pressing against hers before she realized what was happening. She wrenched back away from him, wiping at her mouth in disgust, retreating further when he just laughed.
"Don't play coy now, Persephone. I've seen the looks you've been giving me."
She had been looking at him more often than usual, that was true. He'd tried more than once to get her alone lately, and she liked to know exactly where he was so she could be elsewhere. He couldn't have mistaken those furtive, worried glances for desire. Right?
Or perhaps he just didn't care.
She took another step back, and he took another forward to match it, a predatory smile on his face.
Fear coated her heart in ice. She turned and ran.
Persephone heard Zeus's laughter behind her, and knew that she had only moments before he caught her. And there would be no help from a river god father, no turning into a tree to escape this. There was only her mother to call to, and Demeter would simply ask her why she was running, tell her that it was an honor to draw Zeus's attention and to stop being so rude.
She exploded out from the tree line into her meadow, knowing only that she had to get across, that Zeus couldn't catch her here. That this couldn't happen here.
Then she saw Hades standing in the middle of the clearing, and nearly barreled into him in her panic.
"Get me out of here," she gasped. "Take me down with you."
"I--"
"Please."
If he saw Zeus, it was all over. Even Poseidon, tempestuous as he was, backed down in the face of his brother's wrath. She heard rustling from the trees, knew he was about to enter the clearing; it was too late. She closed her eyes...
Only to have them fly open again when Hades suddenly pulled her into his arms and they plummeted underground.
She didn't know what she expected—dirt to be flying in her eyes, the temperature to drop the further down they fell—but after the initial drop, they descended at almost a leisurely pace. It was like coming down on one of Iris's rainbows, except she didn't have to walk. She glanced around at the walls, making a small sound of surprise when she saw the raw jewels embedded sporadically in the earth.
If only Aphrodite knew.
The wayward thought, along with the dawning knowledge that she was safe, she'd gotten away, elicited a shaky laugh. She started to move back from him, started to apologize for her panicked demand, and was surprised when his hold on her tightened.
"Otherwise you fall at the normal rate," he said matter-of-factly, and she blinked.
"I see," she said, and if she pressed a little closer it was solely out of concern for her own safety.
When they landed on solid ground, she cleared her throat and took a step back. "My...my apologies for the sudden—"
He shook his head. "You don't have to apologize. What was wrong?"
"My mother," she said, thinking quickly. "She intended to commit me to a most undesirable suitor. I objected."
"Quite dramatically," he said. "When are you planning to tell her where you are?"
"They already know," Hermes said, shimmering into view beside them. "And they demand you return that poor girl to the surface at once. Her mother is worried sick."
"Tell her she need not worry," Persephone said. "I'm fine; I simply—"
"No need to lie, Persephone," he said, and the oily sympathy in his voice made her wince. "There was a witness. He saw this coldhearted creature drag you underground."
"Mind your tongue, Hermes," Hades said. "You are still in my Kingdom."
Hades's voice was mild, but Hermes blanched, all his righteous indignation fading.
"Here," he said warily, holding out his hand. "Come on. I'll take you home."
"I have no desire to leave. Not yet," she amended, realizing how presumptuous the first sentence had sounded.
"I told you, your mother is worried," he said, glancing back and forth between her and Hades as if afraid the latter was going to sic Cerberus on him. "Now."
"She is a guest here, and will stay as long as she wishes," Hades said. "Goodbye, Hermes."
Hermes opened his mouth to argue, then thought better of it and faded out of sight.
Once they were alone again, she turned to Hades. "Thank you," she said. "But I should return home. I don't want to be the cause of any trouble here."
"You mean you've come all this way and you don't even want a tour?"
He held out his hand. All her rational arguments and fear faded away, and she could do nothing but take it.
Persephone had never expected to see a place more beautiful than Olympus, but the Elysian Fields put even her mother's gardens to shame.
For the first time, she saw recognizable people here, rather than the fuzzy, human-shaped spirits that had floated around them on the way through the Asphodel Meadows. Hades had explained to her that ordinary mortals spent their afterlife in the Meadows, while heroes and those particularly blessed by the Deities were granted their time in the Elysian Fields.
Hades pointed out various heroes of old who were now spending their afterlives in luxury, but her attention quickly wandered from them to the types of plants that grew down here.
"Persephone?"
"Sorry," she said quickly, realizing that she'd lost track of several sentences. "I've just never seen their like."
"The trees?" he asked. "They've always been here."
She wandered from his side, inspecting the bark, the leaves—such a beautiful shade of deep gold—and the large pink and gold berries. "Are these safe to eat?"
"No," he said. Even as the word left his mouth, one of the Fields's residents casually walked by, plucking a handful of berries and popping them into his mouth one by one.
"They're not for people who don't live here," Hades elaborated. "If you eat the food of the Underworld, you're doomed to stay."
"Good to know," Persephone said, though a part of her couldn't help but wonder how loudly her mother would shriek in rage if she were to just shove a handful of berries in her mouth and never look back.
No. She couldn't stay down here forever, however tempting the idea was to hide from Zeus until the end of time. She had responsibilities above, however dull they could seem, and her mother would panic at the idea of her being trapped down here.
An idea came to her then, and she knelt down on the ground, taking a handful of seeds out of one of her voluminous pockets. Her mother had instilled the habit in her from a young age, insisting that one never knew when she would need to help something grow.
The seed she finally chose was one from the pomegranate tree. They'd always been her favorite—the deep crimson of the fruit and seeds was beautiful, and one of the few richly-colored things that her mother deemed permissible in her area of Olympus. Crimsons and blacks and deep purples weren't 'delicate' enough, Demeter had told her. And in order to gain the mortals' favor and get the best sacrificial gifts, she had to downplay the less pleasant parts of her job, such as the onset of winter, and make sure all the focus stayed on the beauty of spring and summer.
Since she was a babe, it had been pastels and pale jewels and flower crowns.
She had never admitted her love of nightshade to Demeter.
Now she dug a small furrow in the soft earth for the seed, burying it and placing her hands over it. She could feel Hades's eyes on her and that made it much harder than usual to concentrate, but after all her practice she was fairly certain she could make a tree grow in her sleep. It slowly rose from the ground, from a sapling to a young, sturdy tree, and she raised her hands as it grew, encouraging it to keep climbing.
Once the tree was fully grown, with flowers blooming and fruit hanging low and ripe, she lowered her hands, smiling as she got to her feet. She turned back to Hades, brushing the dirt off her hands, and then stopped at the look of sheer awe on his face.
"You have never seen that done?" she asked softly.
He smiled, beautiful and bright and she grinned in response, abruptly wishing she could bring that expression to his face all the time.
"I haven't," he said.
"If you like I can plant more," she offered.
"Sometime soon," he said, though his fingers brushed against one of the pomegranates before he moved away.
"Where to now?" she asked.
"Where would you like?"
"Could I see Tartarus?"
He'd apparently been expecting her to ask to see the Fortunate Isles or something equally beautiful, because he stared at her for a few seconds before he gathered himself enough to answer. "Of course."
Though she knew it had to be an incredible distance between one place and another, it seemed only a brief walk. She wondered if it was the same form of magic that allowed Hades to fall back down to his realm at a dreamlike pace.
They arrived at the base of an enormous stone bridge that arched high over a river. But this one wasn't like the Lethe—which she'd kept a wary distance from—it wasn't made out of water at all. This was made of fire.
"The Phlegethon," Hades said.
"Does it actually burn, or
is it an illusion?" she asked.
"It burns."
They crossed the bridge, Persephone peering over the edge once they were at the highest point to gaze down into the flames despite the uncomfortable heat on her face.
When they got to the bottom of the bridge, she found herself staring at a rim of stone surrounding an enormous pit. For the first time since she'd asked to see the infamous Tartarus, she felt trepidation rather than curiosity.
This was the darkest, most frightening part of Hades's realm. The Titans were still imprisoned there, trying futilely to claw their way out.
But even though the curiosity was dimmed by the reality of being here, it was still present. Besides, what was she to say? We walked all the way here, but I'm too frightened to look down into a hole?
She straightened her shoulders and marched forward, leaning forward over the pit before she could let herself hesitate.
It was a darkness deeper than the blackest night she'd ever witnessed, than the blackest flower she'd ever conjured as a young girl, than the worst anger that had ever raged in her heart. It seemed to pour into her as she stared, calling up thoughts of blood and grief and pain, and her ears filled with the anguished cries of the Titans.
Persephone felt herself stagger, swoon toward the darkness like it was a siren's call, and then strong hands were on her shoulders, pulling her back.
"I'm sorry," Hades said, turning her to face him. She tried to shrug, tried to pass it off as nothing, but she was shaking too hard. "I'm sorry," he said again, rubbing his hands up and down her arms. "I haven't had any...you're the only living soul who's been down here, who's requested to see Tartarus. I didn't realize it would affect you so much."
"It's all right. I'm all right," she insisted, though she could still feel the pull of the darkness emanating from the pit. "But I think we should go."
He led her back to an enormous open-ceilinged room that was paved in rich black stone streaked with opal. A throne sat at the head of the room, a rather ostentatious-looking thing, and she quirked an eyebrow.
Last Petal on the Rose and Other Stories Page 11