by Cassie Day
There’s something broken in me. Something I don’t know how to fix. My mother would know. But she’s been left behind—used—like everyone else.
Tears trickle across my lips. I heave and taste salt. Gasp and taste the sea.
“I know!” Desma yells. She stands, clawing at her hair.
The loss of her warmth against my side makes my tears fall faster.
“I know. I know we must leave her with Zeus. I know we can do nothing. I know we are helpless and weak.” She claws at her arms, angry welts left in her wake. “To do anything at all would be foolish, I know. But that doesn’t stop the wanting.”
She paces left, right, left, right, sandals tapping against the floor. Her hair snaps at the air with each step. A whirlpool trapped in a grotto, forced to unleash fury without moving anywhere at all.
“What would you have me say?” I pick at a cuticle until it’s an oozing mess of skin. The festering within me becomes a storm of lashing waves, ready to tear down anything in its path.
My tears dry. My voice turns biting. “That wanting will be enough? That whatever we do, whatever we decide, won’t hang over us well into our afterlives?”
“Just don’t lie to me. I’m no child.”
I stand, moving until we’re face to face. “Fine.” I lean closer. Our noses brush. “We are doomed, you and I and Molpe. We were doomed from the moment the sirens fell.”
“I know. But you see things as they could be the same as I do.” Her voice turns to a whisper. “Zeus dethroned. Us creatures living free from the gods. Free from their wants and whims and foibles. Because we are not so different from our ancestors who defied the gods, cousin.”
She leans back. “Tell me, was it negligence that saw Persephone leaving with Hades to Nekros? Or did the sirens see her freedom in the path down to Nekros and turn the other way? Would you defy the gods to allow Molpe her freedom?”
“I would. You know I would. But as mortal girls we have nothing. We need our wings and immortality if we are to do anything. Have Zeus rip it free from us after she is hidden away, fine, but we can do nothing as we are now.”
Desma steps into the shadows surrounding her bed. She curls onto the mattress, back facing me. There is something defeated in the line of her shoulders.
“Thanatos won’t keep us healthy forever. I need my bargain with Zeus to save her. To save us. Will you help?”
She nods, just once, but it’s enough.
LEANING PRECARIOUSLY low on the ladder, I pile another book into Charon’s arms. The ladder wobbles. He steadies it with a hand clenched around the outer frame.
“Careful,” he says with a sigh.
Grinning, I lean to the other side. The ladder floats free from the shelf. For a moment, I imagine I’m flying: all swooping stomach, racing pulse, and overwhelming exhilaration.
The world steadies. The illusion vanishes.
Charon scowls up at me, determined to be stern despite the smile lingering at the edges of his mouth.
I grin. “I don’t need to be. You’re here to catch me, aren’t you?”
He grumbles, ears tinting red. He says nothing each time I unsteady the ladder to lower him another book.
I stop when the errant piece of hair on top of his head is hidden behind the stack of books. I slap my hands together once, loosening the layer of dust clinging to them. Then I lower myself down the ladder and onto the floor.
“That should be enough,” I say.
“For what?” his muffled voice says from around the stack.
He deserves to know. Yet the more others know, the more Molpe is put at risk of discovery. The more she’s at risk of Hera discovering Zeus’ mistress living in the Olympian Palace. I saw Hera’s seething anger firsthand; Cosmas, my father, accused of treason. Executed at Zeus’ order. My choice still crawls across my skin.
“Agathe?”
Charon’s low monotone breaks through my thoughts. He peeks around the stack, brows furrowed in concern.
He’s helping. Gods, he’s helped me at each turn since my time in Nekros. I don’t know why he puts himself at risk over and over but he deserves to know.
I drag him close, nearly upending the books. Keep pulling him until we stand in the center of the library.
When we’re surrounded on each side by shelves, I lean closer to whisper, hoping the sound won’t carry. “Do you know the story of the sirens?”
His arms shift until his face emerges from behind the stack. “Three sirens were tasked with guarding Persephone day and night from suitors. They failed.” He grimaces. “They were sentenced to fall into the sea, wingless and mortal, for their failure.”
I shake my head. “But what if all of them didn’t fall? What if each faced a different punishment?”
“Why?”
“Because the gods wanted an example for those beneath them; why else?”
He sighs. The books shuffle in place. “And what were the other punishments? One fell in the Akri Sea—”
“And another was offered a choice: join her sister in the sea or become Zeus’ lover.”
“Not much of a choice.” His jaw clenches. “And the third?”
Although I wonder each night when my thoughts carry me away, I shake my head. Then grip his arm tight. The muscles shift beneath my sweating palm. “Not important. The one who became Zeus’ mistress...he kept her immortal.”
My voice cracks. Fills with a desperate longing to be gifted immortality along with terror at spending countless lifetimes forced to endure Zeus’ lust.
“He dares force a woman? It’s been two centuries—”
He cuts himself off, baring his teeth. Veins throb in his neck. Perhaps he doesn’t show it much, but he cares more than all the gods in this terrible palace combined.
“Her name is Molpe.” I tap a finger on a book in his arms. “And these are for her.”
He exhales, sharp. His muscles go slack all at once. “She resides in the palace. Of course. He always was a lazy bastard.”
I tug his arm once. Then let go; knowing if I don’t now, I never will. There’s a soothing sense of safety in his skin against mine. Almost enough to forget the choice weighing on my mind.
“I’ll show you where she’s kept.”
“No one guards her door?”
“Oh, there’s a whole group of guards.” My smile is all teeth. “But they won’t be a problem.”
An hour later, we’re in front of Molpe’s door. Our breath comes quick from the long trek across the palace. The guards stare at me with something like reverence. Something like awe.
The gods took my wings, they took my immortality, but they didn’t take my voice.
“We belong here,” I sing, low and sweet.
Strings snap into place, glowing bright. Their minds give over to the pull. A thunk of their spears and the blank door slides open.
Charon watches with undisguised awe. I’m careful to leave his string untouched.
Click. The door slots into place at our backs.
“Are you back already?” Molpe asks.
Her back to us, her horrid scars are bared. The rest of her is covered in a flowing ivory dress two shades lighter than her skin. Her hair, arranged in a loose braid, shines dull in the scant light filtering through the barred window.
“Molpe.” I’m unsure of what else to say.
She twists, braid whipping through the air. “You’re back!”
“Of course—”
“Oh, I wasn’t sure you would be. It’s easy to forget about me. There’s not much to remember besides the scars without my song.”
I shiver at the mention of her lost song. There’s an emptiness to her voice. A flat facet like something is missing.
Her attention shifts to Charon.
He bows. “I’m Charon, ferryman of the Underworld.”
He straightens, assessing the room with a sharp look.
She hums. “Far from home, aren’t you?”
He nods but says nothing, back straight and a
rms clenched tight around the books.
I clear my throat. “We’ve brought you something to read.”
No one will notice a few books missing among the many thousands in the library.
Happiness transforms her face. Color comes to her cheeks. She looks younger. Innocent.
Charon offers the books. She reaches for them with spindly fingers so like mine. Chooses one from the top with a delighted flourish.
She sings a wordless melody under her breath, cracking the book open. “He forgets to keep me entertained most years.”
My smile tightens.
Charon’s eyes harden, emotions shut off behind a wall he’s so careful to put in place around others. But not me. Not since our first days in Nekros, when my meeting with Nyx had us part ways, however briefly.
I lift a hand to touch my necklace. It’s warm against my fingertips.
Molpe glances up. Her brows lift. “What protects you from the sickness?”
I startle, stumbling closer. “You know of our sickness?”
“Zeus made sure I knew what would become of me if I chose to fall with Thelxiope.” Her voice twists into something sad, something longing, at the mention of her sister. The sister I resemble, if only slightly.
I gulp. Caress the necklace, invisible to everyone else, then let my hand drop. “I have a friend who helps.”
“Surely you should be half-dead by now.”
“Oh, I am.” Bitterness twists my smile.
Charon’s hand finds mine. Our palms fit together. I glance down: pale pink against ink-black.
I clear my throat. “The god of death keeps my symptoms at bay.”
She settles a hand on my neck, on my galloping pulse. Her eyes glaze over. “How peculiar that Thanatos would interfere in such a way.” Blinking, she comes back to herself. “You don’t have much longer, do you?”
I try for a smile, knowing it falls flat. “No. A month if I’m lucky.”
Charon’s hand tightens. Claws prick at my skin. Not drawing blood but acting as a reminder. I’m here. I’m alive.
“We’re not the lucky sort. You’ll leave for the sea soon, then.”
Turning, she heads to the window with her single book. She gestures to a low table against the far wall. “You can set the rest on the table before you go.”
Charon bows again, then arranges the books on the table. He returns to my side and grasps my elbow. Not pulling or pushing but a steady comfort to let me know he’s there.
“We’ll leave you to read.” My words are stilted.
She waves us away. “Until we meet again.”
Her words follow me all day and into the night. I pace the palace, losing myself down long hallways. Down the endless twists and bends of the dark servant corridors. All to keep the restless panic at bay.
When night falls as a dark blanket across the realms, Charon leaves my side, gone to explore the palace for shortcuts. I hear what he doesn’t say: he’s searching for more ways out.
He’s far from home, in a realm where they consider him barely above mortal. Where he suppresses his shape-shifting to fit in with the exquisite beauty around him. The guilt has always been there like a bottom-feeding fish eating away at my insides. Tonight it grows stronger.
I’m the reason he’s away from his home. If he ends up in chains, it’ll be my fault.
But I shove my thoughts aside. I pace until I’m in the library, fidgeting on a velvet chaise, this one tucked in a deep nook between shelves. It’s a good place to see most of the room—doorway included—but hidden in the shadows enough to allow privacy.
There must be another way. A way other than using Molpe for my bargain.
I pull books off the shelves at random from a section titled REFERENCE. Skim through pages. Soon, my eyelids drift lower with each blink.
Chapter 24
I STARTLE AWAKE.
The lanterns burn low, casting the nook in deep shadow. The candle on the table beside me faintly smokes, the wick snuffed out long ago. How long was I asleep?
My eyes adjust, glowing bright like they would beneath the sea. Colors dim. Details sharpen. I lean forward, curling my knees against my chest, and check the library.
Empty.
Yet the moment I think so, the doors open with an ominous creak. I duck back into the shadows. Scrunch my eyes closed until they shift back to normal.
When I open them again, a woman stands silhouetted in the doorway. Her head swivels back and forth. Persephone.
I lean farther back, tucking my feet beneath me. Shadows engulf each inch of my skin. I force my breathing shallow.
Do I trust her?
My ancestors fell for her mistake of marrying Hades. But remembering their love for one another, was it a mistake after all? Thoughts war within my mind, furious waves crashing together during a summer storm.
I don’t know.
For now, I’ll observe her from the shadows.
She strides through the library, snuffing the lantern dangling from one hand. No longer surrounded by her own ring of light, her features are lit only by the dim glow of the library lanterns. Her frowning mouth is a harsh line of pink. She peeks around each shelf before venturing further.
What is she doing? She has a right to this library so why sneak around?
She steps closer to my hiding spot. Her pink organza dress brushes the edge of my chaise with a muffled swish. The heady smell of flowers fill my nostrils. I hold my breath for one second.
Five seconds.
Ten.
My chest is tight. Close to bursting.
Forty-five.
She moves on, intent on the shelves titled REFERENCE where I searched hours ago. If she notices the slight gaps where books are missing, she doesn’t show it.
Does she mean to help me with my bargain? Why?
Yet she warned me about Nyx—however foolishly. She tried to tell me about Nyx’s clue. She didn’t have to; she just as easily could’ve kept it to herself. Gods, she shouldn’t have said anything. If Demeter knew she was working with Nyx, however indirectly, she’d report it to Zeus.
Cosmas’ head rolling to a stop at the base of the thrones—would they punish Persephone in the same way? An endless slew of beheadings, constantly healed by her immortality, only for the act to happen again and again. The blood and her long hair strewn across the marble floor in a trail from her prone body.
A whimper escapes me unbidden.
Persephone freezes.
I bite my tongue until I taste blood. Push each gruesome thought away. My heart slows. My palms dry against the velvet. I can breathe again.
Persephone swings around, squinting. Her sweeping gaze passes over my hiding spot. “Is someone there?”
I hold my breath. Count to ten.
She shakes her head, moving on. When she’s gone between two shelves, I slide myself free from the chaise.
I glance back at the books piled there once. Do I leave them behind? It’s evidence of another person being in the library, even if hours ago. But to take them would raise suspicion at the gaps in the shelves eventually.
Cursing in mind-speak, I scoop the slim volume at the top into my arms. The rasp of leather against my skin makes me curse again.
Persephone’s steps echo closer.
I twist through the tables strewn in my path, steps light as I can manage. My sandals tap against the floor in a staccato beat to match my heart. My dress rustles against the floor.
“Hello?” Persephone says.
Halfway through the door, I glance back. Her lantern is lit, its glow seeping from behind a towering shelf.
Swinging my head forward, I curse my stupidity. Why hide? Why run? Why risk her seeing my face?
The cold air of the hall embraces me, cooling the sweat gathered on my brow. I lean against the wall next to the doors for a moment, the constant chill in the stone seeping through my dress. Allow myself to pant once. Twice.
“Hello?” Persephone says again.
With a last ga
sp, I vanish into the twisting hallways.
Later, I store the slim book in the bag Bion gifted me. Afterwards, I topple onto my bed, falling into a dreamless sleep.
A shake against my shoulder wakes me well after dawn. The midday sun sears through our window, heating the room. Sweat builds on my skin, drops of it slinking down my spine.
“What?” I rasp.
Desma stands over my bed. “Your man is here.”
I shoot upright. My back twinges. “Charon’s not mine.”
“Yet you knew who I was talking about immediately.” Her grin is fleeting.
She’s been distant since we found Molpe. Withdrawing into herself, walls high. I can’t draw her out. Even now, she’s bustling to the door, ready to leave.
I open my mouth. What can I say? She asked me not to lie to her. For all my flaws, I won’t force it’ll be all right from my mouth.
Desma leaves.
Charon peeks through the open door left in her wake. “Did I wake you?”
I snort. “No, Desma had that honor.”
“May I come in?” He shifts on his feet.
I wave him in. Fall into a joint-popping stretch with a gaping yawn. My dress tangles around my legs. I grunt, pulling at it. When I’m done, the wrinkled layers fall to my ankles. Finally, I stand.
Charon’s watching beyond a pile of colorful boxes cradled in his arms. His smile is small but genuine.
“What?” I ask, glancing down at myself. Nothing is out of place. There’s nothing to make him stare like that.
“Nothing.” He hauls the boxes higher in his arms. “Let’s get started on these.”
After he explains the boxes are gifts from the court, we start with the first box.
“What’s this?” I unfurl the layer of silk. The hem doesn’t merely plop to the ground, it glides, brushing the stone with a graceful swing.
Charon grunts, the tips of his ears pink. “A silk dress.”
“Are you all right?”
He rubs a hand across his neck. “Look at the front.”
I twist it around, expecting more of the same silk. Instead, the front gapes, a wide space left between where breasts would rest. Thin, almost gossamer, straps hold the contraption up on each shoulder.