Persephone walked toward the entrance of the room of judgement, her steps uneven. Drawing nearer, she heard the welcome sound of her husband’s voice— and that of a small child, faint and trembling. She stopped just beyond the doorway, out of sight. The boy was already scared enough. He didn’t need to see the Iron Queen in this state, with tears streaming down her ruddy, panicked face.
“You’ll see her someday,” Aidoneus continued. “But I will not lie to you. You won’t remember her as you do now. But the love you have for her here,” he said tapping two fingers where little Inachus’s heart would have been, “that you will always keep.”
She stayed out of view, and fresh tears filled her eyes. If she weren’t already in love with Aidoneus, this moment would have made her his. Persephone wanted to rush to his side and kiss him. She wanted to tell him what she suspected, that she might be carrying their child, that they soon might have a little boy like this. She bit down on her lip and cupped her hand to her mouth, then squeezed her eyes shut and crumpled against the wall. Persephone cursed herself: she had waited too long for the right moment, waited to speak with someone else first, and now it was too late. Their world was coming down around them. She folded her knees to her chest, so the layers of her peplos would muffle her sobs.
Aidon’s insides twisted with sudden agonizing grief. He quickly schooled his expression, hiding his alarm so it wouldn’t frighten the boy. “How did it happen?”
“I was so hungry. Mama and Papa… they went to sleep, Mana said, and then she said she had no food left.”
He tried to listen, tried to stave off the dark emotions flooding into him from… Persephone. He was certain that something had gone terribly wrong He had to find her. Aidon pushed down his rising panic as best he could and shut his eyes, drawing a deep breath before opening them again and focusing on the little king. He placed a hand on Inachus’s tiny shoulder, hoping that it would comfort the shade, and took it as a good sign when the child didn’t recoil. “Then what?”
“I was cold, it was hard to breathe, then I was burning up. I couldn’t move and I heard Mana crying,” he said. “I can still hear her crying.”
Hades saw the boy dip his head to hide his face so the Lord of the Underworld couldn’t see it contort into silent weeping. He crouched lower. “It’s all right; it’s over. All the pain is over. You’re here now as my guest.” He gently tilted the little shade’s chin up until their eyes met again. “You’re home, Inachus.”
“Home?”
“Yes.” Aidon forced a thin smile. “Everyone is waiting for you.”
“Mama and Papa are here?”
“They are. But you must do something for me.”
Inachus swallowed.
“You must let go.”
“Of what?”
Aidoneus smiled sadly. “Of… the things you knew. Of the hunger and hurt and sadness.”
The young boy thought for a moment, eyeing the kylix nervously. “Mana too?”
“You won’t forget her love, Inachus. Only her tears.” Aidon offered the vessel to him. “Be brave, little one, and drink the waters of the Lethe.”
Persephone shook, weeping quietly, the effort starting to hurt her throat and chest. Any doubts she’d had about whether they could be parents were erased. She listened to Aidon, and rested her hand on her womb. If she was pregnant, if that was why her moon blood had stopped, then she would bring his child into this world joyfully and without hesitation. She wanted to give Aidoneus piles of children— to fill the palace with as many of their offspring as she could. The thought filled her with happiness, even as it overwhelmed her with sadness. She may not have the chance. Persephone might be taken away from him forever. Captivity. Hermes had said her captivity was over. Did Zeus call it that now, to make her union with Hades easier to dissolve?
Too late, too late, she thought, angry at herself. You should have told him you loved him! You should have shouted it from the porticos and passageways of the palace that you loved him! You should have told him a month ago that he had your heart… that you are his and he is yours. But you were a coward. A scared little Kore… She wanted to scream at the injustice of it, but choked back her voice. It was too late. If she told Aidoneus what she believed she was carrying and they tried to take her away, he would tear apart the cosmos to keep her here. And then Kronos’s dread visions would truly come to pass. She needed to be strong. She needed to lock this knowledge away, find a way to set all of this right, or it would be the ruin— the death— of them all.
“Are you ready?”
“Are there others here to play with?”
“There are quite a few, recently arrived,” he sighed. “You’ll find many friends. And one day, when you’re ready, you will go back to the world above.”
Inachus looked up at him with his dark eyes. “You promise?”
“I have no reason to lie to you.”
The shade turned his head to the side and considered him, unsatisfied.
Hades relented. “I promise. As a king to a king.”
“Will it hurt?”
“Just the opposite. You’ll be free of all pain, all sadness.”
Inachus nodded and reached for the kylix. As he lifted the heavy clay cup to his lips, Hades held it steady for him.
“Slowly now,” he said while Inachus sipped the water.
The boy finished his draught and smiled. “The water is warm,” he whispered.
Inachus watched his hand become translucent and tittered, experimentally wiggling his fingers. He reached for the cup again and gulped down more of the Lethe, then laughed, his form shifting about, visible one moment, then a clear blur the next. He took a few steps, looking at his feet, then darting his eyes around the throne room.
The shade turned toward the door, voices calling him to come play in the Fields, and then broke into a short run. He spun on his heels before he faded from sight and whispered. “Efcharisties, Theos…”
Then, he was gone.
Aidoneus nodded, then went to the balcony and set the kylix on the ledge, peering at the banks of the river, looking along the shoreline for his wife. He heard the heavy door of the chamber slam shut, then muffled sobbing behind him. “Persephone?”
Her face was hidden in the palms of her hands and she leaned against the door, crying.
“Persephone!” He ran to her and pulled her hands away, looking down at her tear-stained face. “What happened?”
“He… They’re going to t-take me— The woman from Eleusis— th-the one I told you about… I s-saw her and…” She could barely speak. Aidon wrapped his arms around her and held her.
“My love, calm down,” he said stroking her back. “Be calm. It cannot be as bad as all that.”
“Aidon… it’s worse— so much worse than w-we thought,” she sobbed.
“What do you mean?”
“All ice, everywhere… leveling the world. It’s dying, Aidon! The earth is… dying. Everything I ever knew is gone! It’s just flat and gray and ice and cold and there’s no food for any of them, and even Eleusis will run out— And they… the gods above…”
“That’s why you were going to Demeter, sweet one. To help stop this. What happened on the way?”
“Hermes.”
He darkened and looked her in the eye. “What about him?”
“He tried to take me from here. He said that m-my captivity— captivity, Aidon! That was what he said— he said that it’s ended and— and that he was o-ordered to take me h-home.”
Aidoneus seethed, grinding his teeth together. This had gone too far. “Demeter cannot—”
“She didn’t tell Hermes to come here!” Persephone cried. Aidoneus froze, the leaden feeling returning to the pit of his stomach. She wiped her nose and continued. “Zeus ordered him to take me away!”
He blanched. There must be some mistake. “Sweet one.”
She looked up at him, her eyes swollen and red.
“Sweet one,” he repeated, smiling reassuringly and
slowly shaking his head. “They wouldn’t do that. No one can; not even Zeus. They swore an unbreakable oath. The balance of power was built around our betrothal, Persephone. None of the gods above would dare go against that.” He raised an eyebrow and looked around. “Why isn’t Hermes here now?”
“I told him to cross with Charon. To meet us here in the throne room. If he’s not here yet then Charon must have delayed him long enough for me to tell you first.”
“Wife, why didn’t you call for me? I would have set this—”
There was a loud knock at the door.
She looked back at him and brushed away the last of her tears. Persephone shut her eyes and breathed deeply, trying to appear calm. It’s him, Aidon. We need to take our places. On our thrones.
Persephone broke away from him and strode toward the dais. Aidoneus followed her. Perplexed, he sat down at her side. Why bother to give Hermes a formal audience? Aidoneus looked over at her. I’d just as well have met him on the far side of the Styx to sort out this nonsense.
No, she said. I want the Messenger to come to us. If he has something to say, he’ll say it here where it means something. I will not tolerate the notion that I can be spirited off like a little girl.
You needn’t worry, my love. He won’t take you anywhere. By Zeus’s very oath, he cannot do so. He squeezed her hand reassuringly and faced forward again, his features becoming grim and dispassionate. And we won’t allow it.
The door groaned open and Hermes walked cautiously into the great hall. He dropped to one knee before he dared to look up at them. How much had Persephone told Hades about their encounter at the river?
“Rise,” Aidoneus rumbled.
Hades and Persephone Chthonios, rulers of the Underworld, sat beside each other on their thrones. His was a solid mass of ebony, worn and polished by the aeons. Hers was of equal height to his, wrought from bright iron into a delicate pattern of twisting asphodel. There was no space between the thrones. Their fingers were intertwined and Hermes watched as Hades’s thumb slowly brushed over his wife’s. A silent wave of momentary distress crossed her face before she resumed a regal emotionless cold, echoing that of her dread husband.
A chill made its way up Hermes’s spine. His position before the rulers of the Underworld and what he had been commanded to do came into sharp relief. Even Zeus kept Hera’s throne on a lower dais than his own, and would never take an audience holding his wife’s hand. He was well aware that they had consummated their union; that much had been etched in his mind forever, to their collective and eternal chagrin. But Demeter was wrong; they were all wrong. Persephone truly loved him; Aidoneus loved her. And Hermes’s assignment was to part them forever.
Trying not to think about how these words might be his last before Hades threw him into Tartarus, he opened his satchel. The golden vellum scroll shook in his hands as he unrolled it. His mouth was bone dry. Like Tantalus, he thought darkly, cursing his own imagination.
What Aidoneus will do pales in comparison to what Zeus will do to you if you don’t deliver this. He shivered again. Probably send me to Tartarus. His mind was made up. If he was to be damned either way, then so be it. Hermes stood tall once more. He was the Messenger; the voice of his father, the King of the Gods. Or so he kept trying to convince himself.
He took a deep breath as he unfurled the scroll. “B-by the holy order of Zeus Pater Aegiduchos Cronides, King of Olympus and of the Gods,” he swallowed hard, “the marriage of Hades Aidoneus Chthonios, firstborn son of Kronos, Lord of the Underworld, and Persephone, daughter of Demeter, Maid— Lady of the Flowers is hereby annulled. The histories shall hereafter state that Persephone tempted the Lord of the Underworld by picking a flower sacred to his realm in order to draw him up from the depths. Hades then abducted Persephone from her garden in Nysa by force, committing rapine against her, and dragged her unwillingly to the Underworld to force her into unlawful marriage. Any titles bestowed upon Persephone by Hades are hereby rescinded and any issue from their union will be
considered—”
The parchment burst into flames, swirling embers turning to ash between Hermes’s singed hands and vanishing before Hades’s outstretched curling fist. The Messenger gasped and stumbled backwards as the Lord of the Underworld closed on him. Hermes didn’t see Hades’s hands wrap around his throat; he only felt his voice, his breath, cutting off. The dark god stared down at him, gritting his teeth, his eyes lit with fires of murderous rage as his fingers tightened around the young god’s neck. Hermes tugged and clawed fruitlessly at Hades’s grip, his gold petasos clattering to the ground. His knees buckled underneath him, and his senses began to fail him. As if from a great distance, he heard Hades’s wife call out.
“Aidon, stop!”
Hades released Hermes and watched the Messenger crumple onto the marble floor at his feet. As Hermes coughed and sucked in rasping breaths, Aidoneus bellowed at him. “You dare to abduct my queen from the shores of Styx, you insult us both, and then you announce that the oldest oath your king ever made is now broken?!” Hades kicked the crumpled god’s petasos clear onto the terrace outside. “That he plans to end my marriage and steal my wife?!”
Hermes held up his hand, trying to shield himself from Hades’s wrath, his breathing still labored. “I’m only the Messenger…”
“You are a coward hiding behind Zeus’s skirts!” He picked Hermes up by the front of his tunic, shaking his limp form. “Answer for what you have said to me in my own halls!”
“Please, Aidon…” Persephone said quietly, taking a step toward him. Hades looked over his shoulder at her and paused, collecting himself, then dropped Hermes and retreated a step back.
“You are no longer welcome here, Hermes Psychopompos,” Aidoneus said with a growl as he turned back toward the dais. “Do not ever come to the shores of the Styx again.”
“You need me now more than ever,” he said as he coughed, slowly getting to his knees. “The dead are too numerous for Charon’s boat. The unquiet souls will wander back into the world of the living and sap what’s left of its vitality even faster. They must be returned here, and who else will do it but me?”
“That is not my concern,” he said quietly.
“The borders between the realms are collapsing! If you do nothing, every man, woman and child will die, Hades!”
“I said that’s not my concern!” Aidoneus shouted. He sat back down on his throne, motioning for his wife to sit with him. He narrowed his eyes at the boyish god before him. “Strange that the rest of the immortals care so much for them now, when century after century it fell to me to clean up the messes you made with your petty wars, your pestilence, your famine and floods! Need I remind you how aeons ago your king left only two mortals alive when he flooded all of Hellas?”
“This is diff—”
“How?” He slammed his fist on the arm of his throne. “How is this different?!”
“Because this isn’t Attica or Crete or even just Hellas. Humans are dying everywhere.”
“Mortals begin their slow march to my realm from the minute they draw their first breath! Some arrive faster than others.”
“Please, Hades… You must return Persephone to Demeter—”
“I must do nothing!”
“Hades, I’m begging you. Our worlds are intertwined. Have you not noticed that souls are no longer drinking from the Lethe and leaving your realm to be reborn? That mortals are openly crossing back and forth as if no border existed? Don’t think we haven’t noticed that Sisyphus of Ephyra—”
“Sisyphus is mine to deal with, and I assure you my justice will be hard and swift,” he growled.
“You’ll never get the chance to exact it, Aidoneus!” Hermes said. “The world is ending. Because you insist on keeping her the world is ending!”
“Hasn’t your king taken enough from me already?” He leaned forward and gripped the arms of his throne, his knuckles turning white. “That scroll you delivered was a declaration of war!”
�
��Aidon, my beloved, no—” Persephone said, her voice low. She placed a hand on his. He turned to her and caught it in his grasp.
“What choice are they giving me?” he pleaded, wide eyed. “What choice do I have? You heard what he said!”
“Reason with your husband, madam. The world cannot survive—”
“You will be silent, Hermes!” she said, her voice ringing through the hall. She turned back to Aidon and stroked his cheek. “My love, think about what you’re saying.”
“I have, sweet one,” he rumbled. “I’ve thought about this from the moment Charon ferried me across the river all those thousands of years ago.” He turned to address Hermes. “If it were not for me, if it were not for every moment I spent planning, fighting, killing in the Titanomachy, they would all be in Tartarus right now! I won that war for them and this is the thanks I get?! Is it not enough that I was forced to be the warden of Tartarus, night and day, for all eternity?”
“But, Aidon—”
“If it were not for my own accursed suggestion to divide the lots, I would be sitting Olympus right now, ruling over all by birthright, instead of being discarded down here! I should have trusted my instincts and never left the rulership of the cosmos to that bloviating, philandering fool!”
She turned to him, shocked. “Aidon, what are you saying?”
“That I should have done this aeons ago, and now is the time to correct my mistake! They are weak. Look at them cower before us even now,” Hades said, pointing dismissively at Hermes. “Every moment that Demeter starves the earth only enriches our kingdom and weakens theirs.”
Persephone watched the rims of his irises begin to glow with the fires of the Phlegethon. She shook her head gently, considering her next words carefully, and spoke to him where Hermes could not hear them. I cannot support you in this. Aidoneus, please. Tartarus is reaching through you. Kronos—
This has nothing to do with my father! He turned away from her frightened gaze. He has no power over me.
But these are not your words, she said. They sound like his!
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