“Why do you think they did it?” she whispered.
“To prove a point,” Hades replied.
“What is the point, Hades?” Aphrodite asked, the anger evident in her voice.
“That gods are expendable.”
Expendable.
Disposable.
Useless.
“And they wanted proof,” he added. “It won’t be long before news of your attack spreads, whether we want it to or not.”
“Are you not the god of threats and violence?” Aphrodite asked. “Use your seedy underbelly to get ahead of this.”
“You forget, Aphrodite, that we must discover who they are first. By that time, word will have already spread, if not among the masses, among those who wish to see us fall.”
Persephone found herself thinking of Sybil—what would the oracle do in a time like this? It was a PR nightmare, but worse, it communicated that the gods were fallible—that they could, potentially, be defeated—and the last time mortals had fought against the gods, the world had drowned in their blood.
“But we must let it go for now,” he said.
“Why? Do you wish for this to happen again?” Aphrodite demanded. “It has already happened twice!”
The words were an insult to Hades—and Persephone—who only wished to help.
“Aphrodite,” Persephone spoke her name, her tone warning.
“I understand what Lord Hades is saying,” Harmonia interrupted. “Someone is bound to let their knowledge of my ordeal slip, and when they do, you will be ready…won’t you, Hades?”
Persephone looked from Harmonia to the God of the Dead, who nodded.
“Yes,” he said. “We will be ready.”
Chapter XI
A Touch of a Nightmare
Persephone and Hades left the island of Lemnos and returned to the Underworld. When they appeared in his bedchamber, Hades grasped her shoulders and crushed her against him as he took her mouth against his, kissing her as if he were claiming her soul. For a moment, she was stunned. She’d had it in her head that they’d return and argue. Hades knew she was angry with him, and he did not like to let it simmer. She gave way to the feel of his lips, the thrust of his tongue, the smell of ash and pine clinging to his skin. He shifted his arm, cradling her head in the bend of his elbow while the other went to her face. With a final sweep of his tongue across her lips, he pulled away.
Her eyes fluttered open to find Hades gazing at her tenderly, as if he were realizing his love for her all over again.
“What was that for?” she asked, breathless.
“You defended me to Aphrodite,” he said.
Persephone opened her mouth to speak but had no words. She’d snapped at the Goddess of Love because her words had been cruel, and Hades was not deserving of her censure. It hurt her to think she’d once done the same.
“I am thankful,” he added.
She smiled up at him, and her gaze lowered to his lips before his brows knitted together over his hardening, dark eyes.
“I hurt your feelings,” he said, frowning.
His words were an arrow to her chest, stealing her smile as she recalled what had made her ache outside Aphrodite’s home. She looked away for a moment, her thoughts a little chaotic, but she thought it was best to just be direct. She met his gaze.
“Do you trust me?” she asked.
Hades’s eyes widened.
“Persephone—”
“Whatever you’re about to do, stop,” Hecate said, appearing in the room, her hand covering her eyes.
The two turned to look at her. She was dressed more formally than usual, wearing robes the color of midnight roses and her hair in braids.
“Shall we undress before she opens her eyes?” Hades asked, gazing down at Persephone.
Hecate dropped her hand and glared. “The souls are waiting. You two are late!”
“Late for what?” Persephone asked.
“Your engagement party!” They exchanged a look as Hecate reached for Persephone’s hand and dragged her toward the door. “Come. We don’t have much time to get you ready.”
“And me?” Hades said. “What shall I wear to this party?”
Hecate looked over her shoulder.
“You only have two outfits, Hades. Choose one.”
Then they were out the door, heading down the marble hall toward the queen’s suite where Persephone usually prepared for events. Once inside, Hecate summoned her magic. The smell of it made Persephone stiffen, perhaps because the last time Hecate had used it in Persephone’s presence, she’d ordered her grim to attack. It was the smell that triggered her—blackberry and incense—and the feel—something old and ancient and dark—but when it touched her, it was a caress, a faint prodding that felt like silk unfurling over skin. She relaxed beneath it, closing her eyes and letting it take hold, tangling around her body and in her hair. It wasn’t long after that Hecate spoke.
“Perfect,” she said, and Persephone opened her eyes to find the Goddess of Magic smiling.
“No lampades this time?”
“Unfortunately, we do not have time for leisure,” Hecate said. “Come—look at my handiwork.”
The goddess turned Persephone to face the mirror, and she released a breath. She wore a dusty pink gown with a fitted bodice and a skirt made of tulle. It was simple and beautiful. In the process of using her magic, Hecate had stripped away Persephone’s glamour, and she stood in her Divine form; slender white horns twisted from her head, and white camellia flowers formed a crown at their base. Her hair curled down her back, all varying tones of gold. Her eyes—bottle green and gleaming—made her look wild, untamed, menacing.
She’d always known there was darkness inside her. Hecate and Hades had both seen it when she could only feel it.
Now she saw it too.
There is darkness within you. Anger, fear, resentment. If you do not free yourself first, no one else can.
She met Hecate’s gaze in the mirror, and the witch offered a gentle smile. She’d heard her thoughts.
“This darkness is not the same. This darkness is toil and trauma, grief and loss. It is the darkness that will make you Queen of the Underworld.”
Then Hecate leaned forward, holding Persephone’s lithe shoulders between her hands, settling her chin upon her shoulder.
“Look long at yourself, my love, but do not fear the change.”
Persephone stared for a moment longer and found that she wasn’t afraid of the person staring back at her. In fact, she liked her despite the pain and the grief. She was broken and somehow better for it.
“Come.” Hecate slid her fingers through Persephone’s and teleported.
They appeared in the middle of Asphodel, beneath an ethereal canopy of lights and glimmering white cloth. Lanterns and bouquets of white and blush roses, delphiniums, stock, and hydrangeas flanked either side of the road. There were candles in every window and tables outside each home crowded with an array of food, all various specialties of the souls who resided inside. The smells were varied and mouth-watering. The souls themselves were out in droves, all well dressed and gleeful.
“Lady Persephone has arrived!” Hecate announced, and after they bowed, they cheered, approaching her to hold her hand or clutch her dress.
“We are so excited, Lady Persephone!”
“Congratulations, Lady Persephone!”
“We cannot wait to call you queen!”
She smiled and laughed with them until Yuri approached, throwing her arms around Persephone.
“What do you think?” Yuri asked, smiling so wide, Persephone was certain she hadn’t seen the soul this happy since meeting her.
“It is truly beautiful, Yuri,” Persephone said. “You outdid yourself.”
“If you think this is beautiful, you have to see the meadow!”
> Yuri took Persephone’s hand and guided her down the long road, past homes and flowers and lanterns to the emerald green of the Asphodel meadow. From the center of town, she’d seen orbs of light in the distance, but now that she approached, she saw what they really were. The lampades hovered a few feet from the ground, their unearthly light illuminating the whole, narcissus-covered meadow where white blankets were arranged. Each space had a picnic basket decorated with the white delphiniums from the bouquets she’d seen in town.
“Oh, Yuri, it’s perfect,” Persephone said.
“I thought of it because you like picnics,” Yuri said, and beside her, Hecate snorted.
Persephone arched a brow at the goddess. “What? I do like picnics.”
“You like picnics alone. With Hades. You like Hades,” Hecate said.
“So? This is my engagement party.”
Hecate threw her head back, laughing.
“Do you like it?” Yuri asked. She seemed to take Hecate’s words to mean Persephone might not like the decor.
“I love it, Yuri. Thank you so much.”
The soul beamed. “Come! We have so much planned—dancing and games and feasts!”
They returned to the crowded center of town, and Persephone found herself marveling at the diversity of the souls—there were people here from all walks of life, and she wanted to learn from each. They were all dressed differently, had different skin tones and accents, cooked different food and made different tea, had different customs and beliefs. They’d lived different lives, some without advancement and others with, some only a few years and others long lives—and yet here they were, at the end of all things, sharing their eternity with no hint of anger or animosity.
“Look who’s arrived—and in new robes too,” Hecate said, pulling Persephone out of her thoughts. She turned, eyes connecting with Hades’s as he manifested at the end of the road—the entrance to Asphodel. His presence halted her steps and made her heart drum painfully in her chest.
He was stunning, a King of Darkness, cloaked in shadow. His robes were the color of midnight, trimmed in silver and draped over only one shoulder, leaving part of his muscled chest and bicep exposed. She tracked his bronzed skin, the contours and the veins that trailed up his arm and disappeared beneath his long, silken hair. This time, he wore half of it up, and his black horns were crowned with iron spikes.
Standing on opposite ends of the road, Persephone was struck by how similar they were—not in appearance but something deeper, something that threaded through their hearts and bones and souls. They’d begun in two very different worlds but wanted the same thing in the end—acceptance and love and solace—and they’d found it in each other’s eyes and arms and mouths.
This is power, she thought as her body flushed and fluttered with a chaotic tangle of emotion—the passion and pain of loving someone more than the air in her lungs and the glimmer of stars in the night sky.
“Lord Hades!” A chorus of voices rang out as several children rushed toward him, hugging his legs. Others hung back, too shy to approach. “Play with us!”
He grinned and it hit her hard in the chest, the laugh that followed shaking her lungs. He bent and swept a small girl named Lily into his arms.
“What shall we play?” he asked.
There were several voices all at once.
“Hide-and-seek!”
“Blindman’s bluff!”
“Ostrakinda!”
It was strange, almost heart-wrenching, to hear their requests, mostly because Persephone could tell how long they’d been in the Underworld by their choices.
“Well, I suppose it’s just a matter of which we shall play first,” Hades replied.
Then he looked up and met Persephone’s gaze. That smile—the one that made her heart stir because it was so rare and yet so genuine—remained in place.
With his gaze came many others. Some of the children who had been too shy to approach Hades came to her, taking each of her hands.
“Lady Persephone, please play!”
“Of course,” she laughed. “Hecate? Yuri?”
“No,” Hecate said. “But I shall watch and drink wine from the sidelines.”
They moved to an open space close to the picnic area Yuri and the souls had arranged and played most of the games the children had suggested hide-and-seek, which was far too easy for Hades as he liked to turn invisible just as he was about to be found, which meant by the time they moved on to playing blindman’s bluff, Persephone had declared that Hades could not be it, as he would use his powers to find them on the field. Their final game was ostrakinda, an ancient Greek game where they split into teams—one representing night and one representing day—which corresponded with the white and black colors on a shell that was tossed into the air. Depending on which side turned upward, one team would chase the other.
Persephone had never played the game before, but it was simple enough. The biggest challenge would be escaping Hades—because as he stood opposite her on team night, she knew he had his sights set upon her.
Between them, a boy named Elias held a giant shell in his hand. He bent his knees and jumped, sending it flipping into the air. It landed with a thud in the grass, white side up, and there was chaos as the children dispersed. For a second, Persephone and Hades remained in place, eyes locked. Then a predatory grin crossed the god’s face, and the Goddess of Spring whirled. As she did, she felt Hades’s finger’s ghost across her arm—he’d already been so close to capturing her.
She sprinted. The grass was cool beneath her feet, and her hair breezed behind her. She felt free and reckless as she turned to glance over her shoulder at Hades, who was gaining on her, and she suddenly recalled that she had not felt this way since before Lexa’s accident. The thought faltered her steps, and she came to a stop altogether, her high crushed beneath the weight of guilt.
How could she have forgotten? Her face heated and a thickness gathered in her throat that brought tears to her eyes.
Hades came to her side. Recognizing something was wrong, he asked, “Are you well?”
It took her a moment to answer—a moment where she worked to swallow the tears gathering behind her eyes and suppress the tremble in her throat.
“I just remembered that Lexa was not here.” She looked at Hades. “How could I have forgotten?”
Hades’s expression was grim, his eyes pained.
“Oh, darling,” he said and pressed his lips to her forehead. It was enough because it was comfort. He took her hand and led her to the picnic area, where the souls had now gathered to feast. Yuri showed them where they were to sit—at the very edge of the field upon a blanket that was weighted down with the same lanterns and bouquets that decorated the road. The basket was full of foods and wineskins, offering a sampling of the culture in Asphodel.
They feasted, and the meadow was full of happy chatter, laughter, and the delighted screams of children. Persephone watched the scene, her heart full. These were her people, but most importantly, they were her friends. The urge to protect and provide for them was almost primal. It was that impulse that surprised her, but it was also how she knew she wanted to be Queen of the Underworld—because taking on that title meant something far more than royalty. It was responsibility. It was caring. It was making this realm an even better, more comforting space.
“What are you thinking?” Hades asked.
She glanced at him and then at her hands. She held a wheat roll and had been breaking off pieces; her lap was covered in crumbs. She set it aside and brushed them away.
“I was just thinking about becoming queen,” she said.
Hades offered a small smile. “And are you happy?”
“Yes,” she said. “Of course. I was just thinking of how it will be. What we will do together. If, that is, Zeus approves.”
Hades’s lips thinned. “Just keep planning, dar
ling.”
She did not ask him any more questions about Zeus because she knew what he would say—we will marry despite Zeus—and she believed him.
“I would like to speak about earlier,” Hades said. “Before we were interrupted, you asked if I trusted you.”
She could tell by his expression that her question had hurt his feelings. She hesitated to speak, searching for the words to explain herself.
“You did not think I’d come to you when Hermes summoned me to Lemnos,” she said. “Tell me, truthfully.”
Hades clenched his jaw before answering, “I did not.”
Persephone frowned.
“But I was more concerned about Aphrodite. I know what she wants from you. I worry you will try to investigate and identify Adonis and Harmonia’s attackers on your own. It isn’t because I don’t trust you but because I know you. You want to make the world safe again, fix what is broken.”
“I told you I wouldn’t do anything without your knowledge,” Persephone said. “I meant it.”
Persephone wanted to find Adonis and Harmonia’s attackers as much as Hades and Aphrodite, but that did not mean she was going to be rash. She’d learned a lot from her mistakes. Not to mention seeing Harmonia and how she’d suffered gave her even more pause. This threat was obviously different. Gods with control of their powers weren’t able to fight it, which meant she’d have an even harder time.
“I am sorry,” he said.
“You once said words had no meaning,” she answered. “Let our actions speak next time.”
She would show Hades she meant what she said, and she could only hope he’d do the same.
* * *
Later, after the souls had retreated to their homes for the night, they remained in the meadow. Hades rested on his back, his head in Persephone’s lap. She played with his hair, smoothing her fingers through it as it spilled over her thigh and into the grass. His eyes were closed, his thick lashes grazing the high points of his cheek. He had faint lines around his eyes that deepened when he smiled. If there were any around his mouth, she could not see for the stubble on his face.
Gods did not age beyond a certain point in their lifetime. It was different for everyone, which was why none of them looked the same, and probably a decision made by the Fates. Hades looked as though he had matured into his late thirties.
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