“Eloping?” Hermes repeated, as if he did not know what the word meant. “Why would you elope?”
“I mean, there’s a lot of unrest between mortals and gods right now, and a public wedding would just enrage my mother more.”
She was now thinking that if her mother was involved in the attack on Harmonia, things may just escalate with a wedding.
“And a private one wouldn’t?” Hermes challenged, brow raised.
“I do not understand this wedding,” Zofie said. “Why do you need to marry? You love Hades, do you not? Is that not enough?”
Loving Hades was enough—but his proposal was the promise of something more. A commitment to a life they would share and cultivate together. She wanted that.
“If I was marrying Hades,” Hermes said, scooping up another bite of Persephone’s food, “I’d want a televised wedding so everyone knew that piece of ass was mine.”
“Sounds like you thought a lot about marrying Hades,” Sybil observed.
“Apparently there’s no need to plan anything until Zeus approves our marriage anyway,” Persephone said, glaring at Hermes.
“Why are you looking at me like I should have told you?” Hermes asked defensively. “Everyone knows that.”
“In case you’ve forgotten, I grew up in a glass house with my narcissistic mother,” Persephone retorted.
“How could I forget?” Hermes asked. “When there’s a raging ice storm outside to remind me?”
Sybil elbowed the god.
“Ouch!” He glared at her. “Watch it, oracle.”
Persephone’s gaze broke from Hermes, falling to her hands in her lap.
“This isn’t your fault, Persephone,” Sybil said.
“It feels like it.”
“You want to marry the love of your life,” she said. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“Except that…everyone seems to disapprove. If it isn’t my mother, it’s the world, or Zeus.” Persephone paused. “Maybe we should have waited on the engagement. It’s not like we aren’t going to be together forever.”
“Then you allow others to determine how you live,” Sybil said. “And there is nothing fair about that.”
It wasn’t fair, but Persephone had learned a good deal about fairness in the time since meeting Hades. In fact, the lesson had come from Sybil herself.
Right, wrong, fair, unfair—it’s not really the world we live in, Persephone. The gods punish.
She was starting to understand why the Impious grew in ranks, why some had become organized and formed Triad, why they wished for the gods to have less influence over their lives.
“That isn’t good,” Sybil said, nodding at a television in the corner where the news streamed.
Impious Gather to Protest Winter Weather
Persephone wanted to sink into herself.
She caught part of what the anchor was saying.
“This uncharacteristic weather has many believing a god or goddess may be on a quest for vengeance. Both the Impious and the Faithful are calling for an end in two very different ways.”
Persephone looked away, and yet she could not escape the broadcast, the words still reaching and ringing in her ears.
“Why is it mortals suffer every time a god has a mood swing? Why should we worship such gods?”
“I understand the Impious less and less,” said Hermes.
Persephone looked at him. “What do you mean?”
“When they began, they were angry with us for being distant and careless, as if they wanted our presence. Now they seem to think they can do without us.”
“Can they?” Persephone asked, because she truly did not know.
“I suppose that depends. Would Helios still provide the sun? Or Selene the moon? Despite how mortals perceive the world, we are the reason for its existence—we can make and unmake it.”
“Yes, but…if they did provide the sun and moon and all the power to maintain the world. If the gods…took a step back from mortal society…what would happen?”
Hermes blinked. “I…do not know.”
It was clear he’d never considered that before.
The truth was the gods would never be able to completely release their hold on the world, because it would end, but could they strike a balance? And what did that look like exactly?
“Excuse me—” A man approached their table, cellphone in hand. He was middle-aged and wore gray slacks and a white shirt.
Hermes whipped his head around.
“No,” he said, and the mortal’s mouth snapped close. “Leave.”
The man twisted away and wandered off in a daze.
“That was rude,” Persephone said.
“Well, you are anything but a blushing bride today,” he argued. “I doubt you wanted to pose for a picture with some weirdo.” Then his expression softened. “Besides, you look sad.”
Persephone frowned, which didn’t help her case. “I’m just…distracted,” she mumbled.
Hermes surprised her by reaching out and placing his hand atop her own. “It’s okay to be sad, Sephy.”
She hadn’t really thought much about what she was feeling. Instead, she’d focused on staying busy, creating new habits to replace the old ones that reminded her that Lexa was not here anymore.
“We better get back,” she said, once again choosing action over feeling.
* * *
Hermes left them outside Ambrosia & Nectar, giving each of them a peck on the cheek, even Zofie, who was too shocked to react at first, then she tried to shank him. Persephone took hold of her wrist, but instead of scolding Zofie, she glared at Hermes.
“Ask next time you decide to kiss someone,” she said.
For a moment, his eyes widened, and then he looked genuinely remorseful. “I’m sorry, Zofie.”
The Amazon sulked, arms crossed over her chest.
“Well, I’m off,” he said. “I have a date with a goat man. Let’s go out soon.”
Once he vanished, Persephone, Sybil, and Zofie exchanged a look.
“Goat man?” they all asked in unison.
Persephone and Sybil returned to work, leaving Zofie to patrol. Each time Persephone arrived or returned from an outing, the Amazon made rounds outside and inside Alexandria Tower. What she did after, Persephone did not know. Though, she had to admit, she was glad that Hades had assigned Zofie to work with Ilias. It gave her the chance to do more task-based work and socialize.
Gods knew the Amazon needed that.
Ivy greeted them as they entered the building, heading to the elevator.
“Hermes is right,” Sybil said. “We should go out soon.”
Persephone knew what Sybil was thinking—they hadn’t been anywhere since Lexa died. She frowned at the thought.
“Yeah,” she said, distracted. “We should.”
“You can say no,” Sybil said, and Persephone met her gaze. “If you’re not up for it yet. We all would understand, you know?”
Persephone swallowed thickly.
“Thank you, Sybil,” she whispered.
They embraced, and Persephone rested her head on Sybil’s shoulder until they came to her floor, but as they stepped off the elevator, they found Leuce and Helen standing beside each other, staring out the windowed walls at a jumble of flashing red and blue lights in the distance. Despite the heavy fog and wintery mix, Persephone knew that the highway was in the distance and that something horrible had happened.
“Oh, my gods,” Persephone whispered, coming to stand beside Leuce and Helen.
The television blared suddenly, and the three turned to find that Sybil had turned on the news. A banner ran across the bottom of the screen, announcing the horror they could see in the distance:
Multiple Wrecks Reported on the A2 Motorway
“…the accide
nts are believed to be caused by slick roadways and heavy snow. No word on the number of fatalities, but it has been reported that several are injured.”
Images and video of the crash moved in the background. Persephone watched in shock as car after car came upon the wreck, unaware due to the heavy mist, and with no ability to brake in time or gain traction on the slick road, plowed into vehicle after vehicle.
“How horrible,” Helen said just as they witnessed a large tractor trailer slide into the back of a car, sending it flying into the air. “How could that person survive?”
They couldn’t—and there was no safe way to escape the wreck. Leaving the car meant the possibility of slipping on ice or being hit by another vehicle in the lineup; staying meant hoping that the next person didn’t hit too hard.
Persephone stared, a lump forming in her throat. This was what she dreaded—that Demeter would take her anger out on humanity, not only because she couldn’t get her way but because she knew it was the best way to get to Persephone.
“Why parade as a mortal? You are a goddess.”
“I am more like them than you.”
“You are not, and once they discover who you really are, they will shun you for pretending you were one of them.”
“Your mother is insane,” Leuce said under her breath.
Persephone did not need to be told—she knew well enough.
She turned from the television and walked blindly toward her office. Once inside, she picked up the phone and dialed Ilias.
“Lady Persephone,” he answered.
“Where is Hades?” she asked.
He must have sensed the distress in her voice, because he did not hesitate to tell her.
“He is at Iniquity, my lady.”
“Thank you.”
Her hands were shaking so badly, she barely managed to hang up the phone before vanishing, appearing in Hades’s office. From here, he spied on those who used his club while they sat in the bar below, drinking and smoking and playing cards. Today, however, she found he was not alone. A man she did not know stood opposite Hades’s desk in a navy-blue suit despite the fact that there were two empty chairs waiting. If Persephone had to guess, the man had not been invited to sit.
As soon as she arrived, their voices halted, and Hades’s hot gaze turned to her.
“Darling,” Hades said with a nod of his head. There was no hint of surprise in his voice, and yet she knew by his expression he worried at her sudden appearance.
Then the man turned to look at her. He was handsome and most definitely a demigod—those bright aqua eyes gave his parentage away immediately, a son of Poseidon. He had brown skin and short dark hair and stubble covering his jaw. She had never seen him before.
“So you are the lovely Lady Persephone,” he said. His eyes dipped, appraising, and she felt disgust immediately.
“Theseus, I think you should leave,” Hades said, and the demigod’s gaze left hers, almost reluctant. Persephone shuddered noticeably, disturbed by his presence.
“Of course,” he said. “I am late for a meeting anyway.”
He nodded toward Hades and turned to exit, pausing in front of Persephone.
“Pleased to make your acquaintance, my lady,” he said and held out his hand. She glanced at it and then met his gaze. In truth, she did not wish to take his hand, so she said nothing at all, but instead of being offended, the man grinned and let his hand fall.
“You are probably right not to shake my hand. Have a good day, my lady.”
He brushed past her, and she watched until he had left the office, not really trusting to give him her back. Once he was gone, Hades spoke.
“Are you well?”
She turned to find that Hades had moved silently across the room toward her.
“Do you know that man?” Persephone asked.
“As well as I know any enemy,” Hades replied.
“Enemy?”
He nodded toward the closed door where the demigod had disappeared.
“That man is the leader of Triad,” he replied.
She had questions, so many of them, but when Hades’s hand touched her chin, tears came to her eyes.
“Tell me,” he said.
“The news,” she whispered. “There’s been a horrible accident.”
He didn’t seem surprised, and Persephone wondered if he’d already sensed the death.
“Come,” he said. “We will greet them at the gates.”
Chapter XIV
The Temple of Sangri
Persephone had often come to the pier to greet new souls who crossed the River Styx on Charon’s ferry, but this time, Hades teleported to the opposite side of the shore—to the gates of the Underworld. It was cold here, as if the air from the Upperworld were seeping through the ground, but she hardly noticed, because seeing the gates in person left her breathless.
They were as tall as the mountains they were built into and made of black iron. The bottom of the gates had been crafted into a line of narcissus, and from them sprouted spiraling vines decorated with flora and pomegranates. Their raised edges glinted gold beneath the muted sky, which extended over their heads but disappeared into a strange and terrifying darkness around them. Beyond the gates was a great elm. Persephone could feel its age, even from this distance. It was as old as Hades and its roots went deep, its limbs heavy with orbs of bright, bluish light.
“What clings to that tree?” she asked Hades.
“Dreams,” he replied, looking at her. “Those who enter the Underworld must leave them behind.”
There was a certain sadness that overtook her at the thought, but she also understood—there was no room for dreams in the Underworld, because life here meant existing without burden, without challenge. Life here meant rest.
“Must all souls walk through these gates?” Her voice was quiet because, for some reason, this space felt sacred.
“Yes,” Hades answered. “It is the journey they must take to accept their death. Believe it or not, it was once more frightening than this.”
Persephone’s gaze met his. “I did not mean that it was frightening.”
He offered a small smile and touched her lips with his finger. “And yet you tremble.”
“I tremble because it is cold,” she said. “Not out of fear. It is very beautiful here, but it is also…overwhelming. I can feel your power here, stronger than anywhere else in the Underworld.”
“Perhaps that is because this is the oldest part of the Underworld,” he said.
A cloak appeared in Hades’s hands, and he shrugged it around Persephone’s shoulders.
“Better?” he asked.
“Yes,” she whispered.
In the next second, both Hermes and Thanatos appeared. Their wings were wrapped around them like cloaks, then they unfolded, expanding and stretching, nearly filling the space in which they stood to reveal a handful of souls. There were about twenty in total, all various ages, ranging from what Persephone guessed was a five-year-old to a sixty-year-old. The five-year-old arrived with her father, the sixty-year-old with his wife.
Thanatos swept into a bow.
“Lord Hades, Lady Persephone,” he said. “We…will return.”
“There are more?” Persephone asked, her eyes wide, staring at the God of Death.
He nodded grimly.
“It’s alright, Sephy,” Hermes said. “Just focus on making them feel welcome.”
The two gods vanished, and as they did, the father of the five-year-old fell to his knees.
“Please,” he begged. “Take me but do not take my daughter! She is too young!”
“You have arrived at the gates of the Underworld,” Hades replied. “I am afraid I cannot change your Fate.”
Before, Persephone might have found Hades’s words to be callous, but they were the truth.
<
br /> She did not think it was possible for the man to look any paler, but he managed it and screamed, “You are a liar! You are the God of the Dead! You can change her Fate!”
Persephone took a step forward. She felt as if she were shielding Hades from this man’s rage.
“Lord Hades may be God of the Dead, but he is not the weaver of your thread,” she said. “Do not fear, mortal father, and be brave for your daughter. Your existence here will be peaceful.”
She turned her attention to the daughter then and knelt before her. She was adorable, small with blond, curly pigtails and dimples.
“Hi,” she said quietly. “My name is Persephone. What’s your name?”
“Lola,” the girl replied.
“Lola,” she said with a smile. “I am glad you are here and with your father too. That is lucky.”
So many children came to the Underworld without their parents only to be adopted by other souls and reunited with their loved ones years later. If these were the circumstances these two would suffer, she was glad they were together.
“Would you like to see some magic?” she asked.
The girl nodded.
Persephone hoped this worked as she scooped up a handful of the black dirt at her feet. She envisioned a white anemone—and watched as it effortlessly materialized in her palm. She blew out a breath, thankful, and Lola’s face lit up as Persephone threaded the flower into her hair.
“You are very brave,” she said. “Will you be brave for your father too?”
The girl nodded, and Persephone straightened, taking a step back. Shortly after, more souls joined them, guided to the Underworld by Hermes and reaped by Thanatos. Before their work was finished, the small space was crowded with one hundred and thirty people and one dog, whose owner had also made it into the afterlife. Persephone greeted many of them, and Hades followed suit. There were children and teens, young adults and older ones. Some were fearful and others were angry. Only a few were unafraid.
At some point, Hades’s fingers slipped between hers and he gestured toward the gates, which were opening soundlessly to reveal the elm beyond in its fullness—beautiful and ancient and glowing.
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