How were they supposed to move on from here?
Hades always knew what to do, but last night she’d watched him freeze, and she knew him well enough to guess he would pull away.
She sighed, her whole body heavy with sadness, and rose from bed, dressing for the day in a white peplos. She checked in with Sybil, Leuce, and Zofie, who were alright but worried about her. She sent a quick text, assuring them she was fine and healed. Leuce had also sent a series of articles, and Persephone spent part of the morning reading through them and watching videos associated with the attacks at Talaria Stadium. Part of her wondered if anyone had managed to capture video of her magic, but all the footage shared was from outside the venue.
The dead were staggering—a total of one hundred and thirty people gone. Of those, three heroes had died—Damon, Aesop, and Demi. Still, there were headlines that claimed the death toll was due to the unnecessary use of magic by the gods who had attended the games.
It was a failed attempt to justify the terrorism of Triad.
Persephone set her tablet aside, needing a break from the heaviness.
She made her way outside the palace, into the gardens. Persephone had always been able to sense the aromas that belonged to varying magic, but the longer she resided in the Underworld, the more she noticed that every bloom smelled like Hades—it was an undercurrent, faint but definitely distinct. The roses, for instance, were sweet with a hint of smoke. It had been a while since she’d been able to walk these paths and visit these flowers, and as she came to the end of the trail, she halted at her plot—the one Hades had given her after she’d accepted his bargain of creating life in the Underworld.
It was barren, black sand. She imagined all the seeds she’d planted were still buried beneath, dormant, but something about bringing the garden to life at this moment did not feel right. Perhaps she would save the transformation for Hades and offer it as a wedding present, if it ever took place. Any planning had all but halted as they waited for Zeus to give his blessing, which was now deferred due to Demeter’s storm—though Persephone had to admit, it did not seem so important in this environment, where gods were dying and people were being murdered.
She left the gardens, entering the Asphodel fields, where she was joined by Cerberus, Typhon, and Orthrus. They strolled through the markets of the Asphodel Valley. Some souls were going about their usual business—trading foods and textiles, watering their gardens—while others milked the cows in the meadow. The smell of baking bread and sweet cinnamon filled the air, and with it came a few faint sobs. Persephone followed the sound and found Yuri soothing a soul.
“Is everything alright?” Persephone asked. She’d never seen a soul get upset in Asphodel before, and yet even Persephone knew there was a kind of melancholy in the air she’d never felt before.
The soul immediately pulled away from Yuri and wiped her eyes, not looking at Persephone. Still, she could tell she was young—probably in her early twenties. She had black hair and blunt bangs that framed a pale face.
“Lady Persephone.” Yuri curtsied, and the soul beside her mimicked her action quickly. “This is Angeliki. She just arrived in Asphodel.”
Persephone didn’t need any more of an explanation. The woman had been at Talaria Stadium.
“Angeliki,” Persephone said. “It is nice to meet you.”
“You too,” the woman whispered.
“Lady Persephone is soon to be our queen,” Yuri said.
Angeliki’s eyes widened.
“Is there anything I can do for you, Angeliki? To help you adjust to your new home?”
That only made the woman cry harder, and Yuri embraced her once again, smoothing a hand down her arm.
“She is worried about her mother,” Yuri explained. “Angeliki was her caretaker. Now that she is here, there is no one to watch over her mother.”
Persephone felt a pang of sadness for this woman whose tears were not for herself but for another, and she knew she had to do something.
“What is your mother’s name, Angeliki?”
“Nessa,” she said. “Nessa Levidis.”
“I will ensure she is looked after,” Persephone said.
Angeliki’s eyes widened. “You will? Truly?”
“Yes,” Persephone said. “I promise.”
And gods could not break promises.
The young woman threw her arms around Persephone.
“Thank you,” she said, sobbing against her, body shaking. “Thank you.”
“Of course,” Persephone said before pulling away. “All will be well.”
Angeliki took a deep breath and then offered a small laugh. “I’m going to clean up.”
Persephone and Yuri watched as the soul disappeared into the house.
“That was very kind of you,” Yuri said.
“It was the only thing I could think to do,” Persephone said, and she wasn’t sure Hades would approve, but there’d been a lot of people who’d died in the Talaria attack, and they’d left behind loved ones young and old. It wasn’t like she’d offered to deliver a personal message.
She made a mental note to speak to Katerina about starting a fund to help the families of the victims—that was something Hades would approve of.
“It is good to see you,” Yuri said.
“And you,” Persephone said. “I am sorry I have not visited.”
“It is alright,” Yuri said. “We know things are not well above.”
Persephone frowned. “No, they are not.”
She glanced around, realizing that none of the young residents had come running to her as they usually did.
“Where are the children?”
Yuri smiled. “They are in the garden with Tyche,” she said. “She has been reading to them every morning. You should visit. The children would love it.”
She would like to see the children, but she’d also like to visit with Tyche. Still, Persephone worried. Was Tyche ready to answer questions about her death?
“Come. I’ll walk as far as the orchard,” Yuri said. “I was on my way to pick pomegranates when I stumbled upon Angeliki.”
They left the main village, following a path toward a cluster of trees where Yuri stayed to harvest fruit. Beyond the orchard was the Children’s Garden—which was not a garden at all but more of a park built into the surrounding forest. Since Persephone had come to the Underworld, the space had slowly transformed from a couple of swings and a seesaw to something far more magical and adventurous. It now spanned five acres, with slides and sandlots, climbing structures and suspension bridges where the children usually played, but today she found them gathered in a clearing and Tyche perched upon a large boulder. She was telling a story in the most animated way—her expressions and voices changing to match the characters as she spoke.
“Prometheus wanted the world to become a better place, and instead of spending his days on Mount Olympus, he explored and lived among men, who struggled despite all the world’s beauty. One day, Prometheus realized that if only men had fire, they could warm themselves and cook food and learn to make tools. The possibilities were endless!
“But when Prometheus went to Zeus and begged him to share fire with mortals, the God of Thunder declined, fearing the strength of mortals. ‘It is better,’ Zeus said, ‘for mortals to rely on the gods for all they need. Let them pray for their needs and we shall grant them.’
“But Prometheus disagreed and so he defied Zeus and gave man fire. It took many months for Zeus to look from his perch upon Mount Olympus, but when he did, he saw mortals warming themselves by fires—which were now in hearths, in the homes they had built, because Prometheus had given them fire.
“Enraged, Zeus chained Prometheus to the side of a mountain as punishment for his treason, but Prometheus was not sad about his sentence. Rather he was glad, happy, because he knew that upon the wild Earth, t
he mortals thrived.”
Tyche’s voice was even, lush, and pleasant, and Persephone found that she preferred the end to this version of Prometheus’s story—the truth was far darker. After Prometheus’s trickery, Zeus unleashed Pandora upon the world and gave them both fear and hope—hope, perhaps the most dangerous of weapons.
Persephone saw similarities in how Zeus viewed humanity even now. It was the god’s wish to keep mortals in a position of submission. It was his reason for descending to Earth—to remind humans who was all-powerful.
It was also why Triad was retaliating.
“Tell us another story, Lady Tyche!” one child said.
“Tomorrow, young one,” she said with a smile. “We have a visitor.”
The Goddess of Fortune met Persephone’s gaze, and the children turned to look.
“Lady Persephone!”
They raced to her, throwing their arms around her legs and pulling on her skirt.
She laughed and bent to accept their hugs.
“Have you come to play with us?” one asked.
“Please play with us!”
“I have come to speak with Lady Tyche,” Persephone answered. “But we shall watch you play. You can show us all your new tricks.”
That seemed to satisfy them, and they hurried away toward the playground—climbing and running, swinging and sliding.
Tyche approached. She was beautiful and tall and lithe, her body draped in black robes, her long, black hair tied into a knot at the top of her head. She curtsied.
“Lady Persephone,” she said. “It is good to meet you.”
“Lady Tyche,” Persephone greeted. “I am so sorry.”
“There is no need for sorrow,” Tyche said, offering a small smile. “Come. Let us walk.”
She offered her arm, and Persephone accepted. The two kept to the shade. In this part of the Underworld, the air was forever warm, and the trees had a glow to them that reminded Persephone of spring.
“I suppose you wish to know how I died,” Tyche said.
The words twisted into Persephone’s chest like a knife.
“I do not so much wish to know,” Persephone said. “But…I fear it will keep happening if we do not learn from you.”
“I understand,” Tyche said. “I was taken down by something heavy, like a net. Then attacked by mortals—several of them. I remember feeling the first stab of pain and being shocked that they were hurting me. Then I felt another stab, then another. I was surrounded.”
“Oh, Tyche,” Persephone whispered.
“I could not heal myself. I think, perhaps, the Fates cut my thread.”
They walked a little farther and then stopped. Tyche turned to face Persephone, her stormy eyes gentle.
“I know what you wish to ask,” the goddess said.
Persephone swallowed. The words were on the tip of her tongue—Was my mother involved? Did you sense her magic too?
“I did sense your mother’s presence,” Tyche said. “I’d hoped…she was there to help me. I was not conscious enough to understand it was only her magic.”
Guilt twisted through Persephone, making her stomach knot.
“I do not understand why my mother has taken this path,” Persephone said, and she felt the pain of those words ricochet through her body.
There was a pause and then Tyche spoke.
“Your mother and I used to be close,” she said.
Persephone’s brows knitted together. She did not know that Demeter and Tyche had been friends at all. In the time she had spent in the greenhouse, she’d never once heard of or met the Goddess of Fortune.
“I…don’t remember you,” Persephone said.
Tyche smiled and it was sad. “We were friends long before she begged the Fates for a daughter,” she said. “Long before she was so angry and hurt.”
“Tell me.”
Tyche took a deep breath.
“Your mother kept you secret for many reasons. You are aware of one—your eventual marriage to Hades—but Demeter was hiding long before you arrived. She was raped.”
Persephone felt like her throat was raw as she swallowed this knowledge.
“What?”
“Poseidon tricked her—luring her to him in the form of a horse, then attacked her. That was the beginning of her hatred for the other Olympians. It continued after she went to Zeus, begging that he punish his brother, yet he refused. I do not tell you this to excuse her behavior toward you or toward the world. I tell you this so you will understand her why.”
“I…didn’t know.”
“Your mother does not see strength in her survival.”
Persephone had never considered what her mother had come from—the abuse she had suffered or overcome.
But this.
This was Demeter’s trauma. It was the seed that had planted the roots of her fear of the world—her fear for her. Poseidon and Zeus were both of the Three. When it came to Hades, it was likely Demeter had no room to consider him worthy.
“She was never the same,” Tyche continued. “I think she buried parts of herself so she could exist, but in doing so, she lost the part of herself that also lived.”
Persephone tried to inhale but failed.
“I am sorry, Persephone.”
“I am glad you told me,” she said, though her mind whirled with a new understanding. Despite the wrong Demeter had committed, Persephone could see the threads that led her mother down this path, and in the end, they had nothing to do with her and everything to do with trauma. Poseidon had broken her; Zeus had crushed her, and she’d had to exist in a world where they remained powerful and in control.
“Does Hades know?” Persephone asked.
“I do not know that Demeter told anyone, save me.”
She wasn’t sure why, but that made her breathe a little easier.
“What do I do?”
Tyche shrugged. “It is hard to know. Perhaps live with the knowledge that Demeter did her best given her circumstances and yet know that does not mean your trauma is invalid. We are all broken, Persephone. It’s what we do with the pieces that matters.”
Demeter was using her pieces to hurt, and Persephone knew, in the end, despite her mother’s struggles, she would have to be stopped.
“Thank you, Tyche.”
“It will not be easy, Persephone. The system is broken. Something new must take its place, but there are no promises in war, no guarantee that what we fight for will win.”
“And yet the chance is worth it…isn’t it?”
Tyche smiled, a little sad, and said, “That is hope. The greatest enemy of man.”
* * *
After leaving the Children’s Garden, Persephone headed for the library, wandering through the stacks, gathering material on the Titanomachy, curious about the events that had led up to the defeat of the Titans and the reign of the Olympians. Once she had a few books gathered, she sat curled up before the fire and read.
Most of the texts detailed the bitterness and strife of the battle but also Zeus’s ability to charm and strategize. He had a history of manipulating and bargaining for the loyalty of both god and monster, promising power to the gods and ambrosia and nectar to the monsters. Persephone did not know this version of the God of Thunder—did he still exist? Was he so comfortable in his position and power he’d lost his edge? Or was his blissful ignorance and indulgent nature more of a ruse?
She felt Hades before she saw him. His presence crept along her neck and down her spine, as if his lips were trailing along her skin. She stiffened. Given their night together, she hadn’t expected to see him today, and yet he appeared in her periphery. The God of the Dead always looked as if he’d manifested from the shadow, but something darker moved beneath his skin and behind his eyes that made her blood run cold.
Persephone lowered her
book and they stared at one another for a long moment. He kept his distance, and she felt the strangeness between them, a tension that pressed against her skin and hollowed out her chest. She wanted to say something about last night—to tell him she was sorry and that she didn’t understand why it had happened—but those words were too hard.
“I spoke to Tyche today,” she said instead. “She thinks that the reason she could not heal herself was because the Fates cut her thread.”
Hades stared for a moment, his expression blank. This was a different Hades, one that surfaced when the other couldn’t be bothered to feel.
“The Fates did not cut her thread,” he said.
Persephone waited for him to continue. When he didn’t, she prompted, “What are you saying?”
“That Triad has managed to find a weapon that can kill the gods,” Hades said matter-of-factly, no concern or anxiety present in his tone.
“You know what it is, don’t you?”
“Not for certain,” he replied.
“Tell me.”
Hades paused a moment. It was like he didn’t know where to begin—or maybe more that he did not want to tell.
“You met the Hydra,” he said. “It has been in many battles in the past, lost many heads—though it just regenerates. The heads are priceless because their venom is used as a poison. I think Tyche was taken down by a new version of Hephaestus’s net and stabbed with a Hydra-poisoned arrow—a relic to be specific.”
“A poisoned arrow?”
“It was the biological warfare of ancient Greece,” Hades said. “I have worked for years to pull relics like them out of circulation, but there are many and whole networks dedicated to the practice of sourcing and selling them. I would not be surprised if Triad has managed to get their hands on a few.”
Persephone let that information sink in before she said, “I thought you said gods couldn’t die unless they were thrown into Tartarus and torn apart by the Titans.”
“Usually,” Hades said. “But the venom of the Hydra is potent, even to gods. It slows our healing, and likely, if a god is stabbed too many times…”
“They die.”
That would make sense, why Tyche could not heal herself. After a moment, Hades spoke, and the words that came out of his mouth shocked her—not only because of what he said but because he was offering information, and he never did that.
A Touch of Malice Page 29