“I believe Adonis was also killed with a relic. With my father’s scythe.”
“What makes you so certain?”
There was a beat of silence. “Because his soul was shattered.”
Persephone understood. Adonis had gone to Elysium to rest for eternity. His soul was the magic with which poppies or pomegranates bloomed.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Again, he was quiet, but she waited for him to speak. “I suppose I had to get to a place where I could tell you. Seeing a shattered soul is not easy. Carrying it to Elysium is even harder.”
The look in his haunted eyes told her that she wouldn’t understand what Hades had seen.
Persephone set her book aside and whispered his name, desperate to soothe, but as she shifted, he seemed to stiffen, eyes moving to the book.
“What were you reading?” he asked, changing the subject, and Persephone felt an echo of pain throb in her chest.
“I was looking up information on the Titanomachy,” she said and watched as Hades’s jaw tightened.
“Why?”
“Because…I think my mother has bigger goals than separating us.”
Chapter XXVII
The Museum of Ancient Greece
It was late when Persephone woke and found the space beside her empty. Hades had not come to bed. She rose and went in search of him, finding him outside on the balcony, cloaked in night. She stepped behind him and slid her arms around his waist. He tensed and his hands clamped down upon hers, breaking her hold as he twisted toward her.
“Persephone.”
She was a little taken aback by how quickly he’d turned.
“Will you not come to bed?” she asked, her voice a hushed whisper.
“I will be along shortly,” he said, letting go. Persephone held her hand to her chest.
“I don’t believe you.”
He stared for a moment, his expression blank.
“I cannot sleep,” he said. “I do not wish to disturb you.”
“You won’t disturb me,” she said. “Your absence is why I cannot sleep.”
She felt a little silly saying it aloud, but it was true that his presence made it easier for her to relax.
“We both know that isn’t true,” he said, and she flinched at his words, because she knew he was referring to Pirithous. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep her mouth from trembling. In the time since she’d met Hades, he’d never rejected her, and yet here he was, resisting. It hurt and it felt like blame.
“You’re right,” she said. “It isn’t true.”
She left him there but instead of returning to their bed, she made her way down the hallway to the queen’s suite, where she crawled beneath the cold covers and wept.
* * *
Persephone sat behind her desk, a cup of coffee between her hands. She stared blankly at the steam curling into the air, unable to focus. She hadn’t slept and she felt groggy. Her body wanted nothing more than to find a quiet place and nap, but her thoughts were chaotic, running on repeat through her head.
She agonized, wavering between feeling at fault or angry for Hades’s distance. Perhaps she should have forced conversation around her reaction, but after he’d refused to come to bed, she’d lost her confidence and instead felt anxious about approaching the topic. She’d been triggered out of nowhere, and she’d lashed out at Hades, and while she knew that he too suffered, it was nothing compared to how embarrassed, how devastated, how violated she felt.
Another thought had occurred to her—what if he was no longer willing to explore his fantasies with her? What of her own?
A knock drew her attention, and Leuce entered carrying an armful of newspapers. She looked just as exhausted as Persephone felt.
“Are you alright?” Persephone asked.
The nymph placed the stack on her desk and shrugged. “I haven’t slept well since…”
Her words drifted off, but she did not need to finish her sentence, because Persephone knew that she was struggling after the attack on Talaria Stadium.
“Some things have not changed since antiquity,” Leuce said. “You still kill each other, just with different weapons.”
She wasn’t wrong—society was just as violent as it was peaceful.
Persephone’s eyes fell to the stack of papers Leuce had brought her. The first was from New Athens News and the headline was about the attack on Talaria Stadium:
Death and Violence: the Consequence of Following the Gods
It was an article from Helen that claimed that the attack was designed by Triad to force change—and that without conflict, mortals would continue to live under the thumb of the gods.
The stadium was chosen because the games represented the hold the gods still had on society, and for that to change, it needed to be dismantled. The problem was, of the one hundred and thirty people who had died in that stadium, how many of them wanted to be martyrs for Triad?
Helen’s response was cruel: where were your gods?
“I can’t believe Demetri approved that article,” Leuce said, but Persephone had a feeling Demetri hadn’t had much say in this. “Helen has gone mad.”
“I don’t think she really believes what she’s writing,” Persephone said. “I don’t think she thinks for herself at all.”
In fact, Persephone was sure of it.
“If you ever see her again, please turn her into a tree,” said Leuce.
Persephone offered a small laugh as Leuce left, closing the door behind her. For a moment, she sagged in her chair, feeling even more exhausted than before. Helen’s betrayal had been shocking, but this, it was something else. Something far worse. Almost like a declaration of war.
She straightened enough and read through a few more articles, her heart feeling more and more heavy with each headline:
At Least 56 Deaths Attributed to Winter Weather—That’s Just Last Week
Millions Without Power and Water Due to Dangerous Winter Weather
Many Fear Food Crisis in the Midst of Winter Storm
But it was one heading in particular that drew her attention near the bottom of the page:
Several Artifacts Stolen from Museum
Persephone thought that was strange and remembered that Hades had mentioned relics sourced from the black market, but what if they’d been taken from museums?
My mother will hide in plain sight.
Persephone dialed Ivy at the front desk.
“Yes, my lady?”
“Ivy, have Antoni bring the car around. I will be stepping out for a few minutes.”
“Of course.” There was a pause and then she added, “And…what should I tell Lord Hades? If he asks where you’ve gone?”
Persephone stiffened at the question. She was frustrated with Hades, but she also didn’t want him to worry.
“You may tell him I’ve gone to the Museum of Ancient Greece,” Persephone replied and hung up the phone.
She put on her jacket and headed downstairs, passing Ivy’s desk.
“Enjoy your outing, my lady,” Ivy said as she left the building.
Persephone made her way down the icy steps. Antoni waited, smiling despite the cold.
“My lady,” he said, opening the door to the Lexus.
“Antoni,” she said with a smile as she slid into the warm cabin.
As the cyclops entered the driver’s side, he asked, “Where to, my lady?”
“The Museum of Ancient Greece.”
Antoni’s forehead wrinkled, a mark of his surprise.
“Research?” he asked.
“Yes,” she answered. “You could call it that.”
The Museum of Ancient Greece was located at the center of New Athens. Antoni let her out at the curb, and she made her way through the courtyard, toward a set of marble steps and
the entrance of the building. Persephone had visited the museum many times, usually on sunny days when the square was packed with people. Today, though, the landscape was barren and slippery; the marble statues that were usually blinding beneath the light were buried under heaps of snow.
Upon entering the museum and going through security, she paused to take a breath, attempting to scent out her mother’s magic, but all she could smell was coffee, cleaners, and dust. She wandered through exhibits, each one dedicated to a different era of ancient Greece. The displays were beautiful, the items arranged elegantly. Despite the intrigue, it was the people she trained her gaze upon, searching for familiarity in their expressions or their body movement. It was challenging to identify a god if they had manipulated their glamour too much.
She was not sure how long she wandered the museum, but after an hour, she’d made her rounds through every exhibit, save for the children’s wing. As she stared at its entrance—brightly colored with an exaggerated font and cartoonish columns—she caught a familiar smell: a musky citrus that made her blood run cold.
Demeter.
Her heart beat harder as she stepped farther and farther into the colorful and interactive wing, passing wax statues and models of ancient buildings, following the scent of Demeter’s magic until she found her at the center of a group of children. She had definitely taken steps to hide her true identity, appearing older with graying hair and a few more wrinkles, but she still maintained that haughty air that was so reminiscent of her mother.
It appeared she was giving a tour, and right now she was explaining the history of the Panhellenic Games and their importance in their culture.
This was not what Persephone had imagined, even when she’d guessed Demeter was hiding in plain sight.
Watching her with the children was like watching another god. She was no longer severe, and there was a light to her eyes Persephone had not seen since she was very young. Then Demeter looked up and met Persephone’s gaze, and all that kindness melted away. The moment was brief—a flicker of disappointment and anger and disgust—before she turned her gaze back to the children, a smile dancing across her face so wide, her eyes creased.
“Why don’t you spend some time exploring? I’ll be here if you have any questions. Run along!”
“Thank you, Ms. Doso!” the children said in unison.
Persephone did not move once the children spirited away, but Demeter turned toward her, narrowing her eyes, lifting her chin into the air.
“Have you come to kill me?”
Persephone flinched. “No.”
“Then you have come to reprimand me.”
Persephone did not respond immediately.
“Well?” Demeter’s tone was sharp.
“I know what happened to you…before I was born,” Persephone said, noting the surprise in Demeter’s gaze, in the way her lips parted. Still, it was only a moment of weakness, a moment where Persephone glimpsed her mother’s true pain and anguish before she buried it again, scowling.
“Are you claiming to understand me now?”
“I would never pretend to know what you have gone through,” Persephone said. “But I wish I had known.”
“And what would that have changed?”
“Nothing, save that I might have spent less time angry with you.”
Demeter offered a savage smile. “Why regret anger? It feeds so many things.”
“Like your revenge?”
“Yes,” she hissed.
“You know you can stop this,” Persephone said. “There is no fighting Fate.”
“Do you believe that?” Demeter asked. “Given the fate of Tyche?”
Persephone’s lips flattened. It was Demeter’s admission.
“She loved you,” Persephone said.
“Perhaps, and yet she too told me I could not fight Fate, and here I am—her thread cut by my hands.”
“Everyone can murder, Mother,” Persephone said.
“And yet not everyone can murder a god,” Demeter replied.
“So this is your path,” Persephone said. “All because I fell in love with Hades?”
Demeter’s lips curled. “Oh, righteous daughter, this is beyond you. I will take down every Olympian who sided with Fate, every worshipper who holds them in high regard, and eventually, I will kill them too, and when I am finished, I will tear this world apart around you.”
Persephone’s anger shook her body.
“You think I will stand aside and watch?”
“Oh, flower. You will have no choice.”
It was then Persephone understood there was no reclaiming the Demeter beneath the surface. That goddess was long gone, and while she appeared every so often—when she smiled at children and when she recalled her trauma—she would never be that person again. This was who she thought she had to be for survival.
Persephone had lost her mother a long time ago, and this…this was goodbye.
“The Olympians are looking for you.”
Then Demeter offered a horrible smile. She looked as if she were about to speak when she was interrupted.
“Ms. Doso!” a child called, and Demeter turned. Her twisted mouth and narrowed eyes vanished, replaced by a smile and sparkling eyes.
“Yes, my darling?” Her voice was quiet and cool—a tone reserved for sweet lullabies.
“Tell us the story of Heracles!”
“Of course.” She offered a laugh that sounded silvery. Her gaze shifted to Persephone, and once again her false facade melted away, and she spoke. “You should fear their search for me, Daughter.”
Then the Goddess of Harvest turned, dismissing Persephone without another glance.
Demeter’s words were a warning, and they cast a horrible shadow over her heart. Persephone took a deep breath, hating how her throat filled with the taste of her mother’s magic, and left the museum.
Chapter XXVIII
A Touch of Terror
Persephone did not return to work after her visit to the museum. Instead, she teleported to the Underworld and went in search of Hecate, finding the goddess in her meadow, waiting. She was dressed in black robes today, matching Nefeli, who sat, poised behind her, like an omen. Persephone slowed upon seeing them, anxiety erupting in her chest. Hecate never waited for her. She was always doing something—gathering herbs and mushrooms, making poisons, or cursing mortals.
Persephone halted at the edge of the meadow and stared at the goddess.
“I felt your rage the moment you entered the Underworld,” Hecate said.
“I am changing, Hecate,” Persephone said, her voice breaking.
“You are becoming,” Hecate corrected. “You feel it, don’t you? The darkness rising.”
“I do not wish to be like my mother.”
It was her greatest fear, something she’d thought about since the night she’d asked Hades to take her to Tartarus so she could torture Pirithous.
“I do not flinch at torture,” Persephone said. “I wish for vengeance against those who have wronged me. I would kill to protect my heart. I don’t know who I am anymore.”
“You are Persephone,” Hecate said. “The Fated Queen of Hades.”
Persephone’s chest rose and fell with heavy breaths.
“You should not feel ashamed of hurting people who hurt you,” Hecate said. “It is the nature of battle.”
They had spoken of combat and of war. They were words that had been threaded through conversations over the last few months—battle with Demeter, war with the gods.
“But does it mean I am no better than those who hurt me?”
Hecate offered a sarcastic laugh. “Whoever said so has never been hurt—not like you have and not like I have.”
Persephone wanted to ask Hecate more questions—how had she been hurt? But Persephone also knew the kind of sorrow those qu
estions unleashed, and she did not wish to bring that upon the goddess.
“Your mother wages war on the world above,” Hecate said. “Do you wish to defeat her?”
“Yes,” Persephone hissed.
“Then I will teach you,” Hecate said, and her words were followed by a terrible surge of power as black fire gathered in her hands, casting shadows on her face. She looked terrifying, her face ashy and drained of color. “I will fight you like your mother will fight you,” she said. “You will think I never loved you.”
Before Persephone could think too long on those words, Hecate unleashed her shadow magic. When it hit, Persephone was thrown back, into the trunk of a tree. The pain was unbearable, a sharp ache that made her feel like her spine had broken into pieces. She couldn’t move, so she immediately called up her magic, working to heal herself, but Nefeli’s sudden bellow turned Persephone’s blood to ice. She’d forgotten about the grim, who barreled toward her.
She wasn’t completely healed as she rolled to her feet and flung out her hand, using her magic to teleport the creature to another part of the Underworld. Across the meadow, Hecate stood still, and for the first time since Persephone met the Goddess of Witchcraft, she realized she had never truly felt Hecate’s magic. She’d sensed it in bursts—like ghostly lights igniting in the dark, guiding her intermittently, and smelling of sage and earth. This magic, the kind she’d summoned to fight, was different. It was ancient. It smelled bitter and acidic like wine but left a tang in the back of her throat—a metallic taste akin to blood. Sensing it left a feeling of dread embedded in her heart, and suddenly, its irregular pounding was the only thing she could focus on—that and Hecate’s rapid approach.
She focused on healing and gathering her power, recounting words that Hades had used while he’d fought her in the grove.
“If you were fighting any other Olympian—any enemy—they would have never let you up.”
Hecate played by this rule, sending more shadow magic barreling toward her. Persephone raised her hand, and for the slightest of seconds, everything slowed—but unlike the other times she had managed to freeze time, Hecate’s magic pulsed, as if she were only using a fraction of it before, destroying her spell. The shadows crashed into her again, sending her flying backward. Persephone landed hard, the wind knocked from her lungs, the earth piling up around her as she came to a sliding stop.
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