Underworld's Daughter

by Molly Ringle

  Dionysos faltered in his speech, confused at the people’s reaction, then gathered it had something to do with his crown. He took off the wreath to examine it. The magical lights came with it, a hovering circle of twenty or more shining sparks, and he stared in surprise a moment before breaking into a smile and looking straight at Hekate in the crowd.

  She beamed at him.

  He inclined his head toward her, like bowing for a noblewoman, and replaced the glowing wreath on his hair. Ever the adept improviser, he continued his speech, adding words about how the stars themselves had come down to light the people’s way back to spring. The poetry at his command—she loved that too. She sensed and understood nature, and could control it to a limited degree, but he could speak of it in silver-tongued words, inspiring others in a way she never could.

  When the feasting and dancing began, adorers mobbed Dionysos, as ever. But he hadn’t designated anyone as his festival brides or concubines yet. Hekate wasn’t sure if this city’s version of the Dionysia included such a thing. Sexuality was explored somehow in all of them, but in some it was more a matter of free experimentation among the crowd, with less emphasis placed on Dionysos himself as a participant. Still, he did always seem to wind up kissing or fondling someone, or at least letting himself be kissed and fondled. If he did more than that, it wasn’t in the public eye. She did wonder, with pangs of jealousy, what exactly took place on the occasions when he disappeared with some woman or man.

  Tonight, though, he maneuvered through the throng to catch Hekate’s wrist in one hand and Hermes’ in the other. “My friends, I seldom get to talk to you. Sit by me this time.”

  So, to her surprised joy, she found herself next to Dionysos during the feast, on cushions and skins that insulated her from the cold ground. While they sat and ate roasted fowl with sweet raisins, his attendants built a large tent around them, stringing up draperies between trees and poles so that soon the better part of the group was enclosed on three sides. A hole was left in the top through which the smoke escaped, and the front of the tent stayed open for people to wander in and out. But with so many torches and fires, the light stayed bright enough to be cheerful, and the air inside the tent lost its chill. Granted, Hekate’s warm comfort might have had something to do with Dionysos, who had draped half his leopard skin around her, and sometimes slipped his arm around her too. Meanwhile his wildcat Agria snoozed on the ground directly behind them, giving them a warm living cushion to lean back upon.

  Dionysos spoke to her throughout the feast. He praised her for the light magic she had worked, and suggested they think of other impressive ideas to dazzle people during rituals.

  “I’m happy to,” she said, “but then word might get out that I’m an immortal. And a terrifying Underworld one, at that.”

  “More of them already know it than you think,” Hermes said, from Dionysos’ other side, between bites of a drumstick. “You’ve visited quite a few cities with your parents. People remember you.”

  “Hm.” She frowned into the crowd, and did indeed catch a few people staring at her. But then, everyone tended to watch whomever Dionysos was with, out of curiosity or envy. “I wonder why no one’s given me trouble.”

  “Something to do with people being torn apart last time,” Dionysos murmured, his face grim.

  “Indeed.” Hermes picked a scrap of food from his teeth. “That and your scary immortal dog.”

  She smirked. “Kerberos isn’t scary.”

  “Not in reality, no. But from the stories they tell about him, he is.”

  After the feast, Dionysos got up to introduce and judge the performances, which tonight took the form of people competing to tell the most tragic tale of jilted love. All the stories were supposed to be true, their veracity sworn upon the River Styx.

  “Is that our river, in the Underworld?” Hekate asked Hermes. “We never named it.”

  He handed her a cup of wine. “The River Styx is from old stories, but sure, you’ve got an underground river in the fields of souls, so why not say it’s the Styx?”

  While the competitors delivered their drunken tales of woe, to roars of laughter and moans of sympathy, Hekate’s gaze kept sliding to Dionysos, who stood near the well-lit performance area. Tonight, more than a few times, he looked across the crowd to where she sat, and let his gaze linger in hers for a few moments.

  “You know,” Hermes said in her ear, “I’ve spoken to him about you.”

  Nervousness stiffened her spine. “Oh?”

  “He’s quite attracted to you. But even for him, it’s a daunting prospect, debauching the powerful daughter of the gods of the dead.”

  She scoffed. “He should know better. They don’t control death, or have any powers over it.”

  “No, but he has great respect for both your parents, and doesn’t wish to do anything that might offend them.”

  “Absurd.” She swigged her wine. “I’m grown up. It’s nothing to do with them.”

  “True. But it’s difficult to convince him. So I was thinking…” Hermes scooted closer to her on the piece of fur they sat upon, till their arms and legs touched. “What if I showed him I wasn’t afraid to toy with you? And that you didn’t mind toying with me?”

  Her ears began ringing in shock as she listened.

  “Then once everyone was…warmed up,” Hermes continued, his low-pitched voice tickling her ear, “I could transfer you over to him.”

  She swallowed; her throat was strangely dry. A quick glance at Hermes was all she could manage at the moment. But he did look particularly handsome, tongue flicking the inner edge of his lips as he watched her, green eyes keen and interested. “You’d only get ‘warmed up’?” she asked. “That doesn’t seem satisfying. For you.”

  He chuckled. He wove his fingers into hers, against the luxurious fur they sat upon. “Believe me, love, merely warming you up would be unbelievably satisfying for me.”

  His tone as he said it was what convinced her. She didn’t have much experience in this life with suitors, but she had plenty of memories and had witnessed lots of other attempted seductions at all these Dionysia. Comparing Hermes to those, she found herself impressed. He didn’t seem arrogantly confident like the men who viewed women as a land to conquer (Ares came to mind), nor did he sound like a pathetically besotted adolescent who would gladly slit his own throat if she requested it. Instead he sounded as if he were letting her in on a delightful dirty secret, or offering her a forbidden treat. That was how it should go, in the absence of true mutual love, she supposed.

  After all, most of the people fondling each other at these festivals weren’t in love. They had merely found an attractive partner for the evening, perhaps a friend they could trust. Aphrodite served as such a friend for lots of people—which had been a source of heartbreak for Dionysos once, but surely a great convenience for others. Including Hermes.

  And in order to get to Dionysos, if Hermes’ invitation was what it took…

  She turned her hand over and laced her fingers more snugly with his. “Let’s try.”

  His eyes darkened as his pupils widened in thrill and amazement. But only for a moment. Then bawdy merriment returned to twinkle in them, and he set aside his wine cup and hooked his arm around her waist. He moved her hair aside and planted a long kiss upon the side of her neck, which made her catch her breath more deliciously than she had expected. Excellent technique. Aphrodite had taught him well.

  “I’ll ask your consent before each move,” he murmured. “Just so you won’t hit me with some awful, painful spell.”

  “And I could, you know.” Smiling, she tilted her head farther in invitation. “But that was all right. Go ahead.”

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Tabitha leaned her elbows on the balcony railing of the Nectar Club in downtown Seattle, and watched the caterers set out tablecloths, plates, and glowstick-filled vases for the party. On the stage, techies ran sound-checks and crawled around adjusting amps and lights. People were lining up on th
e street, waiting to be let in, but it wasn’t time yet. The Luigis were supposed to be here by now. But then, performers were usually late. She wasn’t worried.

  She checked her phone again, though of course Freya hadn’t answered to say whether she could come or not. Last Tab had heard was this morning’s I’ll try. Boring spy work to be done first!

  Some shit about scouring the city for Thanatos. Lame. You couldn’t go worrying about a few random terrorists and letting it ruin your good time.

  But the nagging feeling that Tab was neglecting Zoe, unfairly and even egregiously so, was ruining Tab’s good time too.

  She was about to text Zoe, invite her to fly over and catch the end of the show at least. But then the band arrived in a burst of greetings, guitar cases clunking against the walls, and Tab hurried down the steps to say hello.

  Yeah, she had to figure out her relationship with Zoe someday, and yes, she remembered Dionysos getting over Aphrodite and wanting Hekate with an accumulating urgency. But he’d had years to figure that out and find his place in the world. He’d been older and wiser by then. Tab was still only eighteen and had only been wobbling around in her new immortal high heels for a few weeks.

  And getting to meet the goddess of love and desire, who was still incredibly hot, and knowing that Freya-Aphrodite had, at various times, desired Tab, and might possibly be up for some kind of sex again now? Yeah, that was distracting in a major way. Even more distracting than the parties with celebrities that had distracted her from Zoe in the first place.

  Ugh. Too much drama. And too much of it having to do with Greek gods in ancient freaking prehistory. Tab had things going on now, tonight. End of story.

  Not that the story ever ended, did it. That was the damn problem.

  Dionysos’ blood heated and chased itself faster through his veins as he watched Hermes mouth the side of Hekate’s neck. She closed her eyes, black eyelashes sweeping down to her cheekbones, their shadows thickened in the torchlight.

  Hermes had talked to him about her a few days ago. “You could have her, you know,” he told Dionysos. “She wants you. I’m almost totally certain.”

  “I’m too old. She’s too young.”

  Hermes scoffed to show how much he valued that statement.

  “I suspect she cares too much,” Dionysos elaborated. “I don’t want to hurt her. Not physically, I mean, but—”

  “I know what you mean,” Hermes cut in. “And are you sure you aren’t avoiding caring too much for anyone? It hurt you a great deal last time, I know. Isn’t it likely you’re steering clear of that happening again?”

  “From you I’m hearing this?” Dionysos laughed. “Your lack of commitment is the stuff of legend.”

  “It may be. That doesn’t mean I don’t love.” Hermes looked stormy for a moment, staring at the distant hills. Then he added, “I want her to be happy. Don’t you?”

  “Of course. What I’m not sure is that I’m the right person to achieve that.”

  His reasoning felt perfectly sound at the time. Now, in the sparkling winter night amid the wild revelry, watching his two friends kissing among dozens doing the same, Dionysos’ reasons blew away like peels of birch bark in the wind.

  He was too old for her? Perhaps. But Hermes was older than him—Dionysos wasn’t sure how much older, but certainly by at least a decade—and Hekate evidently didn’t mind. Dionysos hadn’t minded Aphrodite’s considerably older age, for that matter.

  Hekate would only want to touch someone she deeply loved? Again, she likely didn’t feel that way about Hermes, and she was indulging anyway.

  He shouldn’t debauch the daughter of the Underworld? Well, what were Hades and Persephone going to do if they found out? Have Dionysos killed? It didn’t seem likely. Besides, now Hermes would have to take a share of punishment for the same crime. Hermes was a good friend of Hades and Persephone’s, and if he didn’t scruple to touch her like that…

  The theatrical heartbreak performances went on and on. Dionysos felt ready to throw the winning wreath at the next person just to end things. Meanwhile, Hekate had turned her head and was accepting Hermes’ kisses upon her mouth, and kissing him down his neck, and murmuring and smiling. They both turned to look at Dionysos. Hekate tilted her head to invite him over, and Hermes added encouragement with a nod.

  Dionysos swallowed. He began to understand what Hermes was up to, and another reason to give in piled onto his others: how impolite it would be to turn down such a gift, so painstakingly acquired by a friend.

  Dionysos answered with a subtle nod of his own, and flicked his gaze at the performers to indicate he had to finish up here first.

  His friends smiled in understanding.

  Finally the performances ended. The crowd helped him declare a winner, a young man upon whose head he crammed the wreath. Dionysos let him choose a “bride” from the crowd. Thankfully the performer didn’t choose Hekate, but some local girl instead. Everyone cheered, and Dionysos bounded over to Hermes and Hekate and drew them back to the cushioned corner where they had sat during the feast.

  “A long evening,” he said, his voice breathless in his own ears. “Shall we rest?”

  Hekate drew him down to recline against her. “I’m cold,” she said, and pulled his cloak around herself. The warm bare skin of their arms touched, and through the fabric of her tunic he felt the soft contours of her body.

  Hermes wriggled up against her back, dragging a blanket with him. “You feel warm to me, love.”

  For some other woman Dionysos might also have made an overused remark about warming her up. But he was too fascinated by her mouth and its shapeliness. He’d never kissed it before, only her cheek and her hand. To make sure he’d remember this, he paid close attention as he leaned down to brush his lips against hers. The kiss was light and lingering. Then she raked her hand into his hair and kissed him harder, and tilted her face and hooked a leg around his knee.

  The immortal strength flowing off her in waves ravished him. Aphrodite had been the only immortal woman he’d ever lain with. Though there’d been plenty of mortals since, he always took care with them, though he wasn’t likely to hurt them unless he meant to. The heightened strength only blazed forth if an immortal wanted or needed it to. But with Hekate he didn’t need to temper his touch. He could roll her around, clutch her tight, push and feel her push back.

  Ah, how he’d missed it, the feel of an immortal woman’s body, softness and grace sheathing deadly power, and a sexual appetite that outperformed even his own. And this time he held a woman utterly different from Aphrodite, which made it more exciting still.

  As he kissed her and their hands explored one another, he marveled at the change in Hekate, from aloof, clever sorcerer bringing lights alive in his wreath, to wanton fleshly woman upon her back in his furs.

  Someone with so much magic at her command, the moon and Earth and Underworld at her feet, and she wanted him? “Flattered” didn’t cover his reaction. “Moved” was more like it. Enchanted.

  He paused a moment to remember the friend who had brought him this gift, and lifted his gaze across Hekate’s shoulder, which Hermes was mouthing in leisurely fashion. “Thank you,” Dionysos said.

  Hermes winked. He climbed onto the pair of them, hugging them both in one horizontal embrace. They squawked and laughed in protest. Then he rose and smoothed down his rumpled clothing. “If I were you, I’d take this fetching woman to the other realm for some privacy.”

  “But we’ll see you later?” Hekate said. Sweet gratitude softened her voice.

  “Oh yes, I plan to sleep as close to you as possible. Or to Agria. It’s bloody cold out tonight. Bring blankets.”

  Hekate and Dionysos nodded, and grabbed as many furs and cloaks as they could hold. Then, still lying on the ground, they slid into the spirit realm. Cold air swept across them. A looming hush fell. His ears rang after the noise of the festival. Soon his eyes adjusted to the dark, showing him her coy smile in the starlight.

  W
ithout a word, she pulled him on top of her, and wriggled both their tunics out of the way below the waist.

  “Are you sure?” he whispered.

  She grasped him and tilted her hips to bring him inside her, drawing a sharp breath from him. “Don’t I feel sure?”

  He tried not to start moving right away, much as he wanted to. “Listen, I’ve got cloudhair seeds in case you didn’t bring any—”

  “No need. I’ve got magic.”

  He laughed. “Of course. Of course you do. You are a marvel.”

  And as he moved with her, and their mouths became occupied with kisses instead of words, he thought, I’ll get to know you. It’s the middle of the night and we’re frenzied and soon we’ll be sleepy, but tomorrow, and every day after, I’ll learn about you, I’ll talk to you, I’ll give you the attention you deserve. Oh, you’re enchanting, you’re delicious, you’re amazing.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  It is bloody cold,” Dionysos murmured as they rested under the winter stars.

  Hekate couldn’t disagree, shivering despite her tired efforts at a spell to ward off the wind. But her tiredness was of a complacent sort. This body was now properly that of a woman, she thought. By some people’s definition, at least. She kissed the hollow of his throat. “Let’s go back. The tent is warmer.”

  He yawned. “And we told Hermes we would.”

  They hugged one another and switched over. Hekate landed upon Hermes, or at least his arm and leg as he lay sprawled with a passed-out young man.

  “Oof,” he grunted. He pushed her off, then smiled sleepily at her. “Hello. And goodnight.”

  “Goodnight, and thanks,” she whispered back.

  A sudden, breathtaking stab of pain jolted Hekate awake. She opened her eyes to a living nightmare. A sword’s blade protruded from her chest. She yanked it out and lay gasping.

  The sky was still dark and fires still burned; she could only have slept a short time. But now people screamed around her, and elbows and feet and fists were flying and bruising her and each other. Between the flailing limbs she discerned the cause: masked attackers had swarmed into the tent, seemingly a hundred of them, bristling with swords and knives, stabbing anyone who fought them. But their might was concentrated upon herself, Dionysos, and Hermes.