“Having failed with words, you now think you can seduce me with spells?”
“Seduce you with spells?” Hades echoed, pausing as he unstrapped a sturdy wicker basket. “I wish I could. If I had a spell to seduce you…” His black eyes caressed her face, slid down her body to where the gray cloak masked it, then he laughed and shook his head. “No, I would not. When the spell ended you would hate me.”
He had misunderstood her completely, but Persephone was momentarily silenced, shocked mute by her response to the desire he had offered up to her, almost like a sacrifice. Others had wanted her, but she had never felt so desperate a desire—perhaps because her mother had warded them away. She had resented that; she remembered being made curious by the whispered hints and inviting glances, but she did not remember feeling her skin tingle and her lips swell as if the man had touched her.
Meanwhile, Hades had opened the basket and taken from it something that smelled savory. Persephone could not tell exactly what it was because it was wrapped in vine leaves. He held the food toward her, bending forward so that if she also leaned forward and reached out she could take it easily from his hand.
“Here, take this while I get out a cup and pour some wine for you,” he said.
Bemused, she had started to reach for the vine-leaf roll when his matter-of-fact tone startled her. The desire that had pushed everything else out of her mind was gone, as if he had closed the door of an oven and shut off the heat that had flowed from it. Fury at being so easily enticed—almost befooled—flooded her.
“I hate you now, you liar,” she cried. “Do you think I do not know that to eat the food of Plutos or drink its wine condemns one to remain in its cold embrace forever?”
Hades’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped open, but what came out was a roar of laughter, not a protest or another attempt to entice her. “Mother bless me,” he got out between gusts. “I am trapped in a pit of my own digging.”
“You mean that is only a tale you have set about?” Persephone’s lifted brows spoke her disbelief.
Hades bit his lips as if there were words he was holding back by force, and he dropped his arm, allowing the hand that held the food to rest upon his knee. Finally he shook his head and said, “I will not answer your question, only say I am telling no lies about what I offer you. It will not bind you to Plutos.”
“I do not believe you.”
“You cannot escape me,” Hades said, sounding both amused and exasperated rather than angry, “so what does it matter whether you eat and drink of the food of Plutos? Nonetheless, I will swear to you on anything you wish me to swear on, that nothing you eat or drink will bind you to my realm. I can and will hold you in different ways. The food”—he paused to chuckle and shake his head again—“will do you no harm, no, not even if you ate six pomegranate seeds…had I a pomegranate to offer you, which I do not, and could eating six seeds provide enough nourishment to keep a person alive, which they could not.”
Since she was not very hungry and she was infuriated by the condescending amusement in his voice, Persephone turned her head away, nose in the air. Oddly, despite her protests, she did believe the food was harmless. Now, in the light of his laughter, she saw how silly was that cautionary tale of the maiden who had been trapped in Plutos by eating only six little seeds after being lured with sparkling jewels… Outraged, Persephone gasped.
That black-eyed demon had used the device in his own tall tale to catch her. By the moment it seemed more likely that he had set the lies about himself—or had them spread by others—to keep safe wealth beyond counting. A sidelong glance caught the sword that lay beside him. The scabbard was aglitter with gold wire and jewels; the guard and hilt of the weapon looked as if it had been a solid sapphire the size of a baby’s head which had been carved into shape and holed in the center for the tang of the blade.
Now that she had turned her head and freed herself from the demands of his eyes, she saw that the walls of the cave glittered, likely with raw gems. There was reason enough to spread rumors that would keep the curious and the greedy out of Plutos. Thus the tales that circulated about fools who had entered the endless caverns, become lost in the maze, and finally been forced to eat and drink the produce of the dead and by contamination “doomed to join cold Hades’s minions though yet alive.”
The words of warning rang in her mind—only she knew Hades was not cold. She pushed the knowledge away, drawing on her resentment, which was increased by the sound of chewing and the glug-glug as the contents of a wineskin were transferred to a cup. Her mouth watered and she set her teeth. She would not give him the satisfaction of asking for what she had just refused. She sat still, staring at the wall, waiting for him to plead with her to eat and drink.
A scritch on the stone floor brought her head around, a hand outstretched toward him off, but he was only pushing the laden basket closer to her.
“I will leave the basket where you can reach it.” His voice was dull and he did not look at her. “I have been hard at work for many days—the food and fleeces did not come here by chance—and I am tired.”
He made a gesture and lay down. Persephone looked away again, uncertain whether she should be angry because he had not urged her to eat or seem concerned about whether she did or grateful because he was pretending to need sleep so that she could salve her pride and eat without asking him. She glanced at him, but the hypnotic black eyes were closed and she could not tell from where she sat whether he was truly asleep. She looked away, knowing from her own experience that one could feel watchful eyes, but she could not resist stealing another glance at his face. Was it still handsome when the eyes did not bind her?
To her surprise, she found she could not make out the features clearly. She glanced around. The walls showed no sparkling gems now. Heart pounding, she raised her eyes to the ceiling. The glow was dimming. Even as she watched, what had been golden dimmed to a dull orange. Her lips parted to cry out to Hades to bring back the light, and then she clamped them shut. She was no child to be afraid of the dark. If this was his way of punishing her, he would get little satisfaction. He was the one who had places to go, things to do. She could outwait him, even in the dark.
Chapter 2
Hades had not the slightest intention of punishing Persephone. He had completely forgotten that she might react differently than those accustomed to the loss of light. He had dismissed the power that caused the crystal to glow out of habit, because he was not thinking clearly and because he had spoken somewhat less than the truth when he said he was tired.
The truth was that he was totally exhausted by the mixture of physical effort and emotional turmoil he had suffered over the last few weeks. His doubts over what he was doing had drained him, and this day had brought him to the limit of his strength. Because there was no cave that opened to the surface near enough, Hades had brought his prize down through the rock itself into this small bubble.
Weariness dragged at him, setting the weight of mountains on his eyelids, and he put aside a small anxiety about the openings he had noticed. There was no passage to the surface. He had told Persephone the truth, that the way home for her was up through the roof. Even if she found a passage, Hades thought, she would not dare to leave—and if she did, he could find her.
Yet even when the last glow faded beyond his closed eyes and the comforting dark enwrapped him, Hades could not sleep. The emotional battle he had fought was more exhausting than his physical exertion. Disappointment was like a knife, pricking him into spasms of regret. Perhaps if he had not taken Persephone by force… But Zeus had said she would not consent, even if she desired to accept what he offered, because she feared her mother, who dominated and oppressed her. And that much was true; she had not even had a name when he had taken her.
Disjointed scenes of what had driven him to act flicked through Hades’s mind. The plot had its beginning in midwinter, when he had learned that the supplies of grain would not last until spring and no more could be expected becau
se of the bad crops in the outer realms. He had realized then that Plutos must have its own grain, its own goats and sheep and cattle—which meant fodder to feed them; that is, more grain. The time had come to call in the favors that Zeus owed him.
That scene came back, playing itself out behind Hades’s closed eyes as if he were living it. Zeus had not been pleased to see him appear unannounced in the inner rooms of his palace—an unspoken warning that Zeus’s triumph over Kronos was largely due to Hades’s opening the way into Olympus—a feat he could accomplish again. Nonetheless, no particular expression changed Zeus’s handsome face. They scarcely looked like brothers, Hades had thought irrelevantly. Although they were both tall and strong, Zeus was as blond as their mother Rhea, with glorious, softly curling golden hair and blue eyes as light and keen as the bolts of energy he could gather and throw.
All Zeus said, however, when Hades announced he had come to call in long-due favors, was, “So long as you do not ask my life, my kingdom, or my honor, I will do all in my power to grant any favor you desire.”
“Could I get some advice first?” Hades had asked, grinning.
Zeus had laughed aloud and clapped him on the shoulder, exclaiming, “What? You expect me to tell you how to get the most out of me? Is that fair?” But Hades had noticed that the blue eyes were wary despite the laughter.
Still, when Hades made it plain the desire for advice was not all in jest, Zeus had led him to a small, private chamber off the back of the great hall, waved him to a seat, and poured wine. He had listened seriously to Hades’s explanation of his problem, but when Hades finished, “So I must ask of you a priestess of the Corn Goddess so that I can build my own temple and Plutos can partake of the mystery of raising grain,” Zeus sighed heavily.
“That was what I feared you would ask.”
“Feared?” Hades echoed. “I do not think it so great a difficulty for you to convince the high priestess to send one of her consecrated women to me. Her mystery would not be allowed to pass out of my realm. And you know well enough that there would be nothing for her to fear in Plutos. My people would welcome her. She would have her choice of acolytes—”
“The problem is not with Plutos,” Zeus interrupted sourly. “The trouble is between Demeter and me.”
Hades closed his eyes for a moment. “Another cast-off mistress?”
“No. I have more sense than to toy with the high priestess of the Corn Goddess. In fact, to give assurances of my good will, I offered to take her to wife and make her equal with Hera. How should I have known that her lover, Iasion, had been killed in the fighting when we took Olympus and that she would be infuriated by my offer instead of flattered?” Zeus snorted with disgust. “I did not kill the man. Why blame me?”
“I suppose because he would have survived if you had not started a war,” Hades remarked dryly. “And perhaps after she refused you, she became afraid you would drive her out as you did Kronos’s favorites.”
“I thought of that, and I tried to assure her. I went to all the trouble of formally adopting her daughter by Iasion, so that Kore—” Zeus stopped speaking abruptly.
“What girl?” Hades asked.
Zeus lifted his eyes, which he had dropped to stare at the dark wine in his golden cup, and they were bright with intention. “Kore is what Demeter calls her daughter. She has forbidden the naming of the girl. And it is all of a piece with the way Kore is treated. Demeter never lets the poor creature out of her sight, not even to visit me—her own father.”
Unaware of what he was doing, Zeus touched his lips with the tip of his tongue. Although he said nothing, Hades thought that Demeter might be wise to forbid her daughter to visit Zeus. At the same time, he found his own body responding to Zeus’s sensual gesture, thinking that the daughter of the chief priestess—Hades could not bring himself to call her Kore—must be a luscious morsel to stimulate Zeus even in her absence.
“The girl,” Zeus was saying, “is allowed no congress with men, and she is more than twenty years of age…” He hesitated, then smiled broadly. “I am her father. I have the right of giving her in marriage. And she is a beautiful creature, all golden—hair, eyes, skin—beautiful! Take her to wife, Hades. You will be doing her a great kindness to free her from her bondage to her mother.”
“I need a priestess, not a wife, however beautiful,” Hades pointed out. “I do not need another mouth to feed—and one who is in no danger in her native place—”
“But she is!” Zeus interrupted. “Not in danger, her mother loves her well—too well, I think. I meant that Kore is a full priestess. Dorkas was complaining to me the other day that Demeter neglects her duties, pushing all the preparations and prayers onto Kore. The only trouble will be getting hold of her, for Demeter would never let her go. Why should she, when it would mean she would have to perform her duties herself? You will have to abduct her in secret.”
* * * *
Hades’s eyelids quivered, but he did not permit himself to open them or to turn his head to look toward Persephone. He had argued with Zeus over the idea of abduction, but not very hard, perhaps not hard enough. He had been stirred by Zeus’s half-concealed excitement. He had wanted to see—to have—Demeter’s daughter; he had wanted to be convinced.
Now Hades recalled Zeus’s enthusiasm with a sinking heart. He knew Zeus was a manipulative devil, and he should have suspected such eager compliance. At the time, he had only been relieved that Zeus had not denied him with the very reasonable protest that the corn mystery was not his to give or to withhold. He had been content, thinking that Zeus was eager to fulfill his pledge with a favor that cost him nothing. But that was true, Hades thought, the cloud of despair that had been covering him lifting a little, and Zeus had obtained the additional advantage of revenge on Demeter.
Nor was Zeus’s tale all lies; Persephone had no name until he named her—and she had accepted the name, accepted it eagerly. And then, to cheer him further, Hades heard a small sound as the basket moved. A little while later he smelled the spices of the meat roll as she opened the leaves. An enormous relief eased the tension in his muscles. She had taken food. She believed he wished her no harm. If she had come so far in a few hours, surely he would be able to draw her the whole way—into trust, perhaps into fondness. Lifted on a wave of hope, Hades slept.
* * * *
Unfortunately he slept in ignorance of the truth. Persephone was eating and, when she found a full cup of wine propped in the corner of the basket, drinking, not because she was becoming reconciled to her fate but because she hoped to escape it.
She had sat at first with closed eyes, because it was easier to endure the dark with her eyes closed; she could tell herself that when she opened them it would not be so black, it would be no darker than her own shuttered room at night. It seemed to her that she sat for hours and hours without moving, although she suspected less time had passed, knowing well how time could drag when there was something unpleasant waiting.
She listened intently—after some time she could have sworn that her entire body had become one open ear—but heard nothing from Hades beyond a soft sigh now and again. The last breath she heard was longer and deeper. He had fallen asleep, she thought resentfully. He does not care whether or not I eat, and he does not fear that I can escape him. She was so angry that she forgot the utter lack of light and her eyes popped open as she turned her head to look at him.
He could not see her reproach; his eyes were closed. But lacking the amused laughter in them, his face was less hard and much sadder than she remembered, the fine lips turning down at the corners. Black lashes swept pale cheeks, the skin so white it showed almost bluish until it disappeared under his black beard. Faint gleams showed from the jeweled clothing and his hand lay slightly away from his body, stretched toward her, palm up as if begging for her hand to be laid in it.
He really does want me, Persephone thought, and had to clench her hand to resist the appeal. She tore her eyes away from him, looking down as if to be sure she
did not betray herself. Her hands were pale against her dress, which appeared black in the dim light. Dim light? Persephone drew a short, hard breath. How could there be any light? Her eyes flew up, but the roof was utterly black. Yet there was light lower down. Her glance swept the walls and stopped at a narrow fissure from which came a dim ice-blue glow.
Persephone almost laughed aloud at the accidental frustration of Hades’s attempt to discipline her. Clearly he had lighted the cave as he entered it and had never noticed that his path from the outer world was betrayed by a gleam of light. Her teeth caught her lip hard to repress a cry of joy. His path from the outer world would be her path to it.
She grasped the cloak that still lay warmly over her knees, and started to pull it aside and rise, but then she paused. She had better be certain he was deeply asleep, not just drifting on the surface. It might not be possible for her to cross the cave and get into the narrow passage in absolute silence. If he were deeply asleep, a small noise might not waken him, whereas anything might alert him out of a doze. However, she found it very hard to wait, now that she had seen her escape route, and she tended to keep watching Hades, in case he should wake and see the light.
Realizing that watching him might disturb him, she sought another target for her eyes and soon found the basket. Since she was hungry, she decided she might as well eat. If he heard anything, the sounds of her unwrapping and chewing might well reassure him and send him into deeper sleep. She found several of the leaf-covered rolls immediately, and beside them a large wedge-shape that she thought must be cheese.
The light was too dim to see what was below the edge of the basket, so she explored lightly with her fingers. A round form she decided from the feel must be bread, although the loaf was much smaller than any with which she was familiar, and beside it—Persephone had to bite her lip again to keep back another cry, this time of surprise. Beside the bread was a knife. She hesitated before she explored that. Would a man who had abducted a woman leave a knife for her to find?
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