Persephone shuddered and then steadied. He might wish to keep her to spite Hades, and to keep Demeter to make Zeus and Olympus suffer, but he would not dare kill them. That would make both Hades and Zeus into such bitter enemies—not to mention Athena and Ares and all the other mages who would know there was no more hope of saving their city and their luxurious way of life—that they would join together to kill him. Poseidon was not likely to overlook the fact that even the protection of the sea could not shield him from all the great mages linked together in rage.
Hope buoyed her up; fear cast her down. Persephone hid in her room and got through the rest of that day, but the time dragged so horribly that she decided to fulfill her mother’s expectations and go into town the next morning. At least it would give her something to do and keep new questions out of Demeter’s mind.
By habit, she went to Eulimine’s house. Once there, however, she found herself too fearful—with escape almost within her grasp—to make idle conversation lest she unwittingly betray herself. Glancing around in the hope something she saw would present a safe subject, her eye caught the vessel she had prevented Eulimine from finishing, still on the drying rack. Persephone immediately insisted on paying for it, saying, when Eulimine protested payment was unnecessary, that she was taking no chances of bringing ill luck on herself for breaking a promise, no matter how silly.
Having paid, she carried her prize—with difficulty—away to Pontoporeia’s house, setting it on the table.
The sun was still barely above the hills to the east, so she whiled away some more time cutting into strips for bandaging her mother’s face and head—or for tying and gagging her if necessary—cloth she had bought over the past moon and concealed behind Pontoporeia’s discarded clothes. When the strips were folded and hidden inside the litter, she left the house. As she stepped out, she stopped abruptly and looked out over the warehouses and storage sheds below the cliff toward the sea, certain she had heard her name. Who would call her from the sea? Cyros? What could Cyros want?
She scanned the road as far as she could see it, but it was empty. And then she swallowed hard. Cyros would not call her Persephone. He had never heard that name and called her “lady.” Someone from the court?
Persephone ran to the edge of the hill, not wishing to be caught standing in front of Pontoporeia’s house. Far out to sea was a ship making for harbor. She pulled her eyes away to scan right and left, looked down the hill again. No one. Then she caught her breath. Why had she come to the edge of the cliff? Normally she would have run the other way, toward the town. She snapped her shield tight. The pull on her, a hardly perceptible drawing, was cut. Someone wanted her down on the docks. Who? Why? Trembling with fear, she turned away from the cliff and hurried back toward the palace.
As she neared the gate, however, Persephone found herself walking more and more slowly, reluctant to enter. If she went in, would she ever be allowed out? Could her mother be so cruel as to let her expend so much care and thought to regain her freedom and snatch away her chance for escape at the last moment? But Demeter would not think it cruel; she would think of it as teaching her daughter a lesson, Persephone was tempted to go back to the town, but she knew that escape was impossible—or would only create a worse disaster in the long run—if she did not bring Demeter with her.
In any case, going back to the town would not solve her problem, Persephone thought, still walking forward slowly. If Demeter did know her plans and she did not come to the noon meal as she had promised, her mother would begin to look for her. She had no place to hide; the scryers would find her. And she did not know for certain that her plans had been exposed. In fact, she doubted Demeter would call her “Persephone” even to set a trap. All she had felt was her name and a pull on her—she drew a sudden deep breath. Yes, a pull…from the sea. Her eyes widened. Poseidon?
Persephone bit her lip. She had been noticing that he was looking her over again, less with real interest than with a kind of puzzled doubt. She had done her best not to draw his notice, but possibly her recent hope of escape had made her less careful. She gnawed her lip a little harder. If the calling had been generated by Poseidon, dare she go back to the palace? Yes. She was as safe there as anywhere else on Aegina since no one, except possibly her mother, who was in the palace, would dare protect her from him.
Her pace quickened. Whether her mother had sent that caller as some kind of trap for her or Poseidon had wished to lure her into a hidden cove along the beach, or whether she had imagined the whole thing, she must not give any cause for suspicion. She must go in; she must look happy; she must behave as normally as possible and try to discover who had tried to “call” her and for what purpose.
Persephone suspected that her pretense at ease and happiness did not deceive her mother, but instead of questioning her, Demeter looked rather smug. Persephone was now sure the calling had been part of some clever design of her mother’s that she was too weak and stupid ever to understand. She had been played with, teased with the illusion of being strong and clever. She nearly choked in her attempt to eat and felt so worthless that she nearly wept with gratitude when her mother deigned to notice her and ask if she were ready to leave. She rose with alacrity, went to fetch her cloak, and met her mother at the northern gate, on the opposite side of the palace to the one she usually used.
As soon as they were well away, Demeter said, “You fool! Have I not told you a million times that men bring nothing but grief? I never thought my daughter could be such a slave to lust. Barely have I weaned you from craving that monster Hades when you entangle yourself with a—a clod of a native.”
Open eyed, open mouthed, Persephone stumbled along beside Demeter without the smallest protest. In fact, she was so stunned by relief when she realized that her plan of escape had not been fathomed or betrayed, that her mother believed her fear and anxiety was owing to a lover’s quarrel, that she had to be mute or roar with inexplicable laughter. All the way to the shrine, Demeter enlarged on her daughter’s imagined quarrel with her lover. She pointed out in a double handful of different ways that what Kore called imprisonment was her loving mother’s effort to shield her daughter against what she was now suffering. If Kore had only taken to heart her mother’s advice and remained a dutiful daughter, she would be happy now instead of hurt and grieved.
Persephone was far too grateful that her secret was undetected to object to her mother’s scolding, even though it went on and on all during the long walk over the hill behind the palace, past the farms, and into the woods that clothed the lower flank of the mountain she could see from her window. After she was sure the scolding was genuine and not a lure to draw her into a confession that she did not have a lover, she hardly heard it. Her mind had gone back to her real problem and was full of new doubts about what she had felt outside Pontoporeia’s house, whether she should try to avoid Poseidon until he left the palace or try to escape at once. When they came to the shrine, however, the scolding mother yielded to the dedicated priestess and Persephone’s attention was suddenly fixed.
The shrine was no more than an open-sided shed housing a small wooden statue, roughly carved, but Persephone could see Demeter change. Even tight-locked within herself, she could perceive her mother’s devotion and she gathered in her shield and opened herself. The Mother was here! Warmth and love bathed her and calmed her. She became sure she need not fear that call from the sea. The Goddess approved of her and would help and protect her. Beyond that, her mother, praying with rapt face, was all golden to her eyes. Demeter had her faults, but she was a true priestess and accepted by the Mother; she could not be evil.
Persephone’s love poured out to the Goddess and the Mother’s strength flooded back in. She heard a sharp indrawn breath and vaguely saw movement, but she was enwrapped in power and she drank and drank and drank until she was fuller than she had ever been and the excess streamed out around her, making her skin tingle and her hair lift and crackle with energy.
The river of power was
hed once more around her. Warmth changed to dangerous heat; still Persephone stood in adoration, and before she was burned, the power was withdrawn. She was released. For a moment longer she stood adoring Her Lady. Then she blinked…and wondered why she had been filled to bursting when there were no priestesses to feed. And her mother, staring with dilated eyes, voiced Persephone’s question and whispered, “Why?”
Since she had no better knowledge than Demeter, Persephone sidestepped the question and said, “I am consecrated to Her, even as you are, mother. I am Her high priestess in Her temple in Plutos.”
“It is too soon for you,” Demeter cried. “It was my place you were designed to take in the fullness of time. That was the purpose in my conceiving you.”
Satisfied that she had diverted her mother from her original question, Persephone chuckled and shook her head. “Perhaps it was your purpose, mother, but the Goddess has Her Own purposes.”
Demeter stared at her daughter, around whom there was still a glow of power. She half lifted a hand, as if to ward off Persephone’s words, then her lips set. “How foolish I am to ask you why,” she snapped. “I am Her high priestess and understand Her best. She gave to you because we were together, to show that we will both be enriched as long as we are one. You are unshielded now, not selfishly trying to withhold your Gift from me. That is why you were blessed.”
Persephone’s lips parted, but she did not speak. A sharp blade of doubt pierced her, but the knife was withdrawn in the same moment as she remembered how the Goddess filled her in the temple in Plutos. The memory brought soothing, the Mother’s gentle hand spread a healing salve over the hurt of being called selfish. Then she felt, faintly, as if from a distance a command to be strong, to resist her mother’s attempt to dominate her. The Goddess’s assurance? But the touch was different somehow, darker and carrying a touch of a cold, black fury foreign to the Mother; Her anger, more dreadful when aroused, was scorching red. Persephone would have pursued the faint touch despite the warning, but her mother was talking again, and shaking her lightly, which broke Persephone’s concentration.
“What did you say, mother?”
“That I do not know what to do with you. We cannot go back to the palace while you are glowing like hot embers. Even a common person could feel you, and to Poseidon you will shine like the sun.”
“You have forgotten,” Persephone said, smiling. “I have only to withdraw within my shield and my Gift will be locked inside.”
“You would not dare close yourself off from me again,” Demeter said. “Not after this proof of the Goddess’s approval of our union in her service.”
The doubt pricked Persephone again, because of the wealth of power with which she had been infused. Much more had been given her in her mother’s presence—yet she was not denied strength when she was alone. And then she sighed as understanding came. The rich flood was the Goddess’s promise that she would always have enough—enough to ease her mother’s burden each planting season if Demeter were willing to make peace with Zeus, enough to feed the priestesses of Olympus as well as Plutos if Demeter refused to be pacified with the half-loaf of her daughter’s presence for a few weeks each year. She smiled and held out her hand.
“The peace of the Goddess is in me. Until we come near the palace where I must hide my Gift from Poseidon, I will not shut you out.”
Chapter 19
Persephone had indeed been granted peace. She replied with such smiling patience to her mother’s jibes, threats, and promises on the long walk home, that after a time Demeter fell silent, glancing at her now and again with a troubled frown.
“You are like a sated beast,” she burst out at last.
“I feel rather like one,” Persephone replied agreeably.
In fact, her mother would have needed to hit her with a stick to break her calm. Her one doubt had been about the effect of the extra power when she closed her shield, but it seemed to mitigate the deadness she hated rather than distress her further by battering against the barrier. However, she did feel very tired when they reached the palace and not at all in need of eating. Within her, a presence urged that she sleep, and this time she was sure the touch was that of the Goddess.
She excused herself from her mother and made her way toward her chamber. Outside the throne room, she sidestepped a large figure without raising her eyes from the ground. Insulated both by the deadening her shield created and the sense of peace within her, she did not feel the attention that pursued her down the corridor and watched her door close.
“She is a very strange person,” Poseidon said to Nerus. “Mostly she is plain as a closed oyster, but when she first came she glowed like a true pearl and even now I sometimes catch a glimpse of a glowing nacre.” He shrugged. “When I have time, and when Demeter no longer cares—she has her doubts already, I know—I will force open the shell that encloses her daughter and see what is within.”
“Lord,” Nerus breathed, “you cannot keep Lady Persephone. I have seen that she will rule long by Hades’s side.”
“What?” Poseidon caught at the old man’s shoulder and the strange, fishlike eyes rolled in agony.
“I cannot change my visions,” Nerus gasped. “What you do not like is yet for your good.”
“I did not mean to hurt you,” Poseidon said, relaxing his grip. “I was only surprised by what you said. So, she goes back to Hades, does she? Do you see whether he wants her back or must take her?”
“She rules beside him. That is all I know.”
“Rules? Truly rules?”
“Yes, lord.”
Poseidon’s bottom lip thrust forward. “So despite the fact he has done nothing to retrieve her for all these moons, Hades loves her. What else have you foreseen? Is there some danger in my association with her?”
“Nothing. I have seen nothing that shows any binding between you, nor any danger from her…nor from Hades.”
“Good enough. I desire no bond with the woman, only a taste or two of her flesh and a solution to the mystery of why she has the glow of fine gold at one moment and the look of tarnished brass another.”
Nerus said nothing. He felt no compulsion to volunteer any information that did not affect his master’s safety, particularly when he suspected the information would be unwelcome and knew it could not affect the end result.
Poseidon was looking past him in the direction of Persephone’s chamber when he suddenly laughed. “If I must give her up to my brother, I can at least sour his joy in her.”
He started to brush past Nerus, but the old man caught at his arm. “Lord, if you do not start now, you will not come in time to keep your promise to Amphitrite to be there for the celebration of Rhode’s birthday.”
Not pleased at being reminded of a duty, even a pleasant one, Poseidon made no reply. Irritation momentarily heightened his impulse to work off part of his long-held grudge against Hades by seducing—or, if necessary, forcing—Persephone. With a toss of his head, he started down the long corridor, leaving Nerus behind. The old man watched him, his fishlike eyes intent, and by the time Poseidon reached Persephone’s door, he had reconsidered. It would be a shame to disappoint his wife, who rarely left her palace in the sea and even more rarely interfered with him, and his daughter was a gentle creature who would take joy in his visit. Persephone could wait.
By the time Poseidon had reached the pool in his room, he had forgotten all about Persephone. Nerus, who had followed his master down the corridor, was the one who hesitated by Persephone’s door, a slightly puzzled expression on his face. He did not linger, however, merely shook his head, wondering why he had taken such a foolish and dangerous chance as to tamper with his master’s will.
Persephone slept peacefully, insulated against both hopes and fears, all evening and right through the night. She woke very early. Dawn was barely lightening the sky. She lay, everything that had happened clear in her mind, and then sat up and hugged her knees. What she had to do before she somehow induced her mother to come into the t
own so she could abduct her was arrange for passage off Aegina.
First she must make sure that the two ships Cyros named would sail the next day. It would be best if she herself could speak to the masters of the vessels and see whether either one had available a private cabin. But how? She did not dare go near the dock. Or did she? Thinking of booking passage reminded her of what she had said to Pontoporeia. An old servant woman could ask questions, even pay for a passage, for her mistress. And no one would see Persephone become the old woman inside the bespelled house. Heaven knew, after the Goddess’s gift she had enough power to charge the spell for years.
Perhaps if she left now, before sunrise, which she had never done before, the scryer assigned to watch her might not yet be awake. Would that matter? Did the scryer search by appearance or by some other characteristic? The faint trace of her Gift? She had never worn her shield in town because there were so few Gifted she did not believe any could detect her power or dare report it if it were detected. But today she would. Persephone rose and dressed hurriedly. If she could get to Pontoporeia’s house without being noticed, she could certainly change her outer appearance. With her shield up, the scryer might miss her altogether.
Because it was chilly, Persephone was able to pull the hood of her cloak well over her face and wrap the garment around her more closely than she had in the past few weeks. Fortunately two other women, also well wrapped, were waiting for the guard to open the gate, and she merely passed through behind them. The piece of good luck confirmed her intention of altering herself if she could, and she walked slowly, falling behind the other women and thinking hard about how she might accomplish such a purpose.
Ahead she saw the women start aside and make a wide pass around a huddled figure in a tattered brown robe on the grass verge. A beggar on this road? She had seen beggars in the town but never on the road, and she suspected that they were not permitted so near the palace. Full of her own hope, she fumbled in her purse for a small piece of metal determined to warn the poor creature that the palace guards might drive him away. Persephone had the metal in her hand, her arm already reaching out as she drew abreast of the beggar.
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