For the Love of Hades (The Loves of Olympus)

by Sasha Summers

  He turned from her, saying, “He is most dedicated to your mother, I hear.”

  “Would that she’d marry him,” her answer was swift. He turned to her, saw her eyes go round as she stared at him. “Forgive me. That was impertinent.”

  “It was,” he agreed, nodding. But a smile escaped him. She saw it and answered in kind. Her smile was bright and warm. Such a smile. “Do you speak to him this way?”

  “No. Only you.” She shook her head. “You unleash my tongue and make me babble like a brook. A habit I’m sure you’ve become painfully aware of. I fear such… honesty would do little to endear me to him.”

  He watched her, savoring every word, every nuance, of her being.

  “Then he is a fool. Honesty is a virtue to be revered.” This Erysichthon would have years to learn her expressions, her sighs and smiles, her laughter. “Honesty is but a gift, one your husband is few amongst men to have.”

  She moved towards him, almost timidly. Her scent hit him, flooding him with each breath he took. He tightened, drawing himself rigid as he looked down at her. Did she see how she unsettled him? He hoped not.

  Her voice was a whisper. “Is honesty the virtue you value most, Hades?”

  His gaze fell from hers, but he nodded.

  “Then you shall always hear it from my lips, I vow.”

  He lifted his eyes. She stood so close he could touch her. He could stroke one silken copper lock, or cup the smooth softness of her golden cheek. His eyes did what his hands could not, traveling over her hair, her face… her lips. He remembered the cling of her lips all too well.

  He closed his eyes, seeking control. It was a memory he favored above all others. But it must remain just that, a memory. He’d come to say good-bye, to apologize to her. And then, he pleaded with the Fates, he would be released from this strange… obsession that plagued him so.

  His eyes held hers. “My words, when last we met… I should not have berated you. It was not my place.”

  She blinked, her lower lip trembling. “You were right to scold me. The grass would grow, the flowers bloom, without me.”

  He shook his head, self-loathing near choking him. He swallowed, speaking softly. “No. You honor Olympus with your gifts. You fulfill your duties, Persephone. Bring growth and renewal. It is an important task, you are important, to all who live.” His throat grew tight as he added. “Forgive my temper. It was misplaced.”

  He’d never seen such a smile. How she was capable of such emotion, such joy, with such a simple gesture astonished him. He drew in a deep breath, near trembling as her scent filled him once more.

  “I forgive you.”

  It was done. She’d forgiven him and he was free. He could leave her, should leave her. She would be well guarded by this Erysichthon of Thessaly. Demeter was careful with her daughter.

  And yet, he would see her happy. He wanted more for her, a marriage beyond that of Zeus and Hera’s deceitful and jealous match… beyond his own… In time, she would be happy, surely? “You will marry this mortal?”

  She drew in breath. “Of course… As you reminded me, my mother’s will demands fealty. I would be a good daughter, and a good wife, and obey.”

  Her words did not satisfy him. “He is a good man? He will look after you?”

  She frowned, shaking her head. “From what little I know of him, yes. He is, by all word and deed, an honorable man. Does it matter?” She paused. “To you?”

  He knew what his answer should be. He should tell her that her marriage was a reflection on Olympus, and the Gods. He should tell her that such an alliance would benefit Thessaly. But he did not speak, for fear of the truth slipping out.

  Chapter Eight

  “And who would you be?” Erysichthon spoke with surprising menace.

  Hades spun, standing between Persephone and her betrothed, to regard the man. Erysichthon did not pause, but drew close enough to tower over Hades, bumping him with his broad chest. Hades smiled up at the man, torn between admiration and amusement. The man was brave, or foolish.

  Erysichthon scowled in return, his thick brows furrowing deeply while his face turned an alarming shade of red.

  “Peace, your majesty,” Persephone spoke, her voice soothing. He knew that tone. It was the tone she’d used when healing the tree, in the meadow. Hades longed to push her back behind him. “You speak to…” She came around him, holding her hands out in supplication.

  “You will keep your opinions to yourself, woman,” Erysichthon interrupted her, grabbing her arm and pulling her behind him. “It’s obvious he’s here with the intention of stealing you away.”

  That this mortal manhandled her so was an outrage. Hades could do nothing more than stare at him. The bastard. This… this mortal… Demeter thought this man worthy of her daughter? Was she blind?

  Persephone was watching him. He saw the surprise upon her face, the worry clouding her eyes. His hands fisted, the freezing heat pricking the skin of his palms. King or no, he would see this man put in his place. She shook her head, ever so slightly.

  Erysichthon continued, his finger jabbing Hades’ chest. “Are you from Thrace or Sparta?”

  “I am neither, mighty King.” Hades tore his gaze from Persephone’s, offering her no assurance. If this mortal sought only her safe keeping, he would be appeased, a bit. His gaze drifted, narrowing at the sight of Erysichthon’s hand tight about Persephone’s golden arm.

  He glanced at her again. The shake of her head was not so subtle this time.

  He drew in a deep breath, willing the fight from his palms. He would test this mortal himself, and see if he was worthy of Persephone’s hand. “I’m but a traveler.”

  “You?” Erysichthon’s gaze swept him from head to toe. He snorted, clearly disbelieving. “A traveler? Well, traveler. Be on your way. You trespass on my land.”

  “I was seeking Demeter’s grove. Am I mistaken? Are these not her cypress trees?” Hades’ eyes narrowed. “I would pay homage to the Goddess.”

  Erysichthon laughed, loudly. “All of Thessaly is mine, traveler. If you would commune with the Goddess, you may do so… when I am finished here.”

  Hades met the man’s gaze, at once struck by the hue of his eyes. They glowed, almost imperceptibly.

  He glanced at Persephone then, torn. She was clearly horrified by Erysichthon’s speech. No mortal, king or no, could claim such dominion over Demeter’s grove. And all of Greece knew it. “I had no knowledge of such an arrangement…”

  “You know of it now,” Erysichthon stooped, his face inches from Hades. “Be gone with you.”

  Persephone stepped forward, softly pleading, “Your majesty…”

  He held his arm up, forcing her behind him. “Hold your tongue, woman.”

  Hades would kill him. His hands tightened, burning cold. His body tensed, welcoming the challenge before him. He smiled when Erysichthon, too, seemed to tighten and ready.

  “Be gone, or I will make you go,” Erysichthon bit out.

  Hades glanced at her then. She shook her head fiercely, her eyes round and pleading. She would see no bloodshed. She asked him to spare this man.

  He stepped back, though every muscle in his body rebelled.

  She sighed, smiling her thanks. She gripped Erysichthon’s arm. “Come, my king, let us find our way back to our feast.”

  Hades would not look at the man, for fear of sending his soul straight to Tartarus.

  “You, traveler, will leave. Now,” Erysichthon growled at Hades.

  Hades watched, fighting his fury as Erysichthon’s meaty hand grabbed Persephone’s arm. He stared, stunned as the mortal pulled her along behind him.

  He could not stand by. He took one step, but she turned back.

  “No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “Please.”

  He shook his head, shifting from one foot to the next. He made no effort to keep the anger from his face. He had no restraint left, his jaw tightening as he sucked in breath sharply.

  She smiled at him t
hen, before Erysichthon pulled her down a line of cypress trees and out of his sight.

  He did not hesitate. He had a long journey ahead of him, and little time to make it. He whistled, leaving Theron to watch over Persephone as he readied for Olympus.

  ###

  Erysichthon could not ease the grip upon her arm. His fear was too great. He’d awakened, from dreams full of her, only to find her missing. And that man… that man had been with her, speaking to her, walking with her… alone. His anger choked him.

  He stopped, turning to regard her.

  She was breathing heavily, her cheeks tinged red from the rapid pace he’d set. He moved forward, gripping her shoulders in his hands. She was there, in his hold.

  He smiled down at her, savoring the feel of her beneath his hands.

  “My lord,” she gasped, shrugging against his grip. “I… I demand you release me.”

  Erysichthon chuckled, admiring her spirit. “You demand?” He shook his head. “We return to my home, Persephone, to wed. I will not have you stolen and ransomed against me by my enemies. There will be no more delaying things.”

  She was surprised, he could tell. But not displeased. His eyes traveled over her, astounded by how dear she’d become to him. When it had happened, or how, he did not know. She was more dear to him than anything. And he would not lose her to another. He lifted a strand of her hair and wrapped it about his wrist.

  She pulled her hair back. “My lord…”

  He grabbed her then, lifting her off of her feet. “You would be wise not to tease me, blossom. You’ve possessed me. Each time I look upon you, I see more clearly that you are mine. And now, I’ve awoken with a powerful hunger for you. You will not deny me.” He spoke the truth. And he would brook no arguments from her. “You are mine,” he murmured, pulling her close. He bent his head, his lips descending eagerly upon hers.

  She twisted, whispering, “I am not yours. I will not marry a man who has so little respect for me, a Goddess…”

  He shook her roughly, startling her into silence. He settled her over his shoulder and smacked her soundly on her rump. “Hush, woman. Or I’ll find a way to keep you quiet.”

  She did not move, but hung limply over his shoulder. He smiled.

  He stroked the line of her leg, felt her tremble. She wanted him, too.

  He ignored his men, letting them rally behind them, as he made his way to his home. He’d not thought his marriage would give him such joy, but he could not remember a time when he’d been happier.

  He swept into the great hall, smiling and nodding at all he passed.

  “Make ready for a wedding,” he bellowed over his shoulder. “This very eve.”

  She squirmed then, but he smacked her and she stilled.

  They reached her room and he threw open the door. “Do your chambers please you, blossom?”

  He lifted her again, setting her on her feet before him. There were tears in her green eyes.

  “What is it, my sweet?” His hand cupped her cheek, smiling when she shivered. “If I injured you, I am sorry. Blame my carelessness on my craving for you. I fear I may not make it through the ceremony, my wanting for you is so great.”

  She blinked, her lower lip quivering in earnest now.

  “I’ll leave you now.” He smiled and patted her cheek. “For but a moment.”

  He all but ran to his chambers. Never had he felt so giddy, so impatient. He hurried, making himself ready for his bride. Once he had bathed and groomed, he regarded his reflection in the looking glass Ione had left behind. He straightened his braid, using a handful of olive oil to smooth his thick curls. He rubbed a finger over his brows, his mustache and beard. He would make her proud, his Persephone.

  Green eyes appeared, haunting him. Strange that he should feel so overcome, the need for her almost sending him back to her chamber.

  That he wanted her was a good thing. That the sight of her made him fiercely protective, almost violently so, was mildly troubling. That she seemed to occupy his every thought and breath, that not having her in his sight was painful, was new and puzzling.

  Had he felt so passionately this morning? He could not recall.

  “Wine,” he murmured to the slave.

  His cup was refilled and he drank deeply. It was bitter, stinging his tongue.

  “Is this the draught from the Goddess?” he barked.

  The slave shook his head, “The skin is empty, my lord. This is your own vintage.”

  He grunted and drank, missing the heady richness of Olympus’ gift. But, he supposed, missing wine was better than missing the Goddess herself.

  He paused, looking at his reflection. He tried to pull an image of Demeter from his memory, but found only Persephone. She so fully filled his heart there was room for no other. And today he would marry her. He turned, stretching his arms wide to allow the servants to dress him.

  He all but trembled with anticipation. How would it feel to have these robes removed by his fair wife’s hands? Would she tremble beneath him? Would she fight? Or cry?

  He smiled as his slaves stood back. He was a fine man, a man his Persephone would be proud to call husband. He could hardly wait to hear the words tumble from her full lips.

  “My lord.” The house master entered, his broad face clearly distressed.

  “What is it? There will be no grave news on this day.” He smiled at the man. “Today I shall hear only joyous news.”

  The house master opened his mouth then closed it.

  Erysichthon laughed. “I should declare such a dictate for every day. Should I not?” He turned, well pleased with his image. “Summon your new mistress and bring her to the gardens. I’m of a most impatient mind.”

  The man stepped forward, “But, my lord…”

  Erysichthon glared at the man. “Go. Fetch her immediately.”

  The man whispered, “She is gone.”

  “What?”

  “The lady Persephone is not in her chambers… She is nowhere to be found…”

  Erysichthon froze. She’d been taken, just as he feared. And now he would bring her back… No matter what, he would bring her home.

  His fury rose, a strangled roar escaping him. “Bring me my sword and ready my guard,” he bellowed. “Prepare the feast. There will be a wedding this day.”

  ###

  Persephone crept through the woods, her heart hammering.

  She’d no choice, she reassured herself. She’d no choice but to leave. Her betrothed had a sickness about him she could not discern. He was bewitched, as he’d claimed, but she’d no hand in the bewitching. Indeed, she’d no wish to have anyone so overcome as he appeared to be.

  She stilled, catching her breath. A soft crackle echoed in the underbrush behind her.

  Was she being followed? Had he found her already? Her hands dug deep into the earth, but the earth and roots did not see who followed.

  She could scarcely afford to turn and search it out. She did not know how much ground she’d covered, remaining hidden as she went. She’d scarcely made it from the walls of Erysichthon’s house before she’d heard him cry out. She did not slow or turn back, or pause to decipher his words.

  Would he follow her? She shivered. Would he bring men with him and track her, as she suspected?

  She pushed herself upright, sliding her hand down a tree trunk for balance. A thorn punctured her hand, sliding deep. She hissed, stilling long enough to tear a strip of cloth from her cloak to wrap the wound tightly.

  The tree whispered apologies, saddened by her injury.

  “Worry not, friend. It was no fault of yours,” she whispered in response, pressing her palm against its bark in comfort.

  A snap of a branch, the rustle of leaves, and she saw him, in the shadows.

  Her knees weakened with relief as Hades’ hound came to her. He pressed against her, leaning heavily.

  “I am glad to have you at my side.” She knelt, meeting his golden eyes.

  He pressed his nose to her injured hand and
she nodded, tying a knot and pulling it sharp. Once it was secured, they moved on as silently as possible. The sun rose higher, casting them in thicker shadows, shielding them from discovery. She was thankful to Apollo for his golden orb.

  It was the hound that nudged her on, leading her on silent paws. She followed, caring only that he led her away from Erysichthon.

  They could hear them, though, the faint cries of many men, carried on the wind.

  And while she thought they moved swiftly, it was not her heart that shook her. She realized that it was the earth, beneath her very feet, that trembled. Not from her pounding heart or exhausted lungs, but from man.

  She knelt, peering around the edge of a boulder. If they’d been found, Erysichthon and his men must have circled round behind her, for they seemed to travel from the wrong direction.

  Men, an army of men, were heading north. But these were not Erysichthon’s men… They did not wear the Greek chlamys or hold the round shields of the Hoplite. They carried oblong wicker shields, carved arrows, and serrated swords. They were dressed in black, swathed in layers of fabric that veiled their faces. They were dressed as the men in the meadow… Persians.

  Her throat closed, making breathing difficult.

  There were so many of them. Her eyes drifted over the amassed troops. For their number, they moved with surprisingly little noise.

  Unlike Erysichthon’s men. She and the Persians, likely most of Attica, could hear their advance clearly.

  How far away or how many men he’d brought were unknown, but Erysichthon and his men would soon arrive. The Persians prepared, lining up in formation with hardly a command uttered. They waited, ready for Erysichthon.

  She must do something. She must. Erysichthon would be taken unaware, seeking her, a runaway bride. They would not expect such a force, how could they? And his men…