“None of interest,” Aeacus said. “The end of war brings a lull to your judges’ chambers.”
“Enjoy such idle times as you can. Man seems too eager to find their next conquest.”
Aeacus nodded, though his eyes returned to Persephone.
“Yes?” Hades asked, following Aeacus’ gaze.
“Is she well?”
“She seems to be.” Hades could not stop himself from lingering upon her face, relaxed in sleep.
“I have seen you walking together. Something she’d not been capable of when she first arrived here.”
Hades nodded. It was too soon to think of what she’d endured without rage and helplessness consuming him. But seeing her as she was, at ease, helped.
He turned, unrolling the scroll and spreading it flat upon the table. His eyes scanned the list.
“My lord Hades?” her voice was soft.
“Within,” he answered. He would not go to her, he would not further unman himself before Aeacus.
She joined them, smiling at Aeacus with warmth. As was her way.
“Good evening, Goddess.” Aeacus bowed low.
“Is it?” she asked, her brows rising.
To Hades’ eyes, she looked fragile, and lovely. He turned back to the scroll as she asked, “Have I slept the day away?”
“Sleep is best,” Aeacus offered, “when recovering from illness or injury. Or so my wife believed.”
He was aware of her every move. She moved closer to him, to his side. “Was she right?”
“I believe she was. Though I knew better than to praise her too regularly, for fear of increasing her self-importance.” Aeacus sighed, sounding amused. “But she was a good wife. A devoted mother.”
“And were you a noble husband?” Persephone asked. But Hades saw the panic on her face and the color on her cheeks. She did not wait for Aeacus’ answer, asking instead, “And these are your accounting?”
“Every soul’s story is recorded.” Aeacus paused. “Life’s deeds are weighed, each small thing tipping the scales one way or the other. So such records are necessary–”
“I believe you’ve called them tedious on more than one occasion,” Hades interrupted.
“Oh, they are that,” Aeacus assured him.
“But necessary,” Persephone prompted.
“You were blessed with Olympus’ favor,” Hades said.
Aeacus nodded.
“Tell me how, Aeacus,” Persephone urged. “Please. I’m very fond of stories. I would be delighted, and honored, to hear yours.”
Hades saw the indecision upon Aeacus’ face. When Aeacus glanced his way, Hades nodded his approval. “It is a good story, Aeacus. One worthy of being told.” He was aware of Persephone’s eyes upon him, but fixed his attention on the scroll once more. He’d been too unguarded in Aeacus’ presence. It was unfitting behavior for the one ruling the Underworld.
“It helps to be one of Zeus’ halflings,” Aeacus laughed.
Hades smiled. “It did not hurt.”
“He is… Zeus is your father?” Persephone asked, startled.
“Mine.” Aeacus nodded. “And many others.”
Hades glanced at Persephone. She looked surprised by this news. Perhaps Demeter had not revealed all of Olympus’ affairs to her young daughter. And yet, he knew Demeter had no qualms painting Poseidon a villain. For that, he was grateful.
“My mother was briefly favored by Zeus,” Aeacus began. “In that time, I was born. Hoping to see me safe from Hera’s fits of jealousy, I was placed on an island. Zeus named it after my mother…”
“Aegina?” Persephone asked.
Aeacus nodded. “And my father… Zeus, gave me people to govern. And companionship. It was a blessed time. I had a wise wife at my side and three able sons to help my rule. But they were restless boys, frequently given to pointless rivalries and competition. My youngest, Phocus, was the peacemaker.”
Hades watched her face. With each word, she grew more entranced by Aeacus’ tale. He moved to her side, knowing this story was not one of good fortune alone.
“He was not only a skilled negotiator, he was an athlete as well.” Aeacus shook his head. “And his brothers could not bear the sight of him. The more capable Phocus became, the more bitter his brothers grew. Until they could stand it no more.”
Persephone leaned forward, her eyes round. “But Aeacus, surely…”
“But they did, my lady,” he mumbled, the ancient hurt still evident. “They killed their brother without thought to the consequences.”
Persephone shook her head, “You… you… I’m so sorry.”
Aeacus’ smile was genuine. “It was long ago, Goddess. The pain is but a dim memory now.” He nodded at the scroll on the table. “A memory likely forgotten if not for the scrolls Hades keeps.”
“But that is not the end of your story,” Hades encouraged.
“I banished them,” Aeacus went on.
“Your other sons?” Persephone asked.
Aeacus nodded. “Peleus and Telamon. I could not ignore the heinous crime they’d committed. Whether or not they were my sons, they would face justice.”
She nodded. “A thing easier said than done.”
Hades bit back a smile. She was quick to grasp Aeacus’ strength. “And yet, Aeacus prized justice above all else. And when he died, I hoped he would aid me in the governing of this realm. He carries the keys to the Underworld.” He pointed to the brass circlet tied to Aeacus’ belt. “They unlock not just Tartarus’ gate, but the records room as well. We must preserve our past to–”
“Remember our mistakes,” Persephone finished for him. “If we forget, we learn nothing. And these scrolls?” She stood, moving to the table and studying the parchment. “They hold the stories of all who live here?”
“They do,” Hades affirmed.
“Such stories.” Her voice was soft.
“Some are too tragic to read,” Aeacus assured her.
She made a soft noise of agreement, then said, “But you do honor to them, to remember. For every story has merit, every life purpose, surely?”
Hades drew in a slow breath as her bright green eyes rested upon him. He nodded.
Aeacus cleared his throat, glancing first at him, then at Persephone. “I shall leave you.”
Persephone smiled at him. “Thank you for sharing your story with me, Aeacus. Hades, and those within his realm, are fortunate to have your loyalty.”
Aeacus bowed and then left.
Persephone watched Aeacus depart, her face thoughtful. “Has he been here long?”
Hades nodded. “He arrived after I’d begun work on the three levels of the Underworld.”
Her green eyes went round. “How many were here when you took charge?”
“One.” He paused, watching astonishment cross her face. “The titans had no interest in honoring the dead. Death was simply the end.”
She blinked, shaking her head. “So you… you created Tartarus–”
“That was here, Persephone. I created Asphodel and Elysium.”
She shuddered, rubbing her arms. “All were sent to Tartarus… No wonder death was so reviled. But now, death need not be feared.” She paused, looking thoughtful. “May I ask why three levels?”
How lovely she looked in the fading sunlight spilling into the room. Watching her, each graceful gesture, provided him endless fascination.
She regarded him now, waiting.
“Not all mortals live a truly honorable life. There are heroes, martyrs, noble leaders, and the like. Mortals are born with both good and evil within – they’re tempted daily. Too often mortal man succumbs to weakness. It is in their nature and, most of the time, not worthy of condemning them to Tartarus. Nor does it grant them an afterlife of abundance and pleasure, as Elysium offers. So Asphodel was created, for those in-between.”
She nodded, her gaze wandering to the parchment before her.
Hades sat at the other end of the table, his gaze returning to the top of her co
pper head, bent to study the open scroll.
She sat, her eyes never leaving the parchment. And as she read, her face changed and moved, reacting to the words before her. Such a face, such emotions. How would he manage when she left?
###
She hopped then ran a few steps to keep up with him. He glanced at her. She smiled brightly at him. His mouth twitched, but he did not smile.
“You need not run, Persephone,” he sighed, slowing his pace.
She shrugged. “I’ve missed running.”
She saw him smile then, though he was quick to erase it.
“What a glorious day.” Her every word revealed her happiness.
He nodded, his eyes wandering to her once more.
She let her hands trail, listening closely to the strange words. In time, she’d learn their language. It was not so different from that of the oldest trees. Yet some words made no sense to her; not yet.
They, however, had no trouble understanding her. She delighted in the abundance of the grass, the bloom of the bushes and ripening of Asphodel’s abundant wheat.
Every day they walked further, crossing the waving sea of Asphodel’s grasses. She was surprised they’d not reached any boundaries, but Hades’ realm seemed to stretch on and on, never ending. Her eyes searched the golden grass.
He skirted the shoreline, avoiding the rippling blue waters that separated Asphodel from Elysium, but she gazed across the water. Elysium lay, a green gem of an island in the distance. The sun seemed brighter there, bathing the land with the promise of warmth. Here, in Asphodel, there was always a hint of chill in the air.
“It looks a fertile land,” she murmured.
He turned to the water as he spoke, “It is always green, without being tended or worked. Fitting spoils for heroes and the like, is it not?”
“Can one enjoy an existence without some vocation?” She shook her head, glancing at him. “One would grow idle and bored, I think.”
Once more his mouth tightened, and he turned from her. She smiled, a slight sigh escaping her. Why did he still resist her? She knew he turned from her to hide his smiles.
Or perhaps her presence annoyed him? She did not like the doubt that flared within her Did he wish her gone? Was he enduring her presence?
She walked on, such thoughts more than unpleasant to her. She glanced back at him, wishing his features weren’t so fixed, that his control wasn’t so absolute.
His attention was elsewhere, so she followed his gaze. A black shadow, graceful and large, stood amongst the waving grasses. She narrowed her eyes, surprised to see one of Hades’ chargers grazing. “Oh.” She ran toward the horse.
“Be careful,” he called after her.
She laughed, slowing once the massive black head lifted. Coal eyes stared at her, but showed no signs of agitation. The beast flicked his ears twice then walked to her.
“It’s good to see you again,” she said. “I’d offer you an apple, if I had one. Alas, I fear you’ll gain nothing from me but a gentle touch.” She reached up, running her hand along the horse’s thickly muscled neck.
The horse stared down at her, his great nose blowing her hair as he investigated her thoroughly. She laughed.
Hades arrived, sighing loudly. “He’s normally a ferocious brute.”
She laughed again, stroking the animal’s powerful shoulders with both hands. “You sound disappointed. Do you want him to bite me?”
Hades shook his head, rubbing a hand over his face. “I do not. It had not occurred to me that he’d sit so easily under your touch, either.”
“Mighty Orphnaeus,” she murmured. “Your master is astounded that one might enjoy my companionship. Should I be offended?”
The horse lifted his head to regard Hades.
She looked too, her smile faltering at the grave expression he wore.
“You’re a most pleasant companion, Persephone.” His words were soft.
She blinked at him. “Am I?”
Orphnaeus moved behind her, pushing between her shoulders with his broad nose.
She giggled. “What is it?”
Hades moved forward, a frown on his face. “He wants you to ride.”
She glanced at him, surprised. “Can you understand him? Talk to him?”
“Not as you talk to your plants and trees, no. But we understand enough.”
She looked at the horse, then at Hades. “Enough? And the hounds?”
Hades’ frown grew. “All creatures of the night, those that move in shadow. They are loyal to me, my… ghosts.”
Persephone nodded. “To earn such loyalty, they must respect you.”
“Or fear me.” His face hardened then.
She shook her head, “Fear you? Animals, like the plants, know the worth of a soul.”
Hades looked away from her. She saw the muscle in his cheek tighten, but he said no more.
The horse snorted, blowing hard. His breath lifted her hair, sending her curls over her shoulder. She laughed and stroked the animal. “Such a beautiful creature.”
Again, the horse pushed against her.
She looked at Hades. “Can I ride him?”
He closed his eyes, a crease appearing between his inky brows. “I see no objection from the animal.”
“But you object?”
“He’s a charger, Persephone. A war horse. He’s not ridden for pleasure, only purpose.” His words were uttered without inflection, “I worry over your injury.”
To hear those words spoken with feeling… she could only imagine such delight. Instead she said, “Then I will not.”
He stared at her, the crease returned to his brow, drawing a smile to her lips.
The horse nudged her.
She laughed, stroking the horses soft nuzzle. “Shh, another time.”
She watched Hades. Bewilderment crossed his face as he looked from the horse to her.
“Where are the others?” she asked him.
His eyes narrowed as he searched. “Close. Rarely do they part company.”
She nodded. “And the hounds?”
“Guard the entrance to the Underworld. A rest after so long at Thanatos’ command.”
“Thanatos?” She shivered. She had yet to see the specter of death.
Hades moved on, his voice flat. “He hunts only those for Tartarus. You’ll not find him here.”
She nodded, relieved, and stepped forward, with Orphnaeus at her heels. She whispered to the horse, delighted by her new companion. “Shall I find you a treat?”
“There are orchards.” Hades pointed.
She glanced at him, surprised. “Truly? Did you hear that, Orphnaeus? Shall we find you an apple?”
The horse whinnied, ears pricking forth.
She laughed. “I think he agrees?” she asked Hades a bit breathlessly.
Hades moved quickly, gripping her about the waist and setting her atop the horse before she could react. But her skin tingled from the slight contact, making her heart pick up and her lungs empty. He surprised her further when he swung up behind her, his arms enfolding her and pulling her against his chest.
Hades hissed, his knees pressing against the horse’s sides. The horse responded instantly, tearing forward with such force that Persephone feared she’d slip off. But Hades’ arms anchored her, one hand pressed against her belly. She drew in an unsteady breath, the heat of his fingers branding her.
The horse slowed almost as soon as they had started, easing from a rolling gallop to an easy trot. Hades’ knees guided the animal, the flex of each muscle having the most alarming effect on her.
“Apples,” he offered, easing Orphnaeus beneath the drooping limbs of the fruit tree.
She knew better than to speak; her heart was surely lodged within her throat. So she reached up, hoping the tremor of her arm was lost upon him.
Her fingers grasped the satin red skin of the apple, twisting the stem until the tree released its fruit. She stared at the fruit, while her body seemed to hum – attuned only to him. H
is hand moved slightly, his thumb pressing in against the skin beneath her breast. Then he slipped from the horse and reached for her.
She blinked. His deep blue eyes waited beneath the furrow of his brow.
“Persephone?” he asked.
She nodded, placing her hand upon his shoulder and allowing him to lift her. Her feet reached the ground, but she did not want to release him. His hands remained, steadying her.
It would take no effort to kiss him. He held her already. All she need do was raise up on her tiptoe–
Orphnaeus’ head descended between them, his nose butting against Hades’ chest to reach the apple pressed between them. His teeth plucked the red apple from her hand, piercing its skin and crushing it in seconds. Juice spattered her hand and arm, making her burst into laughter.
Hades laughed too, his fingers brushing the fruit pulp from her arm and cheek.
“He is a brute after all,” she said, shaking the bits of apple from her fingers.
Hades smoothed a curl from her shoulder, his face growing remote once more. He lifted his hand and she drew in breath. She knew he would kiss her. He would draw her close, he wanted too. She could see it in his eyes, in the rigid set of his jaw–
Orphnaeus butted her between the shoulders, snorting.
“One is not enough.” Hades stepped back, reaching for another apple and plucking it with ease. She offered it to the horse, who gobbled it down and snorted indignantly into her empty hand.
Hades picked more, and the two fed the horse in companionable silence. Yet all the while, Persephone savored the memory of Hades’ thighs pressed against hers, the strength of his chest against her back… And quivered with some nameless sensation.
He offered her another apple, but Orphnaeus seemed content.
She brought the bright skinned fruit to her lips. “It should not go to waste.”
The strangest expression settled over him. His eyes widened, then narrowed. His mouth opened, then pressed tightly closed. When the skin of the fruit met her lips, he knocked it free.
The fruit tumbled to the ground and Orphnaeus devoured it.
Persephone stared at Hades. “Hades–”
“You cannot eat the food of the Underworld,” Hades snapped, running a hand through his thick black hair. His eyes flashed as he glared down at her. “Never. Do you understand?”
For the Love of Hades (The Loves of Olympus) Page 14