CHAPTER XII – A TOUCH OF enlightenment
Persephone had not returned to Iniquity since the first time she’d visited. She’d come with the hope of saving Lexa and had left with nothing but the knowledge that she did not know Hades or his empire very well.
The club was a speakeasy-style and accessed by members with a password. This space was neutral territory and behind these walls, deals were made with balance in mind. After learning about the evil Hades was willing to let exist in the world, Persephone often found herself wondering the same—what malevolence would she allow if the results brought peace—if they prevented war, for instance?
They manifested in a room that looked similar to the one she’d met Kal Stavros, the owner of Epik Communications, a Magi, and a mortal who had offered to save Lexa in exchange for Hades and Persephone’s story. She hadn’t had a chance to refuse before Hades arrived and ended the bargain, permanently scaring Kal’s face.
The accused sat beneath a circular pool of light. Her long, dark hair was silky and straight. She kept her head pressed against the back of the chair, a black snake slithered slowly around her neck while two others made their way around her arms, another six slinked in a circle around her feet. Her hatred was palpable as she glared at them, her mouth set in a hard line.
Persephone inched forward until she stood at the edge of the light.
“I do not need to tell you why you are here,” she said.
The woman glared and when she spoke, her voice was clear, not a hint of fear or even rage. Her calm put Persephone on edge. “Will you kill me?”
“I am not the Goddess of Retribution,” Persephone said.
“You did not answer my question.”
“I am not the one being questioned.”
The woman stared.
“What’s your name?” Persephone asked.
She lifted her chin and replied, “Lara.”
“Lara, why did you attack me in The Coffee House?”
“Because you were there,” she answered, nonchalant. “And I wanted you to hurt.”
The words, while not surprising, still stung.
“Why?”
Lara did not reply immediately, and Persephone watched as the snake paused its slithering to lift its head from her neck to hiss, exposing venomous fangs. She jerked, squeezing her eyes shut, preparing for the bite.
“Not yet,” Persephone said, and the snake stilled. Lara looked at the goddess. “I asked you a question.”
This time, as the woman answered, tears rolled down her face.
“Because you represent everything that is wrong with this world,” she seethed. “You think you stand for justice because you wrote some angry words in a newspaper, but they mean nothing! Your actions are by far more telling—you, like so many, have merely fallen into the same trap. You are a sheep, corralled by Olympian glamour.”
Persephone stared at the woman, knowing her anger had grown from something—a seed that had been planted and nurtured by hate, so she asked, “What happened to you?”
Something haunting bled into Lara’s eyes—it was an expression that was hard to explain, but when Persephone saw it, she knew it for what it was—trauma.
“I was raped,” she hissed in a barely-there whisper. “By Zeus.”
Her admission came as a shock despite Zeus being known for this behavior—a fact that should not be fact at all. Power had given Zeus, and so many others like him, a ticket to abuse for no other reason except that they were male and in a position of authority.
It was wrong and the behavior was at the core of their society. Even among the goddesses, who were equal, or in some cases, more powerful, assault was used as a means of control and oppression. Hera was a prime example—deceived and raped by Zeus, she was so ashamed, she agreed to marry him. As his queen, even her role as Goddess of Marriage had become Zeus’s.
Beside her, Hades stiffened. She glanced at the God of the Dead whose jaw ticked. She knew Hades punished those who committed crimes against women and children severely—was he motivated by his brother’s actions? Had he ever punished Zeus?
"I’m sorry this happened to you,” Persephone said.
She stepped toward Lara, and the snakes that had kept her firmly in her seat, vanished into tendrils of smoke.
“Don’t,” Lara snapped. “I do not want your pity.”
Persephone halted. “I am not offering pity,” she replied. “But I would like to help you.”
“How can you help me?” she seethed.
The question hurt—it felt the same as when the woman had approached her in Nevernight and rebuked her. Still, she had to do something. She had never experienced the extent of Lara’s nightmare, but even then, Pirithous still haunted her in a way she never imagined.
“I know you did not do anything to deserve what happened to you,” Persephone said.
“Your words mean nothing while gods are still able to hurt,” she offered in a painful whisper.
Persephone could not speak because there was nothing to say. She could argue that not all gods were the same, but those words were not right for this time—and Lara was right, what did it matter that not all gods were the same when the ones who hurt went unpunished?
It was then she remembered something her mother had said.
Consequences for gods? No, Daughter, there are none.
The words made her sick and she clenched her firsts against them, swearing that one day, things would be different.
“How would you have Zeus punished?” Hades asked.
Both Persephone and Lara looked at him, surprised. Was he asking because he planned to do something about this? Persephone’s gaze shifted to Lara as she spoke.
“I would have him torn apart limb by limb and his body burned. I would have his soul fracture into millions of pieces until nothing was left but the whisper of his screams echoing in the wind.”
“And you think you can bring that justice?” Hades’ voice was low—a deadly challenge, and she realized that while she’d been here to sympathize, he was here to get to something else—her loyalty.
Lara glared. “Not me. Gods,” she said. “New ones.”
Her eyes took on a glassy, almost hopeful look, as if she were imagining what it would be like—a world with new gods.
“It will be a rebirth,” she whispered.
Rebirth. Lemming. They were words she’d heard before and they made Persephone think that Lara was connected to the same people who had attacked Harmonia and perhaps Adonis, and it sounded like they were desperate to usher in a new era of gods by any means possible.
“No,” Hades said—his voice seemed to thread through her, throwing her out of the strange possession she had been under. “It will be a massacre—and it will not be us who dies. It will be you.”
Persephone looked at Hades and took his hand.
“What happened to you was horrible,” Persephone said. “And you are right that Zeus should be punished. Will you not let us help you?”
“There is no hope for me.”
“There is always hope,” Persephone said. “It is all we have.”
There was a beat of silence, and then Hades spoke, “Ilias, take Miss Sotir to Hemlock Grove. She will be safe there.”