“Remember when I said the souls made this journey to accept death?”
She nodded.
“Charon will not take them until they have.”
Persephone’s eyes widened. “What if they don’t?”
“Most do,” he said.
“And?” Persephone prodded. “What about the rest?”
“It is a case-by-case basis,” he answered. “Some are allowed to see how the souls live in Asphodel. If that does not encourage them to adjust, they are sent to Elysium. Some must drink from the Lethe.”
“And how often does that happen?”
“It is rare,” he said. “But inevitably, in times like these, there is always someone who struggles.”
She could imagine. None of these people woke up and expected to die today.
Charon returned a few more times and by the end of it, the only two left were the man with the five-year-old daughter. Charon tried to take her, but the father had protested vehemently, and Persephone did not blame him.
“We go together or not at all!”
Persephone looked from Charon to Hades and then to the man who held his daughter in his arms. She clung to him, too—as much as she had accepted her end, she did not want to leave her father, either.
Persephone left Hades’ side and approached the man.
“What are you afraid of?” she asked.
“I left my wife and son behind,” he said.
She considered this news—but she knew that several of the souls who had already passed over the Styx had left loved one’s behind. She also knew that there would be more like him. She could not make a promise to him she could not keep for everyone.
So instead, she asked, “And do you not trust, after all that you have seen here, that you will see them again?”
“But—”
“Your wife will have comfort,” she said. “Because you are here with Lola and she will wait to be reunited with you both here in the Underworld. In Asphodel. Do you not wish to make a space for them? To welcome them when they come?”
The man looked at Lola and hugged her to him, crying for a long time. They let him, and all the while, Persephone felt the heaviness of this task. She could not imagine how Thanatos, Charon, and The Judges managed this every day.
After a while, the man composed himself and took a breath.
“Okay. I am ready.”
Persephone turned to Charon who smiled. “Then welcome to the Underworld,” he said and helped the two onto the boat.
Hades and Persephone joined them.
The ride was quiet, the souls looked out over the water, their expressions somber. Hades’ hold on Persephone’s hand tightened, and she knew it was because he recognized the burden she carried—it was sadness and grief and despair—but her spirits were soon lifted when she spotted a group of souls from Asphodel on the opposite shore waiting to greet them.
“Look!” Lola exclaimed, pointing a tiny finger.
As Charon came to dock, Yuri and Ian helped them onto the crowded deck.
“Welcome,” they said.
There was a flutter of activity as they were accepted into the throng. The souls had been perfecting their welcome party and had managed to turn it into more of a celebration bringing music and baskets of food. Initially, she worried that Hades would disapprove, seeing as these souls had yet to be judged, but the god had felt this was an even better entry into his realm, for it would always be on the minds of those who ended up in Tartarus.
“They will reflect on this moment and mourn that they were not better in life.”
Hades and Persephone stayed with Charon, watching as the souls took off down the stone pathway, through the Fields of Mourning. As they went, they danced and sang and cheered. It felt like a happier end to a dreadful day.
Beside them, Charon chuckled. “They certainly shall never forget their entrance into the Underworld.”
Persephone looked at him. “Do you think it will overshadow the suddenness of their death?”
The daimon offered her a gentle smile. “I think your Underworld will more than make up for it, my lady.”
With that, he pushed off the pier and started across the river again.
She turned to Hades.
“Is it still a fate woven by the Fates if it is caused by another god?”
She truly did not know.
“All fates are chosen by the Fates,” Hades replied. “Lachesis had probably allotted an amount of time to each of them that ended today, and Atropos chose the wreck as their manner of death. Your mother’s storm provided the catalyst.”
Persephone frowned, and Hades squeezed her hand again. “Let us leave this place. I have something to show you.”
She let Hades teleport them but was surprised by where he brought her—to the Temple of Sangri. It was a large building made of marble and white stone. A set of steps made a steep climb toward the closed and gilded doors which lay just behind a row of ancient iconic columns with scrolls capped in gold. As decorative as they were, they were also practical, supporting a pediment detailed with Demeter’s symbols—the cornucopia and wheat grains which were also gold.
“Hades…why are we at my mother’s temple?” Persephone asked.
“Visiting.”
The God of the Dead kept her gaze, kissing her hand then guided it to his arm as he started up the steps.
“I do not wish to visit,” she said.
“Your mother wants to fuck with us,” he said. “Then we shall fuck with her.”
“Do you intend to burn her temple to the ground?” she asked.
“Oh, darling,” Hades replied. “I am far too depraved for that.”
They crested the steps, and she felt a surge of Hades’ magic as the doors flew open. Several priests and priestesses dressed in white halted their meandering when they saw the God of the Dead entering, their eyes widening with fear.
“L-lord Hades—” One of the priests shook as he spoke his name.
“Leave,” he commanded.
“You cannot enter the Temple of Demeter,” a priestess dared to say. “This is a sacred space.”
Hades ignored the woman.
“Leave,” he said again. “Or be witness—and complacent—in the desecration of this temple.”
Demeter’s priests and priestesses fled, leaving them alone in the fire-lit room. The doors slammed, causing the shadows on the wall to shudder.
In the silence, Hades turned to her.
“Let me make love to you.”
“In my mother’s temple? Hades—”
He cut her off with a kiss that made her moan. It was delicious and deep, and desire curled into her stomach like claws.
“My mother will be furious,” she said when he pulled away.
“I’m furious,” he hissed as his hand dug into the base of her skull and his lips returned to hers. His other hand traveled down, over her ass and under her thigh, hooking her leg around his hip. His erection nestled against her aching core and she moaned. His lips moved to her jaw and then her ear as he breathed, “And you haven’t said no.”
She didn’t want to say no. Today’s events had left her wound up, restless, stressed. She needed release—she needed him.
He pulled away and they stared at one another for a moment before Persephone smoothed her hands over Hades’ chest to his shoulders and helped him out of his jacket. As it fell away to the floor, her clothes followed. They undressed one another—a slow and languid process that involved a lot of kissing and licking and sucking—until they stood bare and then Hades gathered her into his arms and carried her down the column-flanked aisle toward her mother’s alter which overflowed with cornucopias of fruit and sheafs of wheat. Two large, gold basins full of fire roared on either side and the air here was hot, causing sweat to drip from their skin.