That was five years ago.
Since then, there had been a few protests and more violent attacks, but Triad had never taken responsibly for those, claiming they were rogue Impious. Persephone thought back to what Hades had said about Theseus—that the leader of Triad claimed to have no involvement with Adonis’ murder and Harmonia’s attack. Could this be a case of the Impious striking out on their own with the help of Demeter?
She could not say, she only hoped it didn’t take another attack to find out.
It was Saturday before Persephone made it to Hecate’s cottage to train and she’d done so without Hades’ knowledge. He’d insisted she rest since sleep had evaded her most nights, but she knew after witnessing the horrible wreck that took so many lives in the Upperworld, training was a priority—plus, she had some questions for the ancient goddess.
When she arrived, Hecate was at work inside her cottage, wrapping dried herbs with twine—thyme, rosemary, sage, and tarragon. There were several bundles and the whole place smelled both sweet and bitter.
Persephone sat down to help, selecting stems from each pile before carefully tying the twine into a neat bow.
“What kinds of spells do you plan to cast with all this?” Persephone asked.
The corner of Hecate’s lip lifted.
“None—these herbs are for cooking.”
“Since when?” Persephone asked, but her question almost sounded like an accusation. She had never witnessed the goddess cook anything put poisons.
“I grow all kinds of herbs,” Hecate said. “Some for my spells, some for Milan and some for recreation.”
Persephone arched a brow.
“Why does Milan need so much?”
“These herbs last for at least three years,” she said. “But I imagine he is preparing for the wedding feast.”
Persephone froze. She hadn’t even thought about food—and what about cake? Were these even things she should be thinking about given the events of the past week? She frowned, and tensions gathered between her brows.
“I did not mean to cause you stress,” Hecate said.
“You didn’t,” Persephone said and paused. “Hecate, you sided with the Olympians during Titanachamy, yes?”
“Why do you ask?”
Persephone flinched at the tone of her voice—it was cold, almost irate. Was this a topic the goddess preferred not to talk about?
Hecate continued wrapping bundles of herbs, eyes never leaving her task.
“I just…wondered why you did not side with the Titans,” Persephone said. “Since you are one of them.”
“Being one of them does not mean I agree with them,” she said, continuing to work, her hands moved fast. “Under the Titans, the world would not have evolved, and I believed the Olympians, though gods themselves, were far more human than the Titans.”
Persephone grimaced. “I do not think my mother’s reasons are so noble.”
“What do you mean?”
Persephone explained what Harmonia had told her—that she’d sensed Demeter’s magic in the park where she’d been attacked and her suspicions that she might be working with Triad—or rogue Impious.
She couldn’t get Harmonia’s words out of her head.
Warm like the sun on a spring afternoon, smelling of golden wheat and sweet, ripened fruit.
Demeter’s magic had been all over the weapon—the net—that had ensnared Harmonia. It made sense, why the goddess could not summon her magic to calm her attackers. Harmonia was a lesser god. Against Demeter, she had little chance of overpowering an ancient Olympian.
When she was finished with her explanation, Hecate did not seem surprised.
“She is not the first god to attempt to overthrow her kind, nor will she be the last,” she replied.
It was the same thing Hades had said.
“You do not seem worried,” Persephone observed.
“I only worry about what I can control,” Hecate said. “Your mother’s actions are her own—you cannot stop her from choosing this path, but you can fight her along the way.”
Persephone met Hecate’s gaze.
“How?”
The goddess stared and after a moment, picked up a crude pair of scissors they’d used to cut herbs earlier. She placed them on the table before Persephone.
“You learn to heal yourself.”
“Why? You said I should fight, shouldn’t I be practicing magic?”
“Healing is a necessary power to master before going up against any of the Divine. All gods have the ability to heal themselves to some extent. Today we will discover yours.”
All gods? Persephone had no idea. She’d thought up until this point, it was just a power possessed by a few.
Persephone stared at Hecate and then her eyes dropped to the scissors.
“And what am I supposed to do with these?”
“You will cut yourself or I will do it for you.”
There was a moment where she thought Hecate must be joking, but that quickly passed as she recalled how the Goddess of Witchcraft had ordered Nefeli to attack her. That night she’d gone beyond teaching simple magic tricks. This was serious, and Hecate had proven she’d do whatever it took to ensure Persephone’s power manifested.
Persephone picked up the scissors. “What am I supposed to do once I cut myself?”
“Do it and I’ll tell you,” she replied.
Still, Persephone hesitated. She’d never intentionally hurt herself before and the idea of doing so made her cringe.
Just pretend it’s your magic, she said, thinking back to the other night when she’d dreamed Pirithous was in her room and thick branches had torn her arms and legs to pieces. This is nothing compared to that.
She held the scissors over her palm. In a flash, Hecate’s hand reached out and drove downward. The ends of the scissors pierced through her hand and jammed into the table beneath.
At first, Persephone was so shocked she didn’t react. Then, Hecate pulled the blades from her hand and with the blood, came the pain. Persephone screamed, gripping the wrist of her injured hand as her magic welled to the surface, flooding her veins. This was the kind of magic that burst from her skin—the kind that had erupted the night she’d dreamed of Pirithous.
“Healing yourself is a form of defense,” Hecate said calmly, as if she hadn’t just stabbed her.
“What the fuck, Hecate?” Persephone demanded, her voice was raw and raging. Her eyes burned with magic; she could feel it—a residual heat that made her eyes water.
“Your magic won’t wake to heal a scratch,” the goddess said.
“So you had to stab me?” Persephone demanded.
A horrible smile spread across the goddess’s face. “You have to learn to summon your power without pain, fear, or anger. It must become second nature, and so we will use pain fear and anger to train.”
Persephone grinded her teeth. Her magic burning her skin.
“Channel your magic, Persephone. What does it feel like to have Hades heal you?”
Persephone warred with her mind, caught between listening to Hecate and her anger—but the pain in her hand also drew her attention and soon she focused on it and the memories of Hades’ healing hands—it had been so effortless for him, a pulse of power that warmed the skin, like slipping into a hot spring.