“Persephone.”
The voice was muffled, but she moved toward it.
“Hades,” she choked on his name.
A hand broke below the surface of the water, and she reached for it, but as she came up for air, she found herself face-to-face with Pirithous—gaunt face, pale lips, bleeding eyes—and she was suddenly returned to that wooden chair. Its edges biting into her skin. Pirithous loomed on his knees before her.
“Ungrateful,” his voice grated.
“No, no, no!”
She pressed her bare legs together, even as Pirithous’ hand skimmed her from calve to thigh.
“I was protecting you,” he seethed, leering over her, blood dripping from his face onto her skin. “And this is how you repay me?”
“Don’t fucking touch me,” she cried, but Pirithous’ grip tightened, his fingers dug into her, and he pried her legs apart, pinning his body between them. She collapsed forward in an attempt to push away, and something sour crawled up the back of her throat.
She was going to vomit.
“No,” she moaned. “Please no.”
Where was Hades? Why had he allowed this to happen? He said that Pirithous could not reach her, could not hurt her anymore.
Where was her magic? She tried reaching for it, but it seemed just as paralyzed as she was.
“Persephone,” Pirithous said, hands inching closer to her center. Her body clenched; her insides shook. “It’s okay.”
Then Pirithous bent to press his lips to her thigh, and she broke.
“No!”
The bindings around her wrists tore free and she swiped at Pirithous, her hand connecting with his cheek. It was then she realized there were thorns coming out of her skin—like her hands were the stem of a rose. As soon as she saw the blood, she felt as if she had surfaced from the darkness.
She was no longer in that wooden chair but at the center of a sea of black silk on her bed—and it wasn’t Pirithous in front of her, but Hades. His cheek bled from her strike.
The blood drained from her face as she stared at him, eyes wide, her brain scrambling to make sense of what had occurred, but it made no sense.
Safe, she thought.
She started to reach for him—wanting to wipe away the blood, to erase the evidence of her blow, but paused when she saw her hands, full of bloody thorns. Her mouth quivered, her hands shook, and then she burst into tears.
It took Hades a moment to move—to take her into his arms, but when he did, his body was cold and rigid.
“I did not know,” Hades said, his voice was low and rough. It was like he was angry but trying hard not to let it show.
I’m sorry, she wanted to say, but her mouth wouldn’t work.
“I did not know,” Hades repeated. “I’m sorry. I love you.”
He repeated those words until his voice broke.
CHAPTER XXVI – RELICS
When Persephone woke, Hades was already gone.
His absence renewed her anguish and made her chest ache. She felt horror at having Pirithous invade such a cherished space. Worse, she felt embarrassed. She’d thought she could handle anything so long as it was with Hades, and yet, as soon she was restrained, she’d lost touch with reality.
How were they supposed to move on from here?
Hades always knew what to do, but last night she’d watched him freeze and she knew him well enough to guess he would pull away.
She sighed, her whole body heavy with sadness, and rose from bed, dressing for the day in a white peplos. She checked in with Sybil, Leuce, and Zofie who were alright but worried about her. She sent a quick text, assuring them she was fine and healed. Leuce had also sent a series of articles and Persephone spent part of the morning reading through them and watching videos associated with the attacks at Talaria Stadium. Part of her wondered if anyone had managed to capture video of her magic, but all the footage shared was from outside the venue.
The dead were staggering—a total of one hundred and thirty people gone. Of those, three heroes had died—Damon, Aesop, and Demi. Still, there were headlines that claimed the death toll was due to the unnecessary use of magic by the gods who had attended the games.
It was a failed attempt to justify the terrorism of Triad.
Persephone set her tablet aside, needing a break from the heaviness.
She made her way outside the palace, into the gardens. Persephone had always been able to sense the aromas that belonged to varying magic, but the longer she resided in the Underworld, the more she noticed that every bloom smelled like Hades—it was an undercurrent, faint but definitely distinct. The roses for instance were sweet with a hint of smoke. It had been a while since she’d been able to walk these paths and visit these flowers and as she came to the end of the trail, she halted at her plot—the one Hades had given her after she’d accepted his bargain of creating life in the Underworld.
It was barren, black sand. She imagined all the seeds she’d planted were still buried beneath, dormant, but something about bringing the garden to life at this moment did not feel right. Perhaps she would save the transformation for Hades and offer it as a wedding present, if it ever took place. Any planning had all but halted as they waited for Zeus to give his blessing which was now deferred due to Demeter’s storm—though Persephone had to admit, it did not seem so important in this environment, where gods were dying, and people were being murdered.
She left the gardens, entering the Asphodel Fields where she was joined by Cerberus, Typhon, and Orthrus. They strolled through the markets of the Asphodel Valley. Some of souls were going about their usual business—trading foods and textiles, watering their gardens while others milked the cows in the meadow. The smell of baking bread and sweet cinnamon filled the air—and with it came a few faint sobs. Persephone followed the sound and found Yuri soothing a soul.
“Is everything alright?” Persephone asked. She’d never seen a soul get upset in Asphodel before and yet even Persephone knew there was a kind of melancholy in the air she’d never felt before.
The soul immediately pulled away from Yuri and wiped her eyes, not looking at Persephone. Still, she could tell she was young—probably in her early twenties. She had black hair and blunt bangs that framed a pale face.
“Lady Persephone,” Yuri curtsied, and the soul beside her mimicked her action quickly. “This is Angeliki. She just arrived in Asphodel.”
Persephone didn’t need any more of an explanation. The woman had been at Talaria Stadium.
“Angeliki,” Persephone said. “It is nice to meet you.”
“You, too,” the woman whispered.
“Lady Persephone is soon to be our queen,” Yuri said.
Angeliki’s eyes widened.
“Is there anything I can do for you, Angeliki? To help you adjust to your new home?”
That only made the woman cry harder, and Yuri embraced her once again, smoothing a hand down her arm.
“She is worried about her mother,” Yuri explained. “Angeliki was her caretaker. Now that she is here, there is no one to watch over her mother.”
Persephone felt a pang of sadness for this woman whose tears were not for herself, but for another and she knew she had to do something.
“What if your mother’s name, Angeliki?”