When Persephone and Ariadne arrived at the Palace of Knossos, the light shone on the horizon, casting shadows over the scattered ruins of what must have once been a magnificent fortress. It seemed to go on for miles in all directions with only a few walls standing. Still, they were covered in vibrant frescos and beautiful murals, the colors burning brilliantly against the now all-white stone.
There was a strange peace here that Persephone found unnerving given that somewhere below all this stone was a labyrinth in which Hades was being held prisoner.
Persephone looked at Ariadne, who was rifling through the bag she’d brought.
“Where is everyone?” she asked. She had expected something akin to a guarded fortress, but instead, she found ruins, trees, and barren hills.
Ariadne rose to her feet and slung the bag over her shoulder.
“There is no one, save those who have entered the labyrinth,” she said. “And they never come out.”
Galanthis meowed loudly.
Ariadne smiled faintly.
“Do not worry,” she said, scratching the cat behind the ears. “I imagine if anyone is the exception, it will be you.”
Persephone frowned. “Do you have so little faith?”
“It isn’t about faith,” Ariadne said, meeting her gaze. “I know Theseus.”
Persephone’s stomach twisted sharply.
Ariadne turned and began navigating the scattered stone. She seemed to know exactly where she was going, and Persephone followed at a distance, Galanthis in hand. She could not help being a little suspicious of the detective, a woman she barely knew—a woman who would likely do anything to protect her sister the same way she would do anything to protect Hades.
“How long have you known Theseus?” Persephone asked.
She could not remember the first time she’d heard about the son of Poseidon, but she remembered the first time she’d met him. She’d hated the way he looked at her and refused to shake his hand, which had only amused him. Despite those initial feelings, she had not perceived him as the threat he would later become when he stood in her office with Sybil’s severed finger in hand.
“A while,” Ariadne said. Her foot slipped and she stumbled, catching herself before she fell.
“Why is he doing this?” Persephone asked, following Ariadne down a set of steps that led into what was now a large, square courtyard, though it was clear that it had once been the foundation for a much larger palace. “What does he want?”
“He wants to be important,” Ariadne said. “He does not want anyone to look beyond him for anything they need in life. That’s what he wanted from me, but when I could not be swayed, he chose my sister. He treats the world the same, only he usually executes those who do not follow where he leads.”
Ariadne took a sharp turn as she passed through a narrow crack in a ruined wall and made her way down another set of steps to a darkened stone passage that was flanked with two broken columns. The air coming from inside was cold and stale. Persephone could feel it, even from where she stood at the top of the stairs, watching as Ariadne dropped the bag to the ground.
“But you have survived,” Persephone said. She wasn’t sure if she was asking a question or making a statement, but it didn’t seem to matter to Ariadne, who paused to look up at her from where she stood, wreathed in the threatening darkness of the labyrinth.
“Because I am still useful to him,” Ariadne said, her lip curling as she spoke, hinting at her disgust. She returned to her bag and withdrew something that looked like a spool, but that was not what intrigued Persephone—it was the wave of familiar magic that struck her. It made her heart drop into the pit of her stomach.
“What is that?” Persephone asked, descending the steps.
“Thread,” Ariadne said as she tied an end around one of the broken columns.
“Where did you get it?” Persephone asked as she set Galanthis on the ground. The cat meowed and brushed her legs.
“I spun it,” Ariadne said, holding the spool out to Persephone.
“You spun it?” Persephone echoed, staring at the silvery cord, hesitating to take it.
She had known Demeter’s magic would cling to things in the Upperworld even after her death, but she had not expected to feel it so soon. She could not quite come to terms with how it was making her feel, though she knew there was really no time to process her layered feelings.
Finally, she took the spool, letting out a shuddering breath at the feel of warm sunshine resting in her palms.
“This is my mother’s magic,” Persephone said, her voice quiet. It even smelled like her—like golden wheat baking in the summer heat. She met Ariadne’s gaze and saw she had paled. “How?”
Ariadne hesitated. “I assumed it was something Theseus had bargained for to curse me.”
“You mean you did not know you had this ability?”
“One day, Theseus locked me in a room and told me to spin wool into thread,” she said. “It was days before I tried—days without water or food—and when I could stand it no longer, I tried. It was…intuitive. As if I had done it my whole life.”
Galanthis was purring loudly, rubbing against Persephone’s legs.
“It’s why he withholds my sister,” Ariadne said. “He is hoping I will come back. Without me, he has no way to make the nets he has been using to capture gods.”
Hades suspected that both Harmonia and Tyche had been subdued by a net like the one Hephaestus had made in ancient times. It was light and thin, almost imperceptible, much like the thread Ariadne had wound around this spool, but they hadn’t had confirmation until now.
“Why you and not Phaedra?” Persephone asked.
“Theseus probably would have preferred her, but at the time, I think he thought he would break me. That’s why I am glad it was me. I was able to leave when I saw what he was doing…but I haven’t seen my sister since.”
“I’m sorry,” Persephone said.
“Me too,” Ariadne said, looking away as if she could not handle the sympathy.
Persephone understood.
Ariadne tied a thread from a second spool around the column.
“Hold this,” she said.
Persephone took the other spool in hand while Ariadne pulled on a pair of leather gloves from her bag. When she was finished, she took the thread back and looked at Persephone. “Do not let go no matter how lost you become. This is our only way out of the labyrinth.”
Persephone nodded. She did not need to inquire as to the strength of the thread—it had brought down the gods. It was unbreakable.
Galanthis took the lead, disappearing into the dark while Persephone and Ariadne followed, walking side by side, unwinding their thread as they went. A flare of light caught Persephone’s attention, and she looked toward Ariadne, who was holding a luminous stone. She handed one to her.
“It will last longer than the flashlight or a torch,” she said.
The stone almost looked like an opal. The light cast was minimal, not even reaching the ground, but they were no longer in complete darkness. Surprisingly, it eased Persephone’s anxiety.
She did not usually mind the dark. She had come to feel at home within it, but this was different. It did not belong to Hades but to some other entity, and it pressed in on her from all sides, kept at bay by the small, ethereal light she held in her hand.
The farther they walked, the more she could feel it bearing down on her. It was such a tangible weight, she tried summoning her power only to realize she couldn’t. The adamant was already oppressing her abilities.
Galanthis meowed, and Persephone took a step but there was no ground beneath her. She gave a small cry, but then her foot slammed down on a step.
“Fuck,” she breathed, her heart racing as she held the stone out in front of her to find a set of stone stairs descending into a thick darkness. Galanthis’s eye flashed as she looked back at them. It was as if she were saying I warned you.
Persephone looked at Ariadne, her face partially illuminated by her stone.
“How far down is the labyrinth?” Persephone asked.
“A few more flights,” Ariadne said.
Persephone supposed it was silly to think that once they crossed the threshold, they would be in the labyrinth. She swallowed the panic she felt at the thought of going deeper below ground. This is the way to Hades, she reminded herself, wishing desperately she could feel his presence within this horrid dark, but in these adamant walls, there was nothing save a bitter cold that managed to seep through the layers of clothes Ariadne had supplied her with.
She tried to ignore it, to focus on anything else—navigating the narrow steps through the half dark, the way the thread felt in her hand, almost too thin, like a strand of her own hair—but she never stopped shivering. There was also something about being this far beneath the earth that seemed to require silence. Neither she nor Ariadne spoke. The only sound was their breathing and the scrape of their feet against the rough ground, and both seemed too loud.
Finally, they rounded a corner, and ahead, Persephone could see a strange orange light. It was no better than the stones they carried, but it seemed to illuminate a path, and she knew they’d made it to the start of the labyrinth.
Persephone pocketed the rock and took a step forward.
“Wait!” Ariadne called out, but it was too late. Vines burst from the ground, the branches creaking and groaning as they wove together, tangling the passage in a thicket of thorns.
When it was done, there was silence again, and Persephone sighed.
“As if this wasn’t hard enough,” she said.
“It isn’t fun for him unless there are challenges,” said Ariadne. She glared up into the darkness, as if she knew Theseus was watching.
“Can he hear us?” Persephone asked.
“I’m certain,” Ariadne said. “He will want to hear us scream.”
Hatred twisted in Persephone’s stomach, and she found herself thinking of what her vengeance would look like once Hades was free. She wanted Theseus to watch as his empire unraveled, and she would ensure she was the one pulling the thread.
“Careful of the thorns,” Ariadne said. “The jacket should help, but they are poisonous.”
“What kind of poison?” Persephone asked.
“I don’t know,” said Ariadne. “I just know they sting, and the cuts are slow to heal.”
Persephone didn’t imagine it was possible to escape the tangle unscathed—save for Galanthis, who slipped beneath the branches as if they did not exist. Still, there was only one way to Hades, and that was forward.
Persephone chose an entry point, unraveling the thread a little before crouching and slipping between a set of serrated vines. Within the first pocket, she was able to stand fully, but as she moved into the next, she had to stay low, highly aware of the threat of the thorns, which raised the hair on her arms and the back of her neck.
When she heard a sharp inhale, she swung too quickly, narrowly missing a jab to the side of her head. Through the muted light, she could see Ariadne pressing a hand to her upper arm.
“Are you okay?” Persephone whispered.
“Yeah,” Ariadne said. “Gods, it really does sting.”
Persephone frowned and looked ahead, trying to gauge how much farther they had to go, but she could not tell. The vines were thick and the light too dim.
“What comes next?” she asked.
She hadn’t started moving again. She did not trust herself to navigate the thorns and talk at the same time.
“It depends on how we leave these thorns,” Ariadne said.
Persephone said nothing for a moment as she gingerly stepped over another branch while ducking to miss another and unwound her thread.
“How did you become familiar with the labyrinth?” she asked when she could breathe again, resting in a thorn-free pocket.
“The first time Theseus introduced me, it was because he sent in a man who I had wanted to arrest for a long time. I think he thought I’d be grateful to him for dealing out the justice I had sought, but instead, I was horrified.”
They were quiet after that, concentrating on making progress through the bramble path. One small mercy was that Persephone’s bones were no longer shaking with cold. Now she was sweating and her back ached. She was tired of bending, tired of moving at this pace, which only made her muscles burn.
She thought that perhaps the worst thing about this was that it seemed endless.
Galanthis meowed, and when Persephone looked up, she could see the cat’s eyes gleaming. She took that as a sign they were close to the end.
She tried not to rush. She’d made it this far without a scratch and did not want to fuck up now. Carefully, she turned her head to look at Ariadne, who had slowed considerably.
Persephone’s heart dropped into her stomach.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” Ariadne said, though Persephone could tell something was wrong. She sounded weak and breathless.
“Just a little farther, Ari,” she said, trying to be encouraging, but then a strange sound echoed within the narrow passage, vibrating the air.
It made Persephone’s blood run cold.
“What was that?” she whispered, peering into the darkness.
Galanthis hissed.
The growl came again, deep and closer this time. It was followed by a succession of squeals and the pounding of hooves, and then there was the distinct sound of splintering wood.
All Persephone could see was a flash of white in the distance—perhaps teeth?
“Oh, fuck,” Ariadne said. “It’s a boar. Run!”
But running was impossible trapped within the vines. All Persephone could do was move faster and keep a hold on the thread.
At first, she tried to continue carefully, but the closer the boar drew, the less she cared about the poisonous thorns. She would take a scratch over being mauled to death by a boar, but as the thorns scraped along her arms and dug into her back, she realized how unprepared she’d been for the pain. It was sharp and biting. It made her mouth water and her stomach sour.
She wanted to vomit, but she forced the nausea down and kept going, her hands shaking as she unraveled the thread, her heart racing as the boar’s cries grew louder, nearly unbearable in their terrible pitch as the creature effortlessly tore through the thicket she and Ariadne had spent so long navigating.
She cried out as she slid beneath a branch, a thorn cutting along her back, but she did not care because as she stumbled, she found that she was free—surrounded only by cold air and darkness.
“I’m out, Ari!” she cried. “I’m out—”
She turned to find Ariadne still struggling as the boar drew closer. Persephone could see it better now—a huge creature with shaggy hair and large tusks that it used to tear at the thorns.
“Go!” Ariadne yelled.
But Persephone couldn’t leave her. She looked down at Galanthis, who meowed, and set the spool of thread at her feet.
“Watch this,” she said and drew the knife Ian had forged and entered the tangle again.
“What are you doing?” Ariadne demanded. “I said go!”
“Just keep moving!” Persephone commanded. diving beneath and climbing over barbed branches as fast she could. All the while, Ariadne continued toward freedom.
As Persephone neared the boar, its hot breath washed over her like a furnace, smelling of rot and decay, roiling her stomach. Its large tusks tore through the wall of thorns with a strength that made them seem like glass.
She steeled herself as the swipe of its tusk came within a few inches of her and swung forward with all her might, shoving her blade into the tender flesh of the creature’s nose. The boar roared and swung its head, scooping Persephone up with its tusks and tossing her through the air.
She screamed, feeling branches break across her back as she soared through the air, landing on the solid ground with the blood-soaked blade still clutched in her hand. Pain lashed through her, stealing her breath, but she knew there was no time to linger. She sat up, her head spinning.
“Persephone!” Ariadne cried, racing toward her.
Behind her, the boar roared, breaking free of the final layer of thorns.
Persephone rose, unsteady on her feet, still aching from the impact of her fall.
“Run!” Ariadne yelled.
They raced along the dim corridor with the boar on their heels. Ariadne yanked her arm, pulling her through a break in the stone wall. Persephone hoped the sudden move would put distance between them and the boar, but then there was a terrible explosion, and rocks rained down on them as the creature crashed through the labyrinth wall.
They covered their heads and continued to run, their path now scattered with debris. Persephone’s foot caught on a stone.
“Persephone!” Ariadne screamed her name as she hit the ground.
The impact was jarring, the pain almost unbearable. As much as Persephone wanted to scramble to her feet, she didn’t think she could manage it.
Clutching her knife, she rolled onto her back as something large and black leaped over her and crashed into the boar.
A mix of deep growls and roars erupted, booming in Persephone’s ears. For a moment, she couldn’t take her eyes off the large creature engaged in battle with the boar.
“Persephone, let’s go!” Ariadne said, pulling her to her feet, but as they started to race away, the boar’s deep growls turned into something that sounded like a high-pitched oink, and then it was suddenly silent.
Persephone slowed, and so did Ariadne as they looked back only to find Galanthis sitting in front of the still form of the boar, licking her paw. After a moment, she looked up, her green eyes like pale lights in the distance.
“Meow,” she said as if greeting them.
Then she rose and disappeared into the darkness.
Persephone took a step forward, calling after the cat…or creature…whatever it was. “Galanthis!”
But she soon returned with Persephone’s spool clutched between her teeth, thread unwinding as she walked.
“In case there are mice, huh?” Ariadne asked.
Persephone exchanged a look with the mortal and shrugged. Then her eyes fell to Ariadne’s arms, which were covered in bleeding gashes. Dark spots stained her shirt too.
“Are you all right?” Persephone asked, frowning.
Ariadne nodded, but there was a distant look in her eyes before they rolled into the back of her head. She swayed, and Persephone lunged to catch her. She managed to lower her to the ground before she started to feel wrong too.
Fuck.
“Ari?” Persephone said her name, though her tongue felt swollen in her mouth. It was like all the moisture in her body had been used up.
“Don’t let it keep you,” Ariadne said, her voice sounding far away.
“What do you mean?” Persephone asked, confused, but there was no answer.
Her head spun, and before long, she found she was lying on the ground amid the broken stones and sandy earth.
Something furry touched her leg, followed by a muted meow.
Persephone opened her bleary eyes to see a flash of bright green.
“Galanthis,” she said, her voice a low slur before everything went dark.
