Hades departed with Ilias, Hermes, and Artemis to Dionysus’s tunnels while Persephone summoned help to prepare for the arrival of mortals at Nevernight. While Mekonnen guarded the doors, Adrian and Ezio pushed the couches against the wall so Sybil could make pallets on the floor. Leuce set up water and snack stations while Harmonia gathered supplies for babies and games for children. Hecate organized a medical station, and Persephone tried not to think long on why it was necessary, though the goddess was reassuring.
“When mortals are involved, you cannot be too careful,” she said. “They have all kinds of ailments.”
“Can we not just heal them?” Persephone asked.
“If it is a usual ache and pain, we must let it run its course,” Hecate said. “We are not miracle workers. You know our choice to heal can have grave consequences. That does not change, even in times of war.”
Upstairs, Hephaestus and Aphrodite arrived with weapons and armor. They had divided each kind between the suites—spears, axes, bows. The last room had swords, and it was the one Persephone decided to enter, though all this felt a little surreal.
She approached the table and picked up one of the blades. The design was simple but still beautiful, as were all Hephaestus’s creations.
The hilt was wrapped in leather, and the pommel and cross guard were smooth steel. She had never wielded a weapon before, so she was surprised by how light it was, though she supposed that made sense as they were usually carried in one hand.
“What do you think?”
Persephone jumped at the sound of Aphrodite’s voice and turned as the goddess strolled into the room.
“I can’t believe he managed to make so many,” said Persephone.
She returned the sword to the pile.
“This is all he ever does,” said Aphrodite. There was a note of disdain in her voice that Persephone decided to ignore. No one wanted Hephaestus to have to forge weapons like this.
“I hate that it was necessary,” she said.
“Me too,” Aphrodite said quietly.
“Are they to your liking?” Hephaestus asked.
Persephone was a little surprised by the sound of the god’s voice. It was not often she heard it, but she found it was quiet and pleasant, like the warm embers of a crackling fire.
She and Aphrodite turned to look at him.
“I feel as though you are asking me a trick question, Hephaestus,” Persephone said. “I am not sure what there is to like about war.”
He gave a polite nod. “Fair, Lady Persephone.”
“Am I right to assume that these are for…mortal soldiers?”
“Yes, Lady Persephone.”
“And are they…poisoned with Hydra venom?”
Hephaestus offered a single nod. “Yes, my lady.”
She let that sink in—the idea that thousands of mortals would be armed with weapons that could harm gods.
“Is that…a good idea?” she asked, though she imagined he and Hades had already had this discussion, weighed all the pros and cons. Still, it felt terribly frightening and horribly wrong.
“Theseus’s followers will be armed with the same. Hydra venom deals a quick death to mortals. It would be a far more devastating fight for us without them.”
She let that sink in before asking, “Where are our weapons?”
Hephaestus glanced at Aphrodite as he spoke, “I have entrusted your weapons to Hades for safekeeping.”
“Of course,” said Aphrodite. “Because obviously she is not capable and may impale herself.”
As much as she understood Aphrodite’s frustration, Persephone did not feel it was warranted here. She met Hephaestus’s gaze and offered a small smile, and for a moment, she could see the exhaustion in his face.
Her heart hurt for him.
“The weapons are poisoned with Hydra venom,” said Hephaestus. “I only wish to keep you safe.”
“I understand,” said Persephone quickly before they could spiral into a fight. “We have seen the damage Hydra venom can do. I have no wish to harm myself or others. In truth, I hope we never have to use them.”
When Persephone left the suites, she felt like she was carrying the weight of the thousands of weapons piled into the rooms behind her. Each one was a person, a soul, and she felt responsible for them all.
As she emerged from the lounge, there was a quiet roar from downstairs. People had already begun to arrive.
“The air smells like fear,” said Euryale, who stood guard at the doors of the lounge.
Persephone looked at the gorgon who was always dressed in white and blindfolded.
“New Athens is under siege,” said Persephone. “We are all afraid.”
“Even you, Lady Persephone?” Euryale asked.
“Can you not sense it?”
“Grief smells a lot like fear,” she said.
“Perhaps I grieve too,” said Persephone.
She walked to the top of the stairs to look out over the floor. It was strange to see Hades’s club transform from something secretive and sinful to a sanctuary for survival. Normally, it was crowded with the young or the desperate, not families. Men, women, and children huddled together while others paced, unable to sit still. A few children zipped through the crowd with glee, blissfully unaware of why and where they were, though most did look afraid.
It was the first time Persephone had witnessed Theseus’s impact on the mortal world, and these people were haunted. It occurred to her how this must feel to the Faithful—to the pious worshippers who said their prayers and made their sacrifices, who decorated altars and loved their gods. She had lost her friends, but they had lost their gods, and it felt like the very threads of their world were being torn apart.
Right now, they had no future.
A shriek brought her attention back to the floor below. More children had joined the game of chase, and another group arrived from the tunnels. This one was led by Hermes.
Persephone descended the stairs, making her way toward the god. As she did, one of the children who was running rammed into her. She placed a steadying hand on their shoulder.
“Oh,” she said and then knelt before the child. He was about four, if she had to guess, with wide, brown eyes and curly hair. “Are you okay?”
“Do not touch him, Goddess of Death!” a woman bellowed, wrenching the child away.
Persephone blanched, shocked by the woman’s reaction and words.
“You would do well to respect the Queen of the Dead within her home,” said Hermes, helping Persephone to her feet.
“Cora, stop!” A man joined the fray.
“Do not act as if you do not know,” the woman said. “As if you all do not know that this goddess has killed the Great Mother!”
The woman looked about wildly as if she might find support here, within Persephone’s territory.
But no one spoke. They all just stared.
“Cora,” her husband said, placing a commanding hand on her shoulder, but it was Persephone’s turn to speak. She took a step forward. The man and woman cowered, but the child held her gaze.
“Mortal woman, I will grant you more mercy than I showed my mother,” said Persephone. “But if you insult me again—with a simple thought or a spoken word—one day, you will beg for death, and she will never find you.”
“She will never speak ill upon your name again,” said the man. “I swear it.”
Persephone’s eyes shifted to his, and she saw within him a virtue his wife did not possess. As much as he would try to honor her, his wife would not. She was surprised by the thought, though she felt deeply that it was true and wondered if this was how Hades felt when he looked at souls.
“I will not hold you to a promise she should make,” said Persephone, and then her eyes fell to the little boy. “You are welcome to play. I only wished to know that you were okay.”
“We are grateful, my lady,” said the man as he pulled his wife and child away.
Persephone stared after them. She did not mean to, but she could not look away.
She would not say that she could see their souls, but she understood them—the man was hardworking and honest, but his wife carried hatred in her heart, and it had made her angry and bitter. Inherently, she was not bad, but she sought someone to blame for her pain.
In the end, she would curse her name.
“Are you all right, Sephy?” Hermes asked as he approached.
“Yes,” she lied, but that was easier than the truth, which felt complicated and confused, swirling inside her like a terrible storm. “Did you come through the tunnels?”
“I did,” he said, and Persephone knew by his expression that it was as they feared. “It’s not good, Sephy.”
Her stomach twisted violently. “You don’t think…they aren’t all dead?”
“I don’t know. Hades is still investigating,” said Hermes, and he paused for a moment. “Dionysus will be devastated.”
She did not know the god very well, but she had learned more about him since meeting Ariadne. She knew that he had spent a lot of his years helping women escape horrible situations only to now have them die a terrible death at the hands of Theseus.
“I hate him, Hermes,” Persephone said.
“So do I, Sephy,” he said. “So do I.”
Ilias was the last to arrive with only a handful of people.
“Is this everyone?” Persephone asked, only confused because every other group had been far larger.
“No,” he said. “Quite a few refused to leave.”
“Refused?” Persephone repeated.
“I told them what would happen tomorrow, what Theseus was planning,” said Ilias. “But they did not wish to abandon Athena.”
“It’s her temple, not the goddess herself,” said Persephone, immediately frustrated.
“I won’t pretend to understand it,” said the satyr. “But it complicates things for tomorrow.”
“Fuck.”
Battle should serve a purpose beyond bloodshed, Athena had said the last time Persephone had seen her outside Thebes. That was before the Olympians had battled, and neither she nor Hestia had participated. Persephone wondered now if the goddess would change her mind, especially if it meant her followers would face needless and violent deaths.
“What do we do?” Persephone asked.
“We’ll talk to Hades when he returns,” said Ilias. “Perhaps if the other temples are destroyed, it will be enough of a distraction to keep Athena’s safe.”
Persephone frowned but agreed, her anxiety returning as she was once again reminded how long Hades had been gone.
She distracted herself with tasks, passing out water and replenishing snacks. Eventually she found herself sitting at the base of the steps, growing wildflowers to make crowns for the children who sat around her, entertained by her magic. Harmonia joined her, and Persephone could tell by the feel of her magic, warm and radiant, that she was using it to maintain peace within the crowded space.
Eventually, everything got quieter as the mortals settled in. One by one, the children left to sleep, and Persephone rose to her feet with Harmonia.
“Are you all right, Persephone?” the goddess asked.
“No,” she said, meeting her soft gaze. “If I don’t distract myself, I think I might break.”
“It’s okay to break,” said Harmonia. “Do it now before tomorrow comes.”
She almost did. The tears were already burning her eyes, but then she felt a rush of Hades’s magic, and her heart rose in her chest only to fall into the bottom of her stomach when he manifested in the middle of the floor with an unconscious woman in his arms.
Persephone ran to him.
“Hecate!” he snapped, lowering the woman to the ground.
“What happened?” the goddess asked, appearing beside him in an instant.
“I don’t know. I found her in the tunnels,” Hades said. “Her name is Naia.”
Naia.
Persephone recognized her from her short visit to Dionysus’s tunnels, though she barely resembled that person now, her face pale and her lips blue. She was nearly drained of life.
Hecate placed a hand to Naia’s forehead and then over her chest. After a few seconds, a trickle of water came out of her mouth but nothing substantial.
“Bring her,” said Hecate, rising to her feet.
Hades glanced at Persephone as he followed, disappearing behind the curtained area Hecate had designated as the infirmary. He placed Naia on one of the pallets while Hecate worked to concoct some kind of bitter medicine.
“Is she the only one who survived?” Persephone asked.
“There are more parts of the tunnel I have not checked,” said Hades. “I will return with help. Hopefully we can cover more ground and find more survivors.”
“Is there no chance others escaped?”
She thought of Ariadne, Phaedra, and the baby. Please say it is possible, she begged.
“It is possible,” he said. “We can try to broadcast within the underground and see if anyone responds, but with communications down, it will be far more difficult.”
Persephone’s gaze fell to the woman. When she looked at her, it seemed that her soul was almost underwater, like her body had been in the tunnels. She understood what it meant though—that she was in limbo.
Naia had not decided whether to stay or go.
“I will treat what I am able,” said Hecate. “The rest is up to her.”
Persephone stepped out of the curtained room, and Hades followed.
“Are you well?” he asked. Slipping a hand around her waist, he drew her close.
“That has a complicated answer,” she said.
“I am sorry to leave you again,” he said.
“I could help,” she offered.
He shook his head. “It isn’t that I do not want your help or need it,” he said. “But I do not wish for you to see what I have seen.”
She understood, trusting the horror in his eyes.
“I love you,” she said, closing her eyes against the feel of his lips on her forehead.
“I love you,” he replied. “Rest, darling. There will be none after tonight.”
When he released her, she felt like she might collapse, but she managed to remain on her feet as she watched him cross the room to Ilias, Hermes, and Artemis. When they left, she made her way upstairs to Hades’s office, slumped against the doors, and broke.
Persephone was roused by a gentle shake. When she opened her eyes, she found Hades sitting beside her. She had fallen asleep on the couch in his office.
“Hades,” she said, her voice thick with sleep.
“Come,” he said. “Let us spend the rest of the night in our own bed.”
It took Persephone a few moments to rise, but when she did, she felt more awake.
“Did you find any more survivors?” she asked.
“Only two,” he said. “Though I do not have much hope for their survival.”
Persephone’s eyes instantly watered, and Hades’s fingers danced along the height of her cheekbone. Her face felt tender.
“You have been crying.”
“I tried not to,” she said. “But I could not contain it.”
“You do not have to,” he said. Rising and gathering her into his arms, he teleported to the Underworld.
The familiar smell and warmth of their room eased the tension in her chest.
Hades placed her on her feet and slid his hand into her hair.
“I know I have not been able to make you forget,” he said. “But I would still make love to you tonight.”
Her eyes watered even as he kissed her, his hands dipping beneath the collar of her dress. As it slipped from her shoulders to her feet, she wrapped her arms around his neck, and he drew her legs around his waist, carrying her to bed.
When he laid her down, he kissed her long and slow, and as his fingers danced over her skin, she grew warm, and a different ache overtook the one that had burdened her all day, one so deep and desperate she had no desire to wait for him any longer. She reached for him and guided him to her heat, and when she was full of him, all the air left her lungs. It was blissful—a death like no other.
Hades kissed her, one hand cradling her head, the other hooked beneath her knee, and for some reason—maybe it was the way he looked at her or the heat—she was reminded of when she had dreamed of him. For a moment, she feared this wasn’t real and that soon she would wake to find all this had been a dream.
Her fingers bit into his skin, desperate to keep him.
“Where are you?” he asked, brushing damp strands of her hair from her face. She held his gaze, and he bent to kiss her, whispering against her lips. “Live in this moment with me.”
“Don’t say that,” she said. Her chest ached. “It is what you said when you weren’t real.”
“I am real now,” he said. “I am here now.”
She wept. “I’m not worried about now,” she whispered. “I am worried about after.”
Hades cupped her face, brushing away her tears. “I will be here,” he promised. “So do not leave me now.”
He pressed his mouth to hers, and it unlocked something frenzied in each of them. Hades took her by the wrists and held them over her head, pressing them into the bed. His thrusts went harder and deeper. Persephone wrapped her legs around him, her heels digging into his ass. She wanted to move with him, but all she could do was hold on as he thrust. His pace set a dizzying rhythm that had her body twisting and tightening. A moan welled in her throat.
“Yes,” she whispered over and over, and all the while, Hades’s eyes never left her face.
When she came, he kissed her with his tongue and teeth, his hips grinding hard into hers as he followed her over the edge.
He settled against her, his head resting on her chest, and she held him tight.
He did not disappear, and she refused to cry.
