The pyre upon which Tyche rested was beautiful—marble, set with emeralds and rubies and dusted with gold. Upon it were stacks of wood, and atop that, Tyche herself. Her face and limbs were pale white, bathed in moonlight. Her body draped in black silk. Her hair, as dark as midnight, spilled over the edge of the pyre.
The gods stood several feet away in an arc while other residents of Olympus gathered behind them. There were no words spoken as Hephaestus lit the pyre with his magic. The flames were small at first but consumed quickly and Persephone couldn’t look away.
My mother has done this, she thought.
Her eyes watered, as the air filled with smoke. The sprigs of lavender and rosemary meant to help cover the smell, could not mask the overwhelming scent of burning flesh. Hades’ arms tightened around her waist.
“Tyche’s death was not your fault,” he said. She felt the vibration of his voice against her back. She did not feel at fault, but she did wonder who would be next? How soon until her mother and Triad struck again?
“Where do gods go when they die?” Persephone asked.
“They come to me, powerless,” he said. “And I give them a role in the Underworld.”
“What kind of role?”
Persephone was curious, given the bargains he made with mortals.
“It depends on what challenged them in their life as a god. Tyche, though, she always wanted to be a mother. So, I will gift her with the Children’s Garden.”
Something thick gathered in her throat and it took her several moments to swallow it down.
“Will we be able to speak with her? About the way she died?”
Persephone hated to ask, but she wanted to know Tyche’s story just as they knew Harmonia’s.
“Not immediately,” he answered. “But within the week.”
Persephone did not relish the idea of asking Tyche to relive her death, especially once she was in the Underworld. It was supposed to be a space of renewal and healing, but they could not fight this enemy if they did not know what they were dealing with.
Her gaze lingered on the flames consuming the goddess until they dwindled and nothing but the bright, blurred image of embers remained.
***
It was late when Persephone woke. The hazy light of the Underworld filtered in through the windows. She rolled, surprised to find Hades lying beside her.
“You’re awake,” he murmured. He lay on his side, hair down, eyes shadowed.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Have you slept?”
“I have been awake for a while.”
It was his way of answering no.
Hades brushed her lips with his fingers. “It is a blessing to watch you sleep.”
With so much happening, Persephone hadn’t thought much about her nightmares. Since Hades had brought Hypnos to visit her, they’d remained at bay, though Persephone doubted that had much to do with the God of Sleep, and more to do with the fact that she had been healing from severe injuries.
They stared at one another for a long moment, and then Persephone let her head fall to Hades’ chest. He was warm and she could feel and hear his heart beating against her ear—a steady rhythm that kept pace for her.
“Did Tyche make it across the river?” Persephone asked.
“Yes, Hecate was there to greet her. They are very good friends.”
That was comforting. Hades’ thumb brushed lightly up and down her lower back. His hands were warm, the movement lulled her, making her eyes heavy with sleep.
“I would like to train with you today,” Hades said after a moment.
“I would like that,” she said. She had trained with Hades before and always learned something. He was gentle and patient in his instruction, and it inevitably resulted in sex.
“I don’t think you will,” Hades said.
Persephone pushed away just enough to meet his gaze.
“Why do you say that?”
His gaze bore into hers—a darkness lingered there as deep and as ancient as his magic.
“Just remember that I love you.”
***
Persephone felt a deep sense of dread as she stood opposite Hades at the center of her grove. It was the way he was looking at her—as if he’d buried all his warmth. He was dressed in a short, black chiton that showed off his powerful arms and thighs. Her gaze drifted over his skin, the rise and fall of his muscles and when she found her way back to his eyes, a deep ache settled in her chest. He stared back, emotionless, when desire would normally ignite his eyes.
Then he spoke, his voice low and gruff, shivering down her spine.
“I will not watch you bleed again,” he said.
“Teach me,” she breathed.
She’d requested the same of him the night they’d met, when she had invited him to her table to play cards. Then she hadn’t understood what she was really asking—she wasn’t sure she understood now, but the difference was this god loved her.
“You love me,” she whispered.
“I do.”
But the truth of it wasn’t written on his face. He looked severe, the hollow of his cheeks deep and shadowed. Then the air around them changed, growing heavy and charged. She had felt this before, in the Forest of Despair when Hades’ magic had risen to challenge her own. It raised the hair upon her arms and made her heartbeat feel sluggish in her chest.
Then, everything went silent.
Persephone hadn’t even noticed the noise before; she just knew there was an absence of it now. She glanced at the silvery trees that surrounded them, at the dark canopy overhead—and then she noticed movement to her left and right. Before she had time to react, something shadowy passed through her, shaking her very bones, jarring her soul. It wasn’t exactly painful, but it did steal her breath. She fell to her knees, her stomach churning. She wanted to vomit.
What the fuck.
“Shadow-wraiths are death and shadow magic,” Hades said, matter of fact. “They are attempting to reap your soul.”
Persephone struggled to catch her breath, lifting her eyes to meet Hades’. His expression sent a strange current of fear through her, and the most unnerving part about the feeling was that she had never feared him before.
“Are you…trying to kill me?”
Hades cold laugh chilled her to the bone.
“Shadow-wraiths cannot claim your soul unless your thread has been cut but they can make you violently ill.”
Persephone swallowed, still tasting the sour film at the back of her throat as she rose to her feet on shaking legs.
“If you were fighting any other Olympian—any enemy—they would have never let you up.”
“How do I fight when I do not know what power you will use against me?”
“You will never know,” he said.
She stared at him for a beat and then something emerged from the earth beneath her feet—a clawed, black hand. It closed around her ankle and jerked. She fell forward as it pulled, dragging her into the pit from which it had emerged. She shoved her hands out to break her fall and felt a sharp pain in her wrist as she landed.
“Hades!” Persephone cried, clawing at the dirt in an effort to anchor herself, her heart racing with fear and adrenaline. She rolled and sat up as quickly as possible, her hands going for the strange claw that held her ankle like a vice, but when she tried to pry it away, sharp thorns jutted from it, piercing her skin.
Persephone jerked back, growling before summoning a huge thorn from her skin and stabbing the creature that held her. Black blood oozed from it, but it let go and disappeared into the Earth. Before she could turn, another shadow passed through her. This time she arched, screaming as she fell to the ground. On the floor of the grove, she struggled to breath and her vision blurred.
“Better,” she heard Hades say. “But you gave me your back.”
He loomed over her, a true God of the Dead, a shadow darkening her vision.
She hated feeling like he was the enemy. She turned her head so he couldn’t see the tears threatening, her fingers curled into fists. Thorns sprouted from the Earth, but Hades vanished before they had a chance to entangle him. She rolled onto her hands and knees and found him across the clearing.
“Your hand gave away your intentions. Summon your magic with your mind—without movement.”
“I thought you said you would teach me,” she said, her voice quivering.
“I am teaching you,” he said. “This is what will become of you if you face a god in battle. You must be prepared for anything, for everything.”
Persephone stared down at her hands. They were bloodied and dirty and she had only been training five minutes, but in that time, Hades had succeeded in illustrating just how ill equipped she was to handle any kind of battle. She remembered Hecate’s speech—mark my words, Persephone, you will become one of the most powerful goddesses of our time. She laughed humorlessly. How was she supposed to become that powerful, that controlled when faced with gods who had spent lifetimes honing their power?
Except that she had possessed such power. In the Forest of Despair. She had used Hades’ power against him, and it had felt cruel and agonizing and it tasted like sorrow—bitter and acrid.
“Up, Persephone. No other god would have waited.”
I will coax the darkness from you he’d whispered before he had explored her body for the first time and right now, those words dug into her, unraveling threads of darkness. She stood, shaking. Not from the battering her body had taken, but from frustration, from anger.
The earth began to shake, and pieces of rock rose from the ground. In response, Hades’ magic surrounded her—an army of smoke and shadow. It should feel wrong—contrary to her own magic, but Hades had never been the enemy.
Except right now, she reminded herself. Right now, he was.
As the rock and pieces of earth rose, Hades shadows did, too, barreling toward her. She watched them—focused on them, forced them to slow and held out her hand—not to stop it, but to harness it. The magic seeped into her skin. It was a strange feeling, tangible, as it twined with her blood, and when she opened her hand, black claws protruded from the tips of her fingers.
Hades smiled.
“Good,” he said.
And then Persephone hit her knees.
Her chest felt as though it had imploded—all her breath stolen by whatever invisible force had hit her. As she struck the ground, every fear she’d possessed over her short life was suddenly clawing its way from her throat.
All of a sudden, Demeter stood before her.
“Mother—”
She yanked Persephone up by her wrist. It was still sore from her fall earlier and the jerk sent a sharper pain through her.
Crying out, Demeter laughed.
“Kore,” she said, and Persephone winced at the name. “I knew this day would come.”
Persephone struggled to free herself, to grasp her power, but it would not rise to her call.
“You will be mine. Forever.”
“But the Fates—”
“Have unraveled your destiny,” she said and teleported. The smell of Demeter’s magic made Persephone want to vomit. She manifested inside the walls of a glass box. Outside, was Demeter. Persephone charged the glass, hitting and kicking, screaming at the top of her lungs.
“I hate you! I hate you!”
“Perhaps now,” she said. “But in a millennium, you will have only me. Enjoy watching your world die.”
Everything went dark, and suddenly, she was surrounded by images. All around her were screens upon which the lives of her friends and enemies played out, passing by as she remained the same within her prison. Even Lexa had a space—a stagnant image of her weather-worn headstone. She watched as the lives of Sybil, Hermes, Leuce, Apollo and more continued without her. Sybil thrived and died, Hermes and Apollo spiraled, and Leuce returned to Hades—Hades, her lover, her true soulmate—welcomed her to his bed. She watched as he found solace in the body of another—in Leuce, who was left, and others women she did not recognize. They came, a revolving door, and Hades emptied himself in each, breathing hard in the crook of their necks until he was left spent and still alone.
Persephone’s fingers dug into the palms of her hands; her throat bled as she screamed at him and cursed him.
You said you would burn this world for me—and yet it lives, and it thrives, and you exist within it—without me.
She took her anger out upon the walls, but even her rage wasn’t strong enough to summon her power. As she stood there, watching Hades’ world continue without her she swore she would end it. She would end him.
“Persephone.”
Her name—the way it was spoken—a soft, breathless whisper, drew her attention down and she met Hades’ gaze. Suddenly, the world was different, as if she had escaped her cage and now stood at the center of a burning battlefield. On the ground at her feet lay Hades, eyes glassy, the crease of his lips full of blood and spilling down his face.
Persephone fell to her knees.
“Hades,” her voice was different, strained. She brushed his hair from his face and despite the blood, he smiled at her.
“I thought…I thought I’d never see you again.”
“I’m here,” she whispered.
He lifted a hand and brushed a finger along her cheek. She inhaled, closing her eyes until his touch fell away and when she opened them, she found that he had closed his.
“Hades!” she placed her hands upon his face and his eyes opened into slits.
“Hmm?”
“Stay with me,” she begged.
“I cannot,” he said.
“What do you mean you can’t?” she said. “You can heal yourself. Heal!”
His eyes were open wider now and his expression sad.
“Persephone,” he said. “It’s over.”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. She threaded her fingers through his matted hair and smoothed her hands over his chest.
Hades’ hands clamped down upon hers. “Persephone, look at me,” he commanded. It was the strongest his voice had sounded since she’d found him lying here. “You were my only love—my heart and my soul. My world began and ended with you, my sun, stars, and sky. I will never forget you but I will forgive you.”
Tears burned her eyes and thickened in her throat.
“Forgive me?”
It was like those words made her more aware of her surroundings and the horror around her. She suddenly realized where she was and remembered the events that had proceeded this—she was in the Underworld and it burned. There was nothing left of the lush and elegant beauty Hades had created—not the gardens or the village of Asphodel, not even the palace loomed upon the horizon. In their place were fire and thorns—they were thick and spiraling, gathering debris like a needle through thread—and it was one of those branches that had pieced Hades through the stomach.
“No!”
She tried to command the branch to vanish and when that didn’t work, he tried to break it but her hands slipped on Hades’ blood.
“No, please. Hades, I didn’t mean—”
“I know,” he said, quiet. “I love you.”
“Don’t,” she begged, tears streamed down her face. Her throat hurt, her chest hurt. “You said you wouldn’t leave. You promised.”
But Hades did not move again, and Persephone’s screams filled the silence as her pain manifested into darkness.
Later she woke surrounded by the familiar scent of spice and ash, her body cradled gently against a hard chest. She opened her eyes and found herself within Hades’ arms. The shock of seeing him well and unharmed made her skin feel too tight and tingly.
“You did well,” he said.
His words only served to summon a fresh wave of emotion. Her lips quiver and she covered her face as she began to cry.
“It’s okay,” Hades said, his arms tightened around her and his lips pressed into her hair. “I’m here.”
She only sobbed harder. She worked to collect herself, to reign in her emotion, because she needed distance from him and this space where she had witnessed horror that had felt so real.
She struggled free of his grasp.
“Persephone—”
She got to her feet and turned on him. He sat on the ground, looking much the same as when they started—completely unchanged by what had occurred and that only served to anger her more.
“That was cruel.” Her throat hurt as she spoke, rasped and ruined. “Whatever that was, it was cruel.”
“It was necessary,” Hades said. “You must learn—”
“You could have warned me,” she said. “Do you even know what I saw?”
His jaw tightened and she knew he did.
“What if the roles had been reversed?”
His eyes went flat.
“They have been reversed,” he said.
She flinched. “Was that some kind of punishment?”
“Persephone—” he tried to reach for her, but she took a step away.
“Don’t—” She put her hands up to stop him. “I need time. Alone.”
“I don’t want you to go,” he said.
She didn’t know what to say, so she shrugged. “I don’t think it’s your choice.”
She vanished, but not before hearing Hades utter a low and guttural growl.
