Hours later, Hades, Persephone, and Leuce gathered in the throne room. Hades was in his Divine form, and Persephone, too. They sat side-by-side, Hades on his obsidian throne, and Persephone on gold and ivory. Leuce stood by Persephone, shaking.
“She will lash out,” Leuce said. “I am sure of it.”
“Oh, I expect it,” Persephone replied, and look at the nymph. “She is my mother.”
“Hermes has returned,” Hades commented. He’d sent the god to retrieve the Goddess of Harvest—a task he hadn’t been eager to accept.
“I think you just want her to disfigure my face,” Hermes said. “She will bite my head off when I tell her you’ve commanded her appearance in the Underworld.”
“Then don’t tell her Hades sent for her,” Persephone replied. “Tell her I command it.”
Hermes grinned, just as Persephone was doing now.
She felt empowered in a way she had never felt before, and she couldn’t really explain why. Maybe it had something to do with what Hades had said the night of the solstice celebration—that he loved her for who she was, and it was those qualities he wanted in his queen.
It meant that she could be herself without sacrifice and the first step toward that would be dealing with her mother.
Hermes escorted Demeter into the room, and despite the severe mask she attempted to maintain, Persephone recognized the look of contempt on her mother’s face when she saw Hades and Persephone sitting side by side like royals upon the dark precipice.
Her lips were pinched, and her stare hard and cold. She halted when she reached the center of the room.
“What is this about?” Demeter demanded; her voice tinged with fury.
“My friend tells me you have threatened her,” Persephone said. If Demeter wasn’t going to feign pleasantries, Persephone wouldn’t, either.
Demeter glared at the nymph and then looked at Persephone. “You would believe your lover’s whore over me?”
“That is unkind,” Persephone said tightly. “Apologize.”
“I will do no such—”
“I said apologize,” Persephone commanded, and Demeter was sent to her knees, the marble beneath her cracking with the force of her fall. Persephone didn’t mean to use so much force, but the result had the desired effect. Demeter’s eyes widened in surprise. She hadn’t expected to be taken to the ground by her own daughter.
Her expression quickly turned into a glare, her anger filling the room.
“So,” her voice shook. “This is how it will be?” Persephone said nothing. Demeter had chosen this path with her actions.
“You could end your humiliation,” Persephone said. “Just…apologize.”
Those words were like declaring war.
“Never.” The word left Demeter’s lips in a shuddering breath.
A shockwave of Demeter’s power rushed through the throne room as the goddess attempted to rise. The surge in strength took Persephone off-guard for a moment, her own magic rushing forward to quash it. She glanced at Hades, she could feel his power all around, lapping at the edge of her own, lying in wait.
Persephone stood and ascended the few steps that separated her from her mother. As she approached, the floor beneath Demeter continued to crack and crumble. Finally, she relented, her power waned, and she glared up at her daughter.
“I see you have learned a little control, daughter.”
Persephone might have smiled, but she found that when she looked at her mother, all she felt was resentment. It was like a curse, working through her body, coating everything in darkness.
“All you’ve ever had to do was say you were sorry,” Persephone said fiercely. She realized they were no longer talking about Leuce. “We could have had each other.”
“Not when you’re with him,” she spat.
Persephone stared at her mother for a moment, and then said, “I feel sorry for you. You would rather be alone than accept something you fear.”
Demeter scowled at her daughter.
“You’re giving up everything for him.”
“No, mother, Hades is just one of many things I gained when I left your prison.”
She released Demeter from her magic, but the goddess shook visibly and did not rise to her feet.
“Look upon me once more, mother, because you will never see me again.”
Persephone expected to see fury in her mother’s eyes. Instead, they gleamed with pride and an unsettling smile curled her lips.
“My flower…you are more like me than you realize.”
Persephone closed her fingers into a fist and Demeter vanished.
There a beat of silence in the aftermath before Leuce hurried forward and embraced her.
“Thank you, Persephone.”
When the nymph pulled away, Persephone smiled, maintaining her composure. On the inside, she was trembling. The look on her mother’s face was one she knew well.
War was coming.
***
Persephone was anxious as she approached the hospital. It had been a few days since she had visited Lexa. Most of that was because Lexa was still struggling with delirium—or rather, what the doctors were calling delirium. Persephone knew the truth of her psychosis. Her soul was struggling to understand what it was doing in the Upperworld.
Guilt made Persephone feel nauseous.
She’d been selfish. She knew that now—but the realization came too late.
Persephone headed to the fourth floor—the general ward where Lexa had been moved after being taken off the ventilator—and caught Eliska leaving Lexa’s room.
“Oh, Persephone. I’m glad you’re here. I was just going to get some coffee. Want anything?”
“No, thank you, Mrs. Sideris.”
She glanced back at the room. “She’s having a good day,” Eliska said. “Go ahead, I’ll be right back.”
Persephone entered the room. The television was on and the curtains were drawn. Lexa sat up in bed, but she looked boneless. Her shoulders sagged, and her head lulled to the side. It was almost as if she were asleep, but her eyes were open and she seemed to be staring at the wall.
“Hey,” Persephone said quietly, she took a seat near Lexa’s bed. “How are you doing?”
Lexa stared.
And stared.
And stared.
“Lex?” Persephone brushed Lexa’s hand and she jerked, but the touch had gotten her attention. Except now that Lexa was looking at her, she felt…unsettled. The woman had the body and face of her best friend, but the eyes didn’t belong.
These eyes were vacant, lackluster, lifeless.
She had the feeling that she’d just touched a stranger.
“Is this Tartarus?” Lexa asked. Her voice was hoarse, as if it has rusted from disuse.
Persephone’s brows knitted together. “What?”
“Is this my punishment?”
Persephone didn’t understand. How could she think her eternal sentence would be Tartarus?
“Lexa, this is the Upperworld. You—you came back.”
She watched as Lexa close her eyes and when she opened them again, Persephone felt like she was looking at her best friend for the first time since she’d awoken.
“You spend all your time in the Underworld and yet know nothing about death,” Lexa was silent for a moment. “I felt…peace.”
She exhaled, as if the word brought pleasure, and continued.
“My body clings to the ease of death, searches for its simplicity. Instead, I am forced to exist in a distressed and complicated world. I cannot keep up. I don’t want to keep up.”
Lexa looked in Persephone’s direction.
“Death wouldn’t have changed anything for us, Seph,” Lexa whispered. “Being back? That changes everything.”
***
Persephone had just returned from the hospital and poured a glass of wine when someone knocked. She was paranoid about answering the door when she was home alone, so she ignored it, thinking whoever was there would go away.
Except they didn’t.
The knocking became excessive. Persephone approached; her heart stuttered in her chest. She peaked out the window and screamed.
“Apollo!” she yelled. The god’s face was pressed against the glass. She threw open the door. “Why are you knocking?”
“I am practicing respecting boundaries,” Apollo said. “Is this not a mortal custom?”
She would have laughed, but he had scared her.
“I think I preferred you just appearing wherever you’re not wanted.”
To her surprise, he smirked. “Careful what you wish for, Seph.”
She thought about correcting him but let the nickname slide. At least he hadn’t called her Honey Lips.
“What are you doing here?”
“I came to bring you this,” he said, and pulled something from behind his back. It was a small, gold lyre.
Persephone took the instrument. “It’s beautiful,” she said and then met his violet eyes. “Why?”
“To say thank you.”
She grinned. “I think that’s the first time you ever thanked me.”
“It’s the first time you gave me a reason,” he teased, and then nodded to the instrument. “I can teach you to play it…if you want.”
“I’d like that.”
After a beat, he became serious again, his jaw tightened, and his eyes hardened.
“I’m really sorry about Lexa, Persephone. If it means anything to you, just know…I didn’t actually know her soul was broken when I healed her.”
Persephone looked at her feet. She hadn’t known either, hadn’t known what it would mean for Lexa or her loved ones.
“Thanks,” she said, looking at him again. “Wanna come in for some wine?”
“No,” he said quickly, and then laughed. “I would like to keep my balls, thank you.”
Persephone wouldn’t put it past Hades to manifest without warning. Still, even with the offer, Apollo lingered.
“There’s something else.”
Persephone waited.
“I’d like to let you out of the contract,” the god said at last.
Persephone’s eyes widened. “What?”
The god smiled ruefully. “I’m trying to change.”
“I see that,” she said, and paused. “But I prefer to hold to my bargains, and if my calculations are correct, we still have five months and four days left.”
She appreciated how Apollo was trying to be different and she knew change took time. She wanted to spend these next few months watching him, guiding him. She trusted he could change with her, but other people? She wasn’t certain.
Apollo raised a brow and challenged, “Coffee tomorrow, two o’clock?”
“Is that a demand or a request?”
“Both?”
“Fine, but I get to pick the place.”
Persephone swore she saw a moment of hesitation in Apollo’s eyes—a gut reaction to disagree and demand control, but then his eyes softened.
“Fine. See you then.”
And he was gone.
