Lethe’s hooves and the bellow of his breath, Persephone heard Hades calling her name. She tightened her thighs on Lethe’s body and leaned forward, urging him to greater speed.
A whistle pierced the air, one short, sharp note, different from the long tone Hades used to call his horses back to him. Lethe bounced to a halt. Even with her legs clenched around the barrel of Lethe’s belly, Persephone’s buttocks rose at the quick stop.
Huffing out a frustrated breath, Persephone shifted her position as Styx drew up to them, Hades on his back. In the nearly thirty days since Hades revealed to her the power of the lodestone, perhaps in an effort to curtail any further escape attempts, he had restricted their daily rides to the area directly behind the palace. Today, at last, he suggested they venture farther and so, for the first time since her first ride on Lethe, Persephone was again at the river that flowed through Elysium.
A ride along its bank could reveal to her another exit from this place. She wasn’t sure how she could use that knowledge once she had it, as the lodestone and Cerberus were obstacles still to be dealt with, but knowing the way out would be a step, at least, on the road to freedom. Yet, here was Hades, once again, to thwart her. Persephone twined her fingers in Lethe’s mane until the thick, coarse strands bit into her flesh.
“We’ve been a-horseback for a long while. It’s time to rest and eat.” Hades flung his leg over Styx’s back and slid to the ground in one fluid motion. Then he walked to Lethe’s side and reached up.
Persephone drew a leg over Lethe’s withers, her momentum carrying her from Lethe’s back into Hades’s waiting arms. Since the night he had come upon her unclothed in the bathing pool, she no longer feared he would do her violence. What did disturb her were the thoughts that came to her on occasion as she drifted between waking and sleep. Memories of the way Hades’s callused palms rasped against her skin, of his somber smiles, of his patience when he instructed her in the finer points of horsemanship, of laughter they shared over Lethe’s antics, turned into dreams in which Hades touched and tasted Persephone in ways she hadn’t yet experienced. She would wake from these nighttime forays, breathless and needful and despising herself for feeling that way.
It was this that made her too hasty as she stepped away from Hades, breaking his grip on her before she was entirely steady on her feet. She stumbled as she stepped back, then tripped and fell.
Hades reached for her, but she scrambled up before he could assist her.
“Is my touch still so loathsome to you?” Hades burst out. “You won’t even allow me to aid you. Though this land I rule is monstrous, I am not a monster, Persephone. Can you not see that?”
Taken aback, Persephone blinked rapidly. Almost involuntarily she put a hand out, reaching for Hades, but he was already moving away from her. He lifted a small pack from Styx’s back then walked to the river.
After a moment’s hesitation, Persephone followed him, Lethe plodding along at her side. At the river’s edge, Hades hunkered down on a log which lay on spit of rock and sand extending into the water.
Persephone sidestepped down the bank, her feet clacking on the stones when she reached the small peninsula. She paused and Lethe continued past her, over the rocky beach and into the water.
“I have food should you desire it,” Hades said, his gaze never leaving the river.
Persephone picked her way to him then paused, rubbing at the soft embroidery on the bottom of her tunic. The length of the log necessitated that, should she sit there, parts of her would touch parts of Hades.
Hades glanced up at her, looked down, shook his head and then stood, leaving the small packet of cheese, bread and apples where they lay.
“Sit. I’ll not molest you, though you seem determined not to believe me.”
“Why should I…?” Persephone began then though better of it. She would likely only anger him if she explained how his actions her first night in his palace gave her every reason to question his veracity.
Ducking the sharp look Hades gave her, she sat and reached for the cheese, though she wasn’t in the least bit hungry. She toyed with the food, every so often glancing up at Hades as he watched Lethe pawing at the water with one hoof.
“What river is this?” she asked when the silence between them spun out far too long for her comfort.
“Lethe,” Hades responded, gaze still on his horse.
Persephone contemplated for a moment, then said, “There’s a River Lethe, a horse Lethe, a River Styx, a horse Styx. Is there also a River Akheron and a River Phlegethon?”
Hades nodded. “There’s a fifth river as well. A God much older than the Olympians dwells there. He's called Kokytos and the river bears his name, just as the other rivers bear the names of the Immortals who rule them, though none dwell belowground save Kokytos.”
“Do you associate with him? Could I meet him?” Persephone asked, trying to keep from her voice the sudden surge of hope she felt at this revelation that another God lived in this place, and perhaps one with power of his own to aid Persephone in her escape.
Hades’s attention remained on Lethe. “Kokytos and I were friends for a time but things … went ill between us and I haven’t seen him for many a year. He doesn’t welcome my visits now.”
Like wine pouring into a cup, despair filled Persephone. If she indulged in it, however, Hades would retreat behind his wall of reserve and they would spend the rest of their time at the river in silence. The quiet in this place under the looming red sky weighed heavily, so she asked, “Why did you choose to call your horses by the rivers’ names?”
Hades finally looked at Persephone, his voice warming as he spoke of his steeds. “Lethe, so named because the relief I take in his company matches the mercy that river’s waters afford my subjects; Styx because he’s steady, but possesses lethal strength; Akheron, the river of sorrow that matches the melancholy that seems always to be in my mount’s eyes, and Phlegethon, for the river of fire is the best match for a burning soul that refuses to be tamed.
“Did you catch the horses in this place or did you bring them with you when you first arrived?” Persephone asked.
“Neither.”
“How did you come by your steeds then?”
A slight smile curved Hades’s lips, and his eyes lost their shadowed depth, lightening to a clear gray. “Helios brought them to me after I had been here for some time. They’re sons of his chargers, though only half Immortal. He also provided me my chariot.”
“And how did you come to be in this place?” Persephone asked.
Hades’s eyes darkened again. His gaze traveled over Lethe, then the river before moving to the opposite bank. Finally, he said, “It was allotted to me.”
“By whom?”
Hades stooped, picked up a handful of rocks from the beach and began hurling them one-by-one into the river. “Zeus, Poseidon, and I, with our mother’s help, overthrew our father and his cohorts, beings known as the Titans, who ruled this world before us. When the battle was over and those of the Titans who refused to accept our reign were safely ensconced in Tartarus, Zeus decreed we should draw lots to decide which of us would rule the different realms. He believed the Moirai would direct our hand to choose the domain to which we were most suited. He put three stones, one blue for the sea, one white for the heavens, one black for the Underworld, in a pouch. As the eldest of my brothers, I put my hand in first and drew out the black stone. Three stones for choosing, and I drew the dark one. There was no denying it was my fate. So, I came to this land while Poseidon plucked out the blue stone and departed for his watery depths leaving the white stone and the sky to Zeus.”
Hades didn’t seem to share Demeter’s reticence when it came to the Immortals. There was so much Persephone could learn from him, so much she longed to know. “What of the other Gods and Goddesses? What of my mother? Was she part of this battle against the Titans? Why did she not draw lots with you?”
“Six of us, including your mother, battled the Titans. We were the first and founding Olympians. After we brothers drew lots, Zeus granted Hera, Hestia, and Demeter dominion over different aspects of the mortal realm. The others who dwell on Olympus now are, for the most part, my siblings’ children. Zeus has given most of them various stewardships also.”
“Why do you not dwell on Olympus with them?” Persephone asked.
Hades said nothing, only flung his last stone into the river. It soon became apparent he didn’t mean to answer her. If she pressed him on the matter, he would likely retreat even further behind his stony wall of silence. Best to ask about a different subject. “Why does Zeus decree all these things? And why do you obey? Surely, he has no more power than you or Poseidon or any of the rest.”
Hades remained silent, but just as Persephone decided he didn’t intend to answer this query either, he said, “When he was born, Zeus, like the rest of us, possessed only the Immortal abilities inherited from our parents. Our mother Rhea, however, favored Zeus as her youngest child and plotted to allow him to remain free from the…” Hades paused and bent to collect another handful of stones. He lobbed one of them into the river before continuing, “confines in which our father Kronos kept the rest of us. Zeus later freed us and for that, we were grateful. Our gratitude gave him dominion over us, and so we must all bend to his will.”
“In what confines did your father keep you?” Persephone asked. Demeter had, as one of the six original Olympians, been in that captivity with Hades. Being imprisoned by her father had surely influenced her.
Just then, Lethe flung up his head and curved his neck to look in Persephone and Hades’s direction. He neighed so vigorously his entire body shook. Persephone turned to see what so excited the horse. Near the palace, a flash, like her father’s lightning, but a rich golden color, streaked across the red haze of the sky.
“His stomach,” Hades said, as he entered the river and splashed his way to Lethe’s side.
It took a moment for Persephone to realize the cryptic comment was Hades’s response to her question, but the words made no sense. His stomach? Kronos had kept his children in his stomach? Held them in his grumbling guts, like a birth turned horribly backward? Though it seemed incomprehensible, the stark expression on Hades’s face, the flatness of his voice when he said it, testified to the truthfulness of his words. And her mother had been kept there, too. It was almost too horrific to contemplate.
Out in the river, Hades murmured to Lethe while rubbing at the base of his ears, though it didn’t appear the horse was the one in need of soothing. After a time, Hades turned back to face Persephone. “We should return to the palace. It grows dark and, though he’ll like as not leave before we arrive, Hermes is there and may need to speak to me.”
The gold flash she’d seen must have informed Hades of Hermes’s arrival, but it was a mystery how Hades knew nighttime approached. The light had changed not one whit from what it was when Persephone woke that morning.
With Lethe at his side, Hades emerged from the river, his wet tunic clinging to his loins and the muscles in his upper thighs.
Persephone’s gaze lingered there for a moment before she looked up. Heat prickled across her chest and rose into her neck and face when she found Hades’s eyes on her.
“Shall I aid you to mount or would you prefer to do so on your own?” he asked.
Persephone looked down at her palms, the scrapes from her earlier fall still stinging a little. Her lips quirked. She looked up at Hades. Something like a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as well.
Persephone rose from the log. “I would welcome your help.”
Hades stepped forward, put his hands about her waist, and lifted her. Usually, he allowed his hand to linger on her upper thigh or ankle before moving away. This time, however, he released her the moment she was safely aboard Lethe. As he always should have done. There was no reason for him to delay, no reason why, in the absence of his touch, her belly should plunge and the smile slide from her face.
She touched her heels to Lethe’s sides, then twined her fingers in his mane and tightened her legs around his belly as the horse lunged up the riverbank. A few moments later, the clomp of Styx’s feet behind her told her Hades followed.
Their earlier conversation had been so fascinating. She hoped Hades would continue it on the ride back to the palace, but he didn’t urge his horse forward to ride next to her as was his wont. Instead, Persephone signaled Lethe to slow until Hades came even with them. Then she asked, “Did you speak much to my mother in the time you were together in your father’s stomach? Did she say how she felt? What she thought?”
Hades’s profile was stark against the red sky as he said, “I would gladly answer any of your other questions regarding your mother or the other Olympians, but I won’t speak of the time before Zeus freed us.”
Persephone looked down. She shouldn’t have asked. It had been apparent on the riverbank his memories from that time were painful ones. Yet, his remonstrance had been gentle. He hadn’t shouted at her for inquiring or told her to get out of his sight as Demeter had so often when Persephone asked what she believed to be an innocent question about her own or her mother’s origins. He hadn’t lost his temper a single time over the past month as he’d instructed her in how to become a better rider. He even tried to comfort her with his own strange methods when he thought her distressed. This God, this man, had in many ways, been kinder and more patient than her own mother. And yet, he’d still taken her captive, still made her submit to his hands and body her first night in his realm. The contradiction didn’t bear thinking about. Not now. Perhaps not ever. Easier to let him fill her head with the knowledge of the Immortals that had been so long denied to her rather than these confusing thoughts, but she would allow him to choose the subject matter so their talk wouldn’t distress him.
“I would like to know anything you’d care to tell me about the Immortals, my mother especially.”
This time he did look at her as he responded. “The only things I know firsthand of your mother are those I learned during the war with the Titans and my infrequent visits to Olympus after coming to live in this land. All further knowledge I have of her and the other Immortals is what I’ve heard from Hekate and the tales Hermes sometimes provides. Occasionally, I come by information from other sources, though not often. Will secondhand accounts satisfy your curiosity?”
Persephone nodded eagerly, and Hades obliged her with story after story about her mother; Demeter’s beauty, her wit, her power, her relationships with the other Olympians. His responses led Persephone to ask more questions about the Immortals and the place where most of them dwelled. He answered each one in great detail. She soon found herself riding the swell of Hades’s words far beyond the dank land she traversed, even to the very heights of Olympus.
At his completion of the tale of Zeus’s seduction of Leda, Persephone asked, “Do the other Gods and Goddesses spend as much time among mortals as Zeus?”
Hades gave her a smile edged with the indulgent look that always called Doso to Persephone’s mind. “It would please me if you took as much of an interest in my realm as you do in the Olympians. Surely, if you came to know as much about it as you seem intent on learning about the Immortals, you couldn’t help but find yourself content here, for in understanding it, you would lose your fear of it.”
As swiftly as night arrived in the Underworld, gone was Persephone’s enjoyment of their conversation. The sky seemed to press down, the far reaches of its horizons contract until she felt she could touch them should she so wish. She struggled to draw breath.
Hades continued speaking, but his words passed over her like mist. She worried at his comment as Phlox so often gnawed at his fleas. Then, as though some clever weaver climbed in her ear and drew the threads of her thoughts together into a bright cloth of hope, a plan came to Persephone.
She would encourage Hades to take her over all of this land, and as he did so, she’d seek out an exit. She’d feign interest in his realm in hopes he would think her to be striving for contentment. When she gained his trust, and he believed her to be happy here, she would ask him if she could take Lethe out unescorted. Then she would ride for the route of escape she found and hope that Lethe’s great heart and long legs were enough to outpace Cerberus.
It wasn’t a perfect plan, nor a quick one. It would take a great deal of time to get Hades to fully trust her. She would have to be patient but her work in the folly would make the days pass faster. It already had. Her hours spent working there seemed to go by in but the flicker of an eye.
She’d already ascertained the light from the chariot wheel did indeed fade to nothingness during the night so that was one problem taken care of. Varying the water flow was proving to be a bit of a challenge. She’d reconfigured the wooden tubes, blocking some, detaching some, and rerouting others to facilitate differing conditions in the various troughs, but she wasn’t yet satisfied with the results. In the evenings after she and Hades dined, she worked on piecing together the drape. Once it was finished, she would still need to contrive a way to hang it in the hut. So much work to accomplish and no way to know if any of it would result in living plants.
Her stomach knotted at the thought. It was entirely possible she could fare worse than Hades had in making this experiment. Though she would be the only one to know of her failure, it would matter very much to her if she didn’t succeed. Very much.
The same pulse of golden light Persephone had seen earlier pulled her from her thoughts. A dark object, which looked as though it had been propelled from the palace roof appeared in the sky, dwindled, then disappeared altogether.
“Hermes departs,” Hades said.
“He didn’t wish to keep company with you?”
Hades laughed, a short harsh sound. “Hermes seldom stays long in my realm. He made an exception at his last visit in order to meet you. As his curiosity regarding you is now satisfied and he’s never taken much pleasure in my presence, I imagine it shall be some time before he finds reason to linger here again.”
“You’ve less companionship in this place than you did in your father’s belly,” Persephone observed.
Hades jerked as though she had struck him.
Persephone put a hand to her mouth but there was no catching the words, no way to unsay them.
Hades tightened his legs about Styx’s belly, leaned over the horse’s neck and whispered ‘tcha.’ Styx sprang into a gallop. Lethe followed suit.
She had offended Hades, hurt him, and he had retreated from her, but for how long? How long before he raged at her the way Demeter would when Persephone said something imprudent? And would he only use words to wound? Or would he also strike her as Demeter sometimes had? She would soon find out. There was no escaping him in this realm he ruled. She must face her punishment, no matter how harsh. Sweat dampened Persephone’s palms and she had to tighten her grip on Lethe’s mane so the strands wouldn’t slip through her fingers.
When Persephone brought Lethe to a halt at the rear entrance of the stables, Hades had already alighted from Styx’s back. He came to her and lifted his arms. There was no anger in his expression, nothing to indicate he intended any kind of retribution.
Persephone slid from Lethe’s back into Hades’s waiting hands. He touched her carefully, let her go the moment her feet were steady on the ground, then turned away, his movements jerky, stiff, not with anger but with pain.
Persephone grasped his hand, arresting his movement. “I beg pardon, Hades. I shouldn’t have been so thoughtless.”
He turned back, his gaze fixed on her hand which still held his.
Then he raised his eyes to hers. They were alight with amazement. The wonder in them was a reflection of all Persephone felt when Ianthe had touched her in the Mother Goddess’s Meadow.
“I thank you for the apology.” He gave a small laugh. “I believe it’s the first I’ve ever received.”
From inside the stable, Styx gave a demanding stomp of his hoof. Hades looked over his shoulder, then looked back at Persephone. “I’d best attend to him.”
Persephone released Hades, and he moved inside. The memory of the awe in his face, the clear gray of his eyes, like the sky just before dawn, the way the ridges of his knuckles felt against her palm would visit her as she slipped into sleep tonight, would perhaps chase her into her dreams. What would she do with him then, when there was no Styx to break the moment?
Lethe nudged her shoulder, impatient for his hay. Giving her head a rueful shake, Persephone patted him, then walked into the stable. As she entered, a glimmer of light in a small alcove at one side of Phlegethon’s stall caught her eye. Persephone peered into the tangle of leather straps hanging from the wall there. The bronze head of an arrow winked at her from the shadows.
Persephone reached forward and drew it from the midst of the jumbled harness pieces. As she did so, something clattered to the floor. She looked down. A bow, its stave resting just beyond the tip of her sandal lay at her feet. She bent and picked it up. Putting the arrow aside, she traced the sinuous curve of the wood, twanged the string with one finger.
She reclaimed the arrow, touched the tip, and a spot of blood welled immediately. The bow seemed to be in good condition and the arrow was sharp, sharp enough to pierce anything, perhaps even the hide of a three-headed dog. Not lethal, not for that animal, but perhaps potent enough to discourage pursuit.
Recalling what she could of the archers in Henna, Persephone nocked the arrow, lifted the bow and drew back the string.
“I’d forgotten those,” Hades said from behind her.
Persephone flinched, the feathered shaft dropping from her fingers as she turned. “They’re yours?”
Hades bent to collect the arrow then offered it to her. “Rhea gave them to me during the war. I’ve little use for such things here. I put them away and never thought more about them. Do you hunt?”
“I never learned. Such weapons were forbidden to Sicani women.”
“You aren’t Sicani, and we aren’t in Henna.” Hades said, then reached behind her, his chest brushing hers. She drew in a sharp breath. He stepped back quickly, begged her pardon, and asked her to move aside.
After she did, he put a hand into the alcove, extracted a quiver full of arrows, and handed them to her.
Persephone riffled through the shafts, the feathers at their ends pricking her fingertips. Her lips curved into a smile. She handed Hades the bow, put the quiver strap over her head, and adjusted it until it rested comfortably between her breasts. She reclaimed the bow from Hades and walked out of the stable into the long grass of Elysium.
A good distance from the rear of the palace, Persephone stopped, nocked the arrow, and lifted the bow so the arrow’s fletching was in line with her cheek. She sighted down the shaft at an asphodel then released the string. It twanged against her inner elbow, sending white-hot agony racing down her arm. She jerked and cried out in pain. The shot went wild, and Persephone dropped the bow from a hand gone numb.
“Such a fool,” she muttered through clenched teeth as she bent to collect the bow.
“May I offer instruction?”
She looked at Hades over her shoulder, hesitated, gave him a brief nod.
“Nock the arrow and draw back the string as you did before.”
Looking forward again, Persephone did as he asked. Her hands shook so the arrow wavered and danced against the string. She wasn’t a fool. She wasn’t. With Hades as her teacher, she had learned to ride. She could master this, too. Her hands stilled and the arrow settled into position.
Hades circled around until he was in front of her and surveyed her with narrowed eyes. “You need to remove your littlest finger from the string. That’s likely what sent your last shot astray.”
Persephone curled her pinky away from the bow.
Stepping out of the way, Hades said, “Select a target and aim, but don’t shoot.”
Persephone sighted down the arrow at the same asphodel.
Hades moved to her side. He grabbed the stave of the bow and pulled it down a bit. “Is the tip of the arrow at the base of your target now?”
“It is.”
Hades nodded. “Always aim slightly low. You have to compensate for the difference between your eye and the level at which you hold the arrow. Now let fly.”
Persephone released the string. It moved smoothly past her inner arm without impacting it, but the arrow still flew wide of her target. She made a frustrated noise in the back of her throat and lowered the bow.
“It’s no simple thing to learn archery, Persephone. Be easy with yourself.”
“What did I do wrong?”
“I can show you but it will require that I touch you. May I?”
He’d never requested permission before, simply put his hands on her as if it was his right. It was odd to be asked, though very welcome. She nodded, but her heart still sped up, thundering against her ribs as he circled behind her.
He aligned himself with her, reached around and adjusted her fingers on the bowstring. “Ease your grip. When you let the arrow go, simply open your fingers. Holding too hard and too long sends the tip of the arrow astray.”
He moved her hips, turning them slightly. Her buttocks were pressed against his groin. His hands at her waist anchored her there. His warmth radiated through the cloth of her tunic. She shifted against him, and his breath, which stirred the hair at her temple, ceased for a moment. A pulse of heat shot through her at the catch in his throat. She pushed herself more firmly into the cradle of his hips. He made an odd sound. His hands slid forward, snugging her in even tighter. Her breath came short. She wanted him to do … something, but she wasn’t sure what. Instead, his hands fell away, and he stepped back.
Cloth rasped against skin. Then he cleared his throat and instructed her to pick a target.
Persephone’s attention had shifted completely from the task at hand. She had to gather it back in like a skein of unspooled yarn, reclaiming it from the parts of her body that still blazed from contact with his.
Finally, focused once more, she adjusted her grip on the bowstring and sighted down the arrow. She lowered the bow a bit and, without tightening her grip, opened her fingers to release the string. The arrow grazed the side of the asphodel she was aiming at. It rocked from the contact. She turned to look at Hades.
The smile on his face echoed her own. “Better. Try again.”
Persephone took another arrow from the quiver and nocked it. She waited, but Hades made no move to adjust her position as he had before. Finally, releasing a small sigh, she aimed.
The arrow flew from the bow and her target exploded into a shower of velvet petals. She let out a shout a triumph. It was a good hit, but one of Cerberus’s six eyeballs would be likely prove a harder target. And a bloodier one, much like the wound that had maimed Phlox. Her mind recoiled, and she lowered the bow.
“A pity Artemis couldn’t be the one to teach you,” Hades said. You seem a student worthy of her skill.”
One corner of her lip curling up, Persephone turned to face Hades. “I proved a poor pupil to my mother. Artemis would likely find me lacking as well.”
“Perhaps the lack was in the teacher, not the student.”
Persephone’s throat convulsed. The breath she drew burned as it traveled to her lungs. For a moment she couldn’t speak. When she finally did, it was only to say, “I should attend to Lethe now.”
She extended the bow toward Hades.
“Keep it if it pleases you.”
Hades would be the one to extract any arrow with which she hit Cerberus. It would be he who would have to hear the crack of bone, the grinding of gristle, the howl of agony as he tore the head free from his friend’s hide. Continuing to hold the bow out to him, she shook her head. “I thank you, but no.”
Hades passed a hand over his eyes, said softly, “Do what you will with it then. Put it with the clothes you refuse to garb yourself in and the jewelry you won’t wear. It makes no matter to me.”
Then he turned and, head lowered, walked toward the stable. Persephone watched him go. There was nothing she could say, no explanation she could give for her refusal of his gifts that wouldn’t wound him more.