and planned, Persephone was, for the moment, on Lethe’s back and unrestricted by Hades’s supervision, but there was no freedom to be found here. The silence of the Underworld pressed down on her, ringing in her ears. The shades around her, with their blank eyes, their mindless motions, were infinitely more eerie now she was on her own. It seemed as though they crept closer to her, the motion disguised by their continual swaying. She desperately wanted to leave this realm, but she didn’t yet know of any way to escape, save on Charon’s ferry, which was closed to her. Riding back to the palace would remove her from the shades’ horrific presence but it would also necessitate she pass alone through the crowd of angry souls outside the Temple of Judgment. There was no safe place to which she could flee.
Snorting, Lethe spun in an anxious circle. When he again faced the direction in which Hades had gone, Persephone tapped the horse’s ribs with her heels. With a shrill neigh, he plunged down the road after his master.
Persephone’s pursuit of Hades had nothing to do with the plea in his eyes, the heart’s longing in his voice when he told her he wanted her to stay for love of him. She wasn’t chasing him because of the urge she felt, in the moment of his anguish, to smooth the pain away from his face with a touch, to ease the ache in his breast by laying her head upon it. It was fear, only fear, that prevented her from taking this opportunity to search for a way of escape.
Sometime later, Lethe neighed and slowed to a lope. His call was answered by Akheron. Persephone straightened and looked about.
Hades stood on Styx’s bank talking with Charon. As she approached them, Hades turned to her. Like a herald of dawn, his gray eyes lightened and a smile curved his lips. Persephone swallowed and looked away. His heart was in her keeping and she didn’t know how to hold it, didn’t want to learn.
When she looked back, Hades was speaking to Charon again. After a moment, Charon nodded, then pushed away from the bank and poled his way into the river’s current.
Hades mounted Akheron and rode him to Lethe’s side. “Given your freedom on Lethe’s back, I thought you might . . . return to the palace without me.”
It was evident from the pause Hades hadn’t meant to end his statement that way. What had he thought Persephone might do? Had he meant her to take the opportunity to escape? What did it mean, what message had she conveyed by following him, rather than running?
“Do you wish to go back now?” Hades asked.
Persephone nodded. The warmth of the folly would be welcome after the day’s chill and perhaps she could find a bit of peace there with her little plants, sequestered from Hades’s presence and the contradictory feelings to which he gave rise.
She turned Lethe in the direction they’d come and kneed him into a walk but brought him to a halt when she realized Hades wasn’t following. She looked over her shoulder to see him doing the same. She followed the direction of his gaze to Styx’s opposite bank and gasped. The quantity of shades there had easily doubled since the day she first came to the Underworld.
Hades faced forward again and urged Akheron into a walk.
“Is all well?” Persephone asked as he came even with her.
Hades jerked his chin toward his shoulder indicating the riverbank behind him. “There are too many.”
“Why have their numbers increased so?”
Hades shook his head. “It isn’t the amount that concerns me. It’s their lack of grave goods.”
“Why is that worrying?”
“Without the means to pay the passage, Charon can’t ferry them across,” Hades said, returning his attention to the opposite bank. “They wait there tormented by memories of their mortal life, but unable to move forward into this plane of existence. Their pain would be eased by a single sip of the River Lethe. It’s a respite I can’t give them, not until they’ve paid the toll by waiting on Styx’s bank for a hundred years. And for those who weren’t buried at all, it’s a mercy I can never provide them. They linger in agony for eternity and it—it’s difficult for me to contemplate their suffering.”
“What does it mean that so many are being buried without goods to pay the passage?”
“Or not buried at all,” Hades added, then continued, “I believe whole families, perhaps entire villages are perishing at or nearly at the same time, with none left to ensure the dead are being cared for properly. The possible causes of such a thing are myriad, but none is good. Something very wrong is happening in the Upper World.”
“What can be done about it?” Persephone asked, her heart writhing with pity. How awful to pass through the travail of a mortal life only to find endless suffering on the other side.
“Nothing.”
“I don’t understand. You’re a God. You rule this land. Can’t you simply—”
“No. I cannot,” Hades said, his voice as sharp and stinging as the crack of his whip. “There are laws that were set in place by Chaos to govern this realm just as any other sphere. I must abide by them.”
Persephone flinched. She reached down and began to roll the threads on the hem of her tunic through her fingers. Her other hand entwined itself in Lethe’s mane. Surely, Hades only spoke as he had because other thoughts weighed on his mind, but that didn’t remove the smart of his harsh rebuttal. It was the first as such she’d ever received from him, and it stung all the more because of that.
Hades kneed Akheron into a walk. Persephone followed, though this wasn’t the direction she wanted to be going any longer. Home wasn’t ahead. It was behind, across Styx, through the mass of shades on its bank, at the other end of ineffable darkness. Her entire being ached with the desire to be there.
When Persephone noticed the shade standing at the side of the road, hands moving as though vigorously scrubbing dirty cloth with a rough stone, she thought it was her homesickness that imposed a likeness to one of the villagers on the shade’s visage and movements. As she passed, however, the shade looked up, fully revealing itself to her.
“Nadira?”
The woman didn’t react to the name. Indeed, she didn’t even acknowledge Persephone’s presence, but it was Nadira. Persephone was sure of it. She halted Lethe, swung a leg over his back, and dropped to the ground.
Approaching the shade, Persephone said. “Nadira, it is I, Perse—Kore. You needn’t be afraid.”
The woman continued her motions unchecked. Persephone reached out.
“Persephone, no!” Hades shouted.
Persephone’s fingers closed on Nadira’s forearm. The black orbs of Nadira’s eyes focused suddenly, fastening on Persephone’s face. The village woman’s lips peeled back in a soundless snarl. She lunged forward and snapped at Persephone, her teeth closing within a hairsbreadth of Persephone’s cheek.
With a cry, Persephone jerked away, scrambled backward.
In utter silence, Nadira advanced. Her cold fingers scrabbled for purchase on Persephone’s tunic. Persephone stumbled, lost her balance and fell. Nadira leapt. Persephone lifted her hands in front of her face to protect herself, but the attack never came. Hades had struck the village woman aside. Nadira hit the ground, rolled to a crouch, and propelled herself toward Persephone once again.
Hades stepped in front of Persephone and caught Nadira in his arms.
Persephone scrambled to her feet. “Don’t hurt her, Hades. Please, she—”
Hades pressed a hand to Nadira’s forehead. Eyes closing, she slumped against him.
Hades knelt and, with care, laid Nadira’s shade on the dirt of the road. Persephone dropped to her knees at the Sicani woman’s side.
“Oh, Nadira.” Persephone lifted a hand to push the wild tangle of the woman’s black hair off her face.
Hades caught her by the wrist. “Don’t. Please. If you touch her, you’ll rouse her to violence again.”
Persephone let her arm go limp. Hades released her, and she folded her hands in her lap.
They trembled there with the force of her longing to brush Nadira’s hair back, to straighten the woman’s tunic, to return to her some semblance of humanity. “She shouldn’t be here. If I’d been stronger, if I hadn’t let my mother dissuade me from attending her in childbed, she wouldn’t have died. I could have saved her.”
“You have no way of knowing she died while giving birth,” Hades said, quietly, gently. “Some other misfortune could just as easily have brought her here.”
Hades spoke sense. Persephone couldn’t know for certain the manner of Nadira’s death, but her heart felt the truth of it. Her cowardice had brought this woman to the Underworld as surely as if Persephone had plunged a knife into her heart.
Nadira twitched and rolled her head to the side.
Hades stood. “Come, it would be best we’re gone before she wakes.”
“What will happen to her?” Persephone asked, unable to take her eyes from the village woman.
“She’ll remember nothing of what occurred here and will return to how she was when you first saw her.”
Persephone looked up at Hades. “She’s no older than I. She has a babe waiting for her in the world above.”
“I told you of the laws of the Underworld, Persephone. They rule me as well as my realm.”
“There’s no way to circumvent them even this once?”
Hades dragged a hand over his mouth, then down his beard and swallowed heavily. “There is.”
Persephone held his gaze, a mute plea in her eyes.
“Her loved ones in the world above won’t be glad to see her again. They performed funerary rites on her body, or else she wouldn’t be here. They know she’s dead. Her return will only frighten and confuse them. They’ll surely spurn her, or worse, their fear may inspire them to violence against her.”
Hades spoke only the truth. The Sicani feared Persephone merely because she’d broken a statue. Their terror of one returned to them from the dead would be much greater unless they could be persuaded her reappearance was a blessing, not a curse.
“Have you a statue of any of the Goddesses amongst the treasures in your palace?” Persephone asked.
“I believe so.”
“If we sent it with Nadira and made sure she approached the village from Nysa, they would believe her return a gift from the Mother Goddess. She and the statue would be seen as a blessing, a lifting of the curse they believe has afflicted Henna since. . . since my birth.”
“Persephone—”
“Please, Hades. Nadira’s restoration would right so many wrongs.”
Hades’s back hunched and his body tightened as though in anticipation of a blow, but he only said, “Very well.”
Then, one motion flowing into the next, he drew the bronze dagger from his belt, slashed it across his wrist, dropped to his knees, and pressed the oozing wound against Nadira’s mouth.
The shade’s eyes remained closed, her face slack as though in sleep, but her jaws clamped closed on Hades’s arm. A horrible sucking, slurping noise filled the air. Blood so red it was nearly black ran out both sides of Nadira’s mouth.
Persephone gagged, choked, and turned away.
A moment later she heard a sort of gurgling, bubbling croak. She turned back just as a rosy flush like the rays of Eos’s dawn light raced over Nadira’s skin. Hades pulled his arm from Nadira’s mouth.
The normal pallor of Hades’s skin was now chalky, with no luminescence to it at all. Even the pink of his lips had paled. He tried to get to his feet but staggered and fell back to his knees.
“Hades?” Persephone reached for him.
She heard another gurgle and turned her attention instead to Nadira. The woman, who was sitting up now, blinked, then stared with wide eyes at Persephone. Turning away from Hades, Persephone moved closer to Nadira. In an echo of Persephone’s earlier action, the woman scrambled back.
Persephone stopped moving. “You needn’t be afraid, Nadira. I won’t hurt you. I vow it.”
Eyes still wide, Nadira’s lips moved, but no sound came out. She put her fingers to her mouth as though she could pluck the words she meant to say out of it and fling them into being.
From behind Persephone, Hades said, “You won’t be able to speak for some days, Nadira. You’ve been ill. Your family entrusted you to me and my lady wife while you recover. When your voice returns to you, we’ll return you to Henna. Now, I imagine you’re frightened and cold and hungry. May we convey you to our home for some rest and refreshment?”
Confusion and terror still battling in her face, Nadira gave a slow nod. Persephone extended a hand. After a moment’s hesitation, Nadira took it, and Persephone pulled her to her feet. Nadira looked down, pressed her hands against her flat belly, then looked up at Persephone, eyes wide with worry.
“Your babe is well and in your mother’s care. You’ll see your child when you return home.” Persephone hoped she spoke true, but she had no way of knowing. However, if Nadira arrived in the Upper World and found her babe had perished, she would at least have her mother and the rest of her family to welcome her and comfort her in her mourning. It would be more of a homecoming than Persephone would receive if she ever made good her escape.
Nadira nodded her understanding, but her face was still full of fear, and she continued to clutch at her stomach with one hand.
“Are you in pain?”
Nadira shook her head.
“Do you think you can ride?” Persephone gestured to Lethe who stood, head lowered, cropping grass at the side of the road.
Some of the anxiousness left Nadira’s face and she stepped toward the horse. Persephone had worried the woman might be frightened of him. He was larger than the horses in Henna, but it seemed his placidness and beauty cast the same spell on Nadira as they had on Persephone.
Lethe stood patiently while Persephone worked to get Nadira on his back. It would have been but a moment’s effort for Hades, but he didn’t come to her aid. Once Persephone got Nadira mounted, she looked about for him.
He leaned against Akheron, arms crossed over his chest. He was still pale, the flesh under his eyes like a bruise, and the creases that ran from his nose to either side of his mouth were carven and deep.
“We should return to the palace now.” He straightened, winced, and fell back against Akheron.
Persephone hurried to him. “Are you ill?”
Hades stopped her with an uplifted hand. He brought himself to standing but pain still etched deep lines in his forehead and around his mouth. “You won’t see me about the palace over the next handful of days. You must keep Nadira inside until I emerge from my chambers. Cerberus will be eager to reclaim her. Indeed, he’ll likely be on the hunt soon and you haven’t the means to dissuade him from his purpose. Nor will I for some time. I would ask that you care for the horses, for I’ll also be unable to carry out those duties.”
“Why?”
Hades swiped at the sweat dewing his forehead. “There’s a cost for Nadira’s return to her mortal existence. As it’s my blood in her veins that price will be mine to pay.”
“How? What price?”
“Flesh for flesh. Even now her mortal body is using mine to regenerate around her shade. When that process is complete, I’ll be myself again.” Hades’s jaw clenched, and his lips thinned into a hard line.
Blinking rapidly, Persephone asked, “Your blood can accomplish such a thing? How is that possible?”
“As it’s your mother’s gift from our parents to slay or sustain the growing things of the
Gaia’s flesh, so it’s my inheritance to cut short or prolong the life of any mortal even against the decree of the Moirai.” A bitter smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “You see how I’m uniquely suited to my role here.”
Persephone didn’t see. To have such a gift and to be barred by the laws of the Underworld from using it would constitute an exquisite form of torture especially for one with the depth of feeling she was beginning to suspect Hades harbored.
“Does it cause you a great deal of pain?” she asked.
Hades gave a curt nod. “In a few days it will reach its peak. Then it will ebb and go completely when Nadira is fully mortal again.”
Persephone thought of the lurch behind her navel when she touched the little leaf earlier that day. It hadn’t been a wholly pleasant feeling. If her entire body had been affected that way, the sensation would have left her writhing. Hades, it seemed, would be experiencing that for days.
“I didn’t know her life came at such a cost. You could have denied me. You should have denied me,” Persephone cried.
“And what kind of foul thing would you think me now if I had?”
“You could have explained.”
“Would you have allowed me the opportunity?”
Heat crept up Persephone’s neck and into her face.
“It’s done, Persephone. Let it be. Come, I would return home now.”
She’d sentenced Hades to this, the least she could do was return with him to the palace and what little comfort he could take there as quickly as possible. Persephone hurried back to Lethe. Before she could clamber on behind Nadira, Hades rode up on Akheron. He hunched over, one arm held tightly to his midsection.
She looked up at Nadira. “Lethe will follow Akheron to the palace. All you need do is remain on his back. Can you manage that?”
Entwining her fingers more tightly in Lethe’s mane, Nadira nodded.
Persephone moved to Akheron’s side and reached up to Hades. “Give me your hand.”
“What?”
“Nadira doesn’t need my assistance. You do. Give me your hand.”
Hades dropped his arm from his stomach, tried to straighten. “The pain isn’t constant yet. I can manage until it eases.”
“And if you can’t? I haven’t the strength to get you back on Akheron’s back should you fall. Best you let me on now so I can hold you there.”
Hades looked out over the asphodel meadow, his eyes dark, his mouth drawn in pain. Finally, not meeting her gaze, he reached down.
Persephone gripped his forearm and pulled herself up behind him. She put her arms about his waist. His muscles were corded tight in pain.
Calling out to Nadira to hold on, Persephone tapped Akheron’s ribs with her heels. The horse moved into a walk.
They were almost back at the Vale of Mourning before Hades’s muscles finally unknotted. He settled back against Persephone with a gust of expelled air. The muscled terrain of his back shifted against her breasts. His hands dropped to his sides. They brushed Persephone’s thighs with almost every step Akheron took. The heat his touch set to simmering in her belly and her groin was undeniable, unignorable.
Her hands, which had been clenched on his tunic in the effort to keep Hades upright, splayed open against the hard planes of his abdomen. For a moment, his belly ceased rising and falling. Then, Hades brought one hand up, placed it over top of hers, and began making small revolutions on her wrist and the back of her hand with one finger.
With his other hand he stroked the length of Persephone’s thigh once, then again. The fire in her body was stoked by each pass. As they turned toward the Temple of Judgment, Persephone’s gaze strayed to the white vulnerability where Hades’s neck and shoulder met. The skin looked soft, smooth, as delightful to touch as a flower petal.
Heart pounding, breath shallow and short, Persephone leaned forward and pressed her lips there.
Hades’s thighs flexed, and Akheron came to a halt. Persephone lifted her head. Hades turned his upper body, tilting his face down to hers. His breath played over her mouth. He murmured her name, his lips almost brushing hers as he spoke. Her stomach churned and her heart thudded. She drew back, pulling her hands from his body.
Hades remained as he was for a moment, but Persephone couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes. A sigh gusted from him, his breath stirring the hair about her face. Then he turned from her and signaled Akheron to walk. The horse had taken only a few strides when Hades groaned and leaned forward again. Sweat popped out on the back of his neck.
“Hades.”
He made no response.
Persephone touched his shoulder blade, a brief skim of her fingertips. “Hades?”
“Home,” he moaned.
Persephone wrapped her arms around his waist once more, lifted her heels, and brought them down hard. With a snort, Akheron started forward in a lope. Persephone looked behind, assured herself that Lethe was following with a wide-eyed Nadira flattened to the horse’s neck, clinging to it with all her might.
As they pounded their way toward the palace, Persephone’s muscles quivered with the effort of keeping Hades on Akheron’s back. He was very nearly limp in her arms. The enormity of his pain frightened her, this man she had thought was made of stone, impervious to hurt of any kind.
Persephone sorted through the healing knowledge she had learned at Doso’s knee, though she wasn’t sure if earthly remedies could heal Godly ailments. There was so much she didn’t know about the Gods. So much she didn’t know about Hades. Then, a cold wave of fear shivered over her as she recalled what he said about those in his kingdom seeing him as they wished, not as he really was. Who was the true Hades? The kind, compassionate man who gifted Nadira with her life, or the cold, cruel God who abducted Persephone, forced his attentions on her, and still showed himself now and again in brief glimpses? Which stoked her desire? And to which would she be wedding herself if she failed to escape this place?