The only way to fight my father is to lean into the darker side of myself. And maybe I’m not apologetic that side exists.
‘I always assumed …’ Hades starts, before looking around. ‘Sorry, what is it we’re doing here?’
‘We’re having breakfast,’ I say. ‘Here should do as well as any other place.’
I unfold a blanket and begin to unpack the pouch slung across my back.
‘Sitting on the ground once more?’ he asks. ‘Why do you detest furniture so much?’
‘Stop whining and sit,’ I say, planting myself on the blanket. ‘Now what were you saying? You were using your profound, melancholy voice.’
He shakes his head. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘It does,’ I insist. ‘You’ve been so … down lately.’
‘I have not.’
‘You have – and I know why.’
His head snaps up and his back tenses.
‘If you hate court so much, why do you come?’
His shoulders relax slightly but he scowls at me. ‘Because I am the king of Hell and I must?’
‘You’re the king of Hell. Do whatever you want. But …’
‘But?’
‘You keep saying I’m better at ruling this realm than you. It’s not true. You’re brilliant. But you clearly don’t like court very much. So why don’t you do the parts of ruling that interest you and leave court to me?’ I say, piling pastries on to a plate.
‘I can’t ask you to do that,’ he says. ‘It’s tedious and –’
‘It’s wonderful.’
He scoffs. ‘Oh, of course.’
‘I’m serious.’
He narrows his eyes. ‘Youareserious. How could you possibly find all that interesting?’
‘Because it is. Everything to do with running the realm, all the disputes between the gods, all of it. It’s fascinating.’
‘You’re very strange, Persephone.’
‘It would seem I’m a politician,’ I say. ‘And you’re an artist. And a scholar. We don’t both need to do everything, do we? Why don’t we split it up and make our lives easier?’
‘What, you mediate the gods and manage the human courts, and I sit with scrolls, ironing out the kinks in your afterlife?’
‘If you want to.’
‘I do love research.’
‘I know.’
‘Not that it would be the same without you getting bored after mere moments and trying to distract me with a dozen questions,’ he says. He smirks but his eyes glaze, distracted, asthough genuinely reminiscing on our time locked in the library together and his smile softens with fondness.
‘And court won’t be the same without you scowling,’ I joke.
