‘What?’ I ask, unsure how to react to that. I gave them paradise. But they fear the punishment more?
‘You’re the queen of the Underworld – don’t take it too personally. They call mePlutonfor the same reason. They’re superstitious of anyone related to death. But … as I say, that’s only a few of them. The others aren’t calling you Kore. They’ve added an epithet – you’reDreadPersephone.’
I laugh before realizing he’s not joking. And then I consider it – the fear, thepower.
‘I quite like that.’
He smiles. ‘I thought you might.’
My laughter breaks. ‘I don’t think being Dread Persephone will make confronting my mother any easier.’
‘I’m not sure about that,’ he says, and he stands, crosses to me and perches himself on the arm of my chair. He places his hand on top of mine and squeezes, and, by the Fates, I’m so very glad I have him, even if it’s not in the way I want. ‘It won’t stop it being difficult – but it should certainly remind you of all you’ve achieved.’
I lean into his touch. ‘I need to confront her alone,’ I say. ‘But right now … I need tonotfeel alone. To feel like if she does … if the worst happens and she disowns me then I know I’m not by myself.’
Hades nods. ‘I can help – do you want me to get Styx? Your mortal friends? You could invite them over –’
‘No,’ I say firmly. ‘Just you. They don’t get it, but you do. I’ve told you everything. And, well, I care most that you’re there for me.’
Hades glances at his hands, his thumb brushing my skin in small, comforting circles.
He swallows.
‘Of course, Persephone. I’m there for you whenever you need me. Just say the word.’
WE SPEND THE NIGHT DRINKINGtea by the fire, sharing anecdotes and laughing until I forget my fear. But it doesn’t put my mind at rest enough to fully remove the sting of the day.
Now I get dressed, second-guessing every little choice. I didn’t put this much thought into my coronation outfit.
I spend two hours pinning every single lock of my hair in place. I look at all the crowns I have been gifted and none of them look right.
I’m terrified. I’m excited. I can’t do this.
My fingers fumble on a simple black tiara. Should I choose something else? I want to look like I belong, but also like I’m the daughter she remembers, the one she loves. Or maybe I want to be whoever I am now and hope she loves that too.
I jam the tiara on my head and survey myself in the mirror. Wearing all black seemed a step too far. My gown is a hazy grey instead, like the morning mists that gather on the shores back home.
Gods, I miss Sicily so much.
I suppose if I’m not actively avoiding my mother by clinging on to how busy I am, I can actually go. I can see my friends. Maybe I can even venture off, see some of the rest of the world …
I shake the thoughts away. I’ll see how this conversation goes first.
When I’m ready, I head to the megaron. I want Mother to see everything I have here and why I might not want to leave.
I sent Hermes with an invitation. I told her, if she wanted to come, to go to the very meadow I vanished from.
I reach through to those flowers now and find them shrivelled and weak. Even my beautiful flowers are not immune to the decay my mother has set across the land. But with my focus on them they revive. Beyond them, another presence hovers, a slow, pulsing life – weary, devastated and just a little bit hopeful.
I pull her through the flowers to the bouquet in the hall. My mother.
I don’t realize just how much I’ve missed her until she’s in front of me and something in my chest lurches.
She’s not as I remember her – coiffed and polished, ready to bargain with Olympians for my hand. Her dress is torn at the hem. The soles of her shoes are worn thin. Her dark hair escapes her plait like it was tied days ago. Shadowy bags haunt her bloodshot eyes and she glances at me like, for a moment, she’s not sure she can dare to hope it’s actually me.
I rush from my throne so quickly I stagger over the drop of the plinth and scrape my knee as I’m hurled forward. I don’t even stop to stand straight. I run until my mother is in my arms.
She clutches me tight, her bony fingers like needles, her tears wet on my shoulder but maybe they’re mine, maybe I’m crying too.
