He clearly decides against commenting and says instead, ‘You need to eat.’
‘I do not,’ I reply, turning back to the work at hand.
‘Whatever research you’ve taken it upon yourself to do is hardly going to be optimal if you’re weak with hunger.’
‘Let me make one thing very clear.’ I look up. ‘I’m doing this despite you and that means I do not in any way want your opinion – on anything.’
My breath catches as I finish speaking. Talking this way is a thrill that goes beyond saying words I would never utter before my mother. It’s the determination that deems them necessary, driven by the first sense of purpose I’ve had in my entire life. It’s the freedom of feeling contempt and showing it, pushing it out into the world instead of somewhere deep inside myself. It’s in not having to think first, in letting myself be true – even when that truth is cruel.
Hades listens without moving but when I finish his smirk has deepened and he nods. ‘Noted.’
‘Then go away.’ I can’t focus with him here. He’s too infuriating. Too distracting.
Hades nods again, that bloody smile still on his lips. ‘I see xenia was restricting you substantially. I had no idea politeness could be such an act.’
‘Goodbye, Hades.’
‘Very well. But, for the record, and I know you don’t care for my opinion, I much prefer you without the pretence.’
I scowl at his retreating form long after he’s disappeared from view. If Hades prefers me volatile it almost makes me want to be calm.
Food appears not long after he leaves and I’m not sure whether it’s a coincidence, Tempest’s decision or, scariest of all, something Hades requested.
I glare at the offending fruit. Is it possible he’s done something to it, now that he can? It seems too cowardly, poisoned food,especially for a god who fought in the Titan war. And, as he pointed out, killing me would only mean I’d be here to annoy him forever. I take a bite. It’s tough and dry and swallowing it hurts but it doesn’t taste deadly.
‘You revoked xenia?’ Styx is back, leaning in the doorway where Hades stood just hours before.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ I say. ‘Like you said, they’ll find out sooner or later. And I don’t want to owe Hades anything when they do.’
She takes in the chaos of the papers. ‘So you’re going to spend your remaining moments of freedom reading?’
‘I’m going to do some good while I can … or I’m going to try to at least.’
‘And what exactly are you trying?’
I sigh, pushing the pages in front of me away. ‘It’s so barren out there. The humans are just standing in an empty field for all eternity.’
‘It’s not empty. It has asphodel now.’
I wave her comment away. ‘You know what I mean. And, some of them, they’re … some of them deserve better and some of them deserve so much worse. I want to give them that.’
‘How?’ she asks, walking over and crouching before my hastily scrawled notes.
‘That’s what I’m trying to find out,’ I say, pointing to the pages I’ve written. ‘All this research. I need to know how to create more than just flowers. Humans used to be mud before Athena breathed life into them so it can’t be hard.’
‘Athena is the goddess of wisdom.’
‘Yes, which is why I’ve decided research is the answer. But I don’t know where to start. And, even if I did, I need to figureout exactly what I want to create – what sort of thing the humans would want or hate, and how to decide who gets what afterlife. There’s so much to organize and so far all I’ve managed to find is an account of some mortal war in the Peloponnese and a rather fanatical description of every breath Athena has ever taken. It can’t be this difficult.’
She turns to me, lips pressed tight like she’s reluctant to ask. ‘Have you asked Hades about it?’
‘He’s not going to stand in my way.’
‘I meant have you spoken to him? He knows how this realm works so he could probably help with your first dilemma. And, as these scrolls are his, he probably knows where the ones you need are. And, actually, he’s probably already read them and could tell you.’
‘He’s hardly going to help me change his own realm.’
‘He might.’
