‘You can’t possibly know that.’
‘No, but I think I’m starting to.’ His jaw is clenched so tightly that I can see his muscles straining down his neck. If I stare at him for a second longer I’m scared about what I’ll do.
‘I …’
‘I don’t mean to pry.’
I shake my head. ‘I’m not sure I understand well enough myself. She’s a good mother.’
‘Perhaps,’ he says. ‘So long as you know that you’re a good daughter.’
My breath catches. That’s it, isn’t it? This feeling I keep getting isn’t about my mother at all, but about how nothing I do ever feels good enough, that who I am isn’t who she wants me to be. No matter how miserable I make myself doing as she asks, it still isn’t right.
‘If I were a good daughter I wouldn’t be here,’ I say. And it’s less because I mean it – I’m starting to feel like I was always meant to come here – and more because it’s the only way I can articulate the guilt that gnaws in my gut, guilt that refuses to listen to logical arguments and feelings of belonging.
‘Persephone –’
‘Can we not?’ I interrupt. I wish we could go back to the confusing muddle of yearnings because it’s better than this. ‘Later maybe,’ I add when he looks like he’s about to protest. ‘I don’t have the energy right now. And I’m covered in paint and need to change.’
‘Don’t you dare,’ he says. ‘I worked hard on that painting. If you have to wear it for it to survive then so be it.’
I offer a smile only because I appreciate him letting me change the subject. ‘If you don’t want to make me clothes you don’t have to use me wearing your art as an excuse.’
He laughs. ‘Well, was the thought of me designing your gowns really so horrendous that you had to jump into the artwork to escape?’
‘Would you actually be interested in making me something?’
‘I enjoy a challenge.’ When he looks at me I see one in his eyes. ‘Would you judge me for it?’
‘Of course not,’ I say. ‘Is it worth it though? You know I’ll just ruin them in the garden.’And I won’t be here long to wear them. The unspoken words linger heavy between us so I rush on: ‘But if you’d find it fun then go for it. You’re obviously talented.’
‘Obviously?’ His cocky grin is back in place and I have the sudden urge to press my lips to his to get rid of it.
What in the name of all that is sacred is wrong with me? My moon blood is not due, though it’s possible being down here has messed with my cycle. Did I hit my head recently? I might be under a spell, I suppose, but I don’t think Hades would do that and I’m pretty sure cursing me would break his vow on the Styx.
My eyes narrow as I examine him, looking for any sign that he knows what thoughts are cycling through my head.
Nothing.
‘Why do you keep it all hidden?’ I ask instead.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Why are the halls so bare when you have so much to decorate them with?’ I clarify.
‘Well.’ He scratches the back of his neck and it’s such a casual move that I’m almost certain he can’t know that it’s taking most of my self-restraint not to jump into his arms right now. ‘Usually, I have members of the court constantly coming and going. They might ask where it all comes from.’
I realize how little I know of Hades’ court. I had so many more immediate concerns when I arrived that as soon as I discovered he’d dismissed them I’d pushed it from my mind. But now I think about it. I cannot imagine Father dismissinghis court for a few weeks. It might weaken his hold on them, give them an opportunity to plan a rebellion. But Hades did it without even thinking.
‘Where are they? I’ve only seen the humans and Styx.’
‘I’m not the only one with an aversion to human memories,’ Hades says. ‘Between the mortals and the river Styx, this is considered the less desirable side of the Underworld. They all live on the other side of the Acheron.’ The river of pain that flows on the other side of the fields of asphodel. It’s the way the souls travel to the Underworld so I’ve mostly avoided it. ‘I imagine they are thoroughly enjoying their time off.’
But that can’t last forever. Hades will summon them all back when I’m finally gone.
At least he won’t be alone.
‘I’m sorry you had to dismiss them all for me.’
