The morning begins with Tempest delivering a steaming pot of mint tea to my room. My fast will continue until the moment of the ceremony, when Hades and I bite into the ceremonial apple.
It’s a good thing too because I feel sick enough without food.
It’s not quite that today I will be married.
And more that today I will see my parents.
Hermes says Zeus has agreed to claim this was his idea. Apparently he has been parading around Olympus chuckling at how he manipulated Demeter to secure my hand for Hades. And, if he wants everyone to believe him, he will be among the gods today.
And Mother … I have no idea what she will do. Stand there plotting Hades’ murder? Cause a scene in her displeasure? Hermagic restricted by the solstice, will she turn instead to screams and shouts? It doesn’t sound like something she’d do. But I wouldn’t put it past her.
When there is nothing but dregs at the bottom of my cup, I wonder if curling mint leaves can be read by the oracles the same way black tea might. If so, I’m not hopeful for my future.
I’m still staring into their depths when my mortal companions burst unexpectedly into my room.
Larissa pulls me close and asks how I am feeling, coiling a finger round my still-long hair and nodding approvingly. Damaris asks where my dress is and floods with relief when I tell her Hades has it arranged. And as I’m feeling overcome by the fear of all that is ahead – more people and gods than I have seen in my life – Cora distracts me with a giddy story about the poet she was finally able to find. We all smile knowingly at the blush across her cheeks whenever she mentions her name.
Styx arrives an hour later, clutching a cup of nectar and glaring in the mortals’ direction as they babble. I love the chatter; it feels like home, where I was never among just one or two nymphs but twenty, maybe thirty. But Styx says it’s not something she can stand before midday.
Tempest appears with cosmetics and scowls at the array of toiletries already scattered across the bed. I expect her to disappear the moment she hands everything over – she never stays long – but she hovers by the wall. Soon, she and Styx are making disparaging comments about the whole affair and the fact Hades won’t be going to such lengths to appear palatable to the gods. They don’t get how it feels more like armour, or a disguise.
But the mortals do. They pull me to the bathing rooms and pour rose water over my skin, layer my hair in hibiscus foams and freesia soaps. Once the cleansing water has worked its magic and I am as pure as the creators of this ceremony intended, Damaris rubs olive oil into my hair to make it shine while Larissa dusts my skin in crushed-shell powder to make it shimmer, and Cora sprays a mist of lily and gardenia. Next, Tempest hands Styx flowers to tuck into my curls, though Styx tries to sneak in far too many styx blossoms and pouts every time I tell her to add some of the others.
It’s not the same as Cyane and the nymphs, but it’s something.
And then, back in my room, a gown is waiting for me.
My companions freeze at the sight.
I had no idea that anything could be so soft, that lace could look so light, that fabric could drape like frost on grass even when bundled on the bed. I hold it up and the material unfurls like pouring water – liquid silver that gleams where it catches the light.
‘Persephone,’ Cora breathes. ‘I’m a literal princess and even I … By the Fates.’
‘Wherever did he get this?’ Damaris asks. Tempest stares at her warily, like she’s ready to whisk her away to some corner of the realm if she figures it out. ‘Is there a goddess of fashion that no one told us mortals about? I would have sacrificed anything to her for a work like this.’
Even Styx’s eyes are wide. It is one thing to know of his talent, I suppose, and another to see it.
If it was beautiful before, it’s nothing compared to the way it sits on my skin like the soft kiss of a summer breeze. Hades has used a material I’ve never seen before – a loose weave thatwould be transparent if he hadn’t layered it with lace. The skirt floats around me. The draping is artful; it clings to my body and swirls to my feet. So much movement that Mother never would have given me. Instead of sleeves, Hades has stitched beads so tight they form caps across my shoulders, and the hem is embroidered with spiralling patterns.
I think of Hades saying that embroidery was a craft he never particularly enjoyed and I flush.
I thank the mortals and tell them I will see them later. I invited them to the ceremony, but they blanched at the thought of all the gods and politely excused themselves.
Styx says she should go get ready herself as she wants to look hot for Pallas or Thanatos or whoever it was she kissed.
‘Tempest,’ I ask when they’re gone, ‘where is Hades?’
She shakes her head. ‘I saw him last hours ago, when he asked me to fetch your mortals and the river goddess.’
‘He asked you to do that?’ A smile creeps across my face and I let it – anything that screams ‘blushing bride’ is permissible today.
‘Yes, he trusts me with a great number of important tasks.’ She stays for one more eye roll before leaving to check on the place settings. I set about finding Hades.
He’s in one of his workrooms, surrounded by swatches of metallic fabrics. I see all the effort he put into this gown that I commanded him to make.
‘Thank you,’ I say. ‘It’s perfect.’
He turns and I’m not sure what I was expecting – perhaps more of the shock he showed when he first saw me on the stairs the evening our engagement was announced.
