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She sat the books on the floor to get a better look at the basin. As she stared, a map appeared before her. She could see the river Styx and the Lethe, Hades’ palace and gardens. Though the map appeared to sit in the black water, glorious color as vibrant as Hades’ gardens soon bled across the landscape. She found it funny that the God of the Dead, who wore so much black, took such pleasure in color.
“Hmm.” Persephone was sure this map was missing vital parts of the Underworld—like Elysium, and Tartarus.
“Strange,” she whispered, reaching into the basin.
“Curiosity is a dangerous quality, my lady.”
She gasped and turned to find Hades behind her. Her heart throbbed hard in her chest.
“I’m more than aware,” she snapped. The mark on her wrist had taught her that. “And don’t call me my lady.”
Hades watched her and when he didn’t say anything, Persephone spoke. “This map of your world is not complete.”
Hades glanced at the water. “What do you see?”
“Your palace, Asphodel,” she said. “The River Styx and the Lethe...that’s it.” All places she’d been before. “Where is Elysium? Tartarus?”
The corners of Hades mouth quirked. “The map will reveal them when you’ve earned the right to know.”
“What do you mean earned?”
“Only those I trust most may view this map in its entirety.”
She straightened. “Who can see the whole map?” He just smirked, so she demanded, “Can Minthe see the whole thing?”
His eyes narrowed and he asked, “Would that bother you, Lady Persephone?”
“No,” she lied.
His eyes hardened and his lips thinned. He turned then and disappeared into the stacks. She hurried to pick up the books she pulled from the shelf and followed after him.
“Why did you revoke my favor?” she demanded.
“To teach you a lesson,” he replied.
“To not bring mortals into your realm?”
“To not leave when you are angry with me,” he said.
“Excuse me?” she halted and set the books on a nearby shelf. She hadn’t expected that reply. Hades stopped, too, and faced her. They were standing in the narrow stacks, and the smell of dust floated in the air around them.
“You strike me as someone who has a lot of emotions and has never quite been taught how to deal with it all, but I can assure you, running away is not the solution.”
“I had nothing more to say to you.”
“It’s not about words,” he said. “I’d rather help you understand my motivations than have you spy on me.”
“It was not my intention to spy,” she said. “Hermes—”
“I know it was Hermes who pulled you into that mirror,” he said. “I do not wish for you leave and be angry with me.”
She should have taken his comment as endearing, but she couldn’t stop herself from sounding disgusted when she asked, “Why?”
It really wasn’t disgust; it was confusion. Hades was a god, why did he care what she thought of him?
“Because,” he said, and then thought for a moment. “It is important to me. I would rather explore your anger. I would hear your advice. I wish to understand your perspective.”
She started to open her mouth and ask why again, when he answered, “Because you have lived among mortals. You understand them better than I. Because you are compassionate.”
