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She doesn’t scratch out or cover her words, believing that everything written on these pages should stay the way they came to her. Instead, she leaves the thought unfinished. Thousands of other entries remain unfinished—all incomplete thoughts from times when Hades grew anxious. All at various stages of her life.
At this stage, she thinks of her last trip to Olympus. She recalls Demeter scowling at her, with hatred sparking in those golden eyes. Hades releases another sigh, weary as she writesThe Elysian Fieldsat the bottom of Anna Marie’s entry.
Hades re-pots her pen and settles back against the crimson velvet of her chair. She wonders what she should do about Kore—aboutPersephone.
As soon as the thought wanders through her mind she senses him, wandering the bank of the River Lethe.
“Show me,” Hades says to her realm. The Underworld always obeys. A round orb appears before her, lit with the scene she wishes to see—Kore walking barefoot over a black sand shore. He is the brightest being in her realm; some might say he’s a piece that doesn’t fit. Yet, Hades detects a darkness in Kore—one that she believes festers the longer Kore remains here, in her realm.
To the invisible wraiths who guard her study, Hades says, “I am leaving now. Let none enter.” Not that any moron since Heracles has tried.
* * *
She findsKore on the beach, crouching down to inspect the flat stones that wash downstream from the River Styx. He holds one up to her—a crude heart shape that causes a smile to form on Hades' face. He returns the expression and rises to his feet.
Hades holds out her hand, an obvious invitation. Kore laces their fingers, an easy intimacy that speaks of centuries of comfort. The truth is they’ve known each other for moments in the grand scheme of things. Hades hopes, millennia from now, that they move with the same ease and grace. She’s realizing that she wants him here,forever. He serves no purpose beyond solace, but Hades doesn’t need him to defend her. She doesn’t need him to rule her kingdom. All she desires from Kore is his hands on her body at the end of a long day. She wants him to listen to all the complaints no one else will tolerate from a queen. These are the thoughts that build tension between them, as she and Kore walk the silent shores of her endless kingdom.
To fill the silence, Hades says, “So…Persephone, Goddess of Spring.”
His grip tightens as Kore’s body tenses, but his grip doesn’t hurt so much as worry Hades that she’s stepped in something she should’ve avoided. Kore, to his credit, doesn’t shut her out the way Hades would if someone started poking at things she didn’t want disturbed.
“Yeah,” his tone, while cheery, sounds tinny—as if he’s trying hard to keep up the facade of happiness. “That’s what she called me.”
Bringer of Death. Interesting.
“A cruel name,” Hades admits as they draw closer to the castle.
“I was the last,” Kore says with a stilted shrug. “Mother was tired of burying corpses beneath the roses in her gardens. I was to be the last.” He shoots her a wan smile. “And I was the most disappointing of all. Still, she saddled me with the name of her beloved, unrealized child.”
Hades has never held love for Demeter, but she once respected her. An admiration that disintegrates while she watches Kore turn as frigid as the water lapping beneath their feet. “How could any mother find you disappointing?”
Hades is the matriarch of death, her children borrowed from other goddesses who had too many and did not want them—Thanatos, Hypnos, Hecate, the Erinyes, Cerberus, and so many others. She nurtures them here, in this realm of ever-night, where the ugly and the unwanted are sent to work in shadows. Forever unseen.
“My mother wanted a daughter.” Kore finally admits as they enter the grand foyer. A room with a ceiling so tall the top is lost within darkness. He stops, cocking his head back to peer up at the rafters. But Hades knows Kore sees something other than the gloom—he sees his mother and every moment she has told him he is unworthy. Demeter has a cruel tongue—a venom that slaps like a deadly lash against skin. Belladonna, hemlock, and her own oleander, all of them drip off Demeter’s tongue when she feels like dealing a deadly blow. Hades, too, has fallen victim to her poisoned words.
You will never know a womb quickening with life.
Hades puts away the memory, squeezing Kore’s familiar fingers, offering him what comfort she can. “All mothers should love their children. The Fates weave what is meant to be, but that doesn’t always mean they weave to our desires.”
Blue eyes settle over Hades, tracking her face as if he can read the meaning of the stars in the slopes of her cheeks and nose. “What did the Fates give you that you did not desire?”
You, for one…
Hades swallows, words sticking in her throat—regrets she won’t share because speaking them will make them a reality. While Hades keeps those regrets locked up like the horrors of Pandora’s box, she can pretend her life is wonderful. Speaking her desires will not make them come true, and wishes are for the imprudent who find their way into her realm.
“We are late for dinner,” she tells Kore with a smile that doesn’t reach her words. “Follow me.”
26
Kore
Thanatos scowls when they enter the dining hall. A frown that turns his visage from brooding adolescent to surly child.
“Why’s he here?” Thanatos asks, daring to look Kore in the eye.
The grown man at Thanatos' side—the one who resembles Thanatos in every way save for his age—glances between Kore and Hades, curiosity piqued. A contemplative expression turns his face cunning.
This must be Hypnos.The elusive son who’s been hiding from them for months.
