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He approached and leaned toward her.
“Wake, my darling.”
As she stirred, he knelt beside her again, relieved to see that her eyes were clear and bright.
“Sorry.” Her voice was a hushed whisper, and it shivered through him.
“Do not apologize.”
He should be apologizing. He had intended to advise her of the dangers of the Underworld on their tour tonight, but he hadn’t had the chance.
He began cleaning her shoulder, infusing the damp cloth with his magic so she felt less pain.
“I can do this,” she offered, and started to rise, but Hades held her in place.
“Allow me this.” He wanted this—to take care of her, to heal her, to ensure she was well. He could not explain why, but the part of him that desired this, it was primal.
She nodded, and he resumed his work. After a moment, she asked in a sleepy voice,“Why are there dead people in your river?”
A ghost of a smile touched his lips.“They are the souls who were not buried with coins.”
He felt her gaze upon him as she asked, appalled,“You still do that?”
His smile widened.“No. Those dead are ancient.”
“And what do they do? Besides drown the living.”
“That’s all they do.”
Their life in the Styx had initially been a punishment, a place souls were sentenced for not possessing coin to cross the river. Coin was a sign that a soul had been properly buried, and back then, Hades had no time for souls who were not be cared for in the Upperworld.
It was a painful memory, one that he had decided to rectify long ago. He had The Judges evaluate all of them, and those who deserved respite were given water from the Lethe and sent to Elysium or Asphodel. Those who would have been sent to Tartarus were left in the deep.
Hades was not sure what Persephone thought of his explanation, but she fell silent after that and he was glad. Her questions had drudged up memories he preferred to keep isolated in the back of his mind forever.
This was the second time her presence had unearthed something painful from his past. Would this be a common occurrence? Was this the Fates’ form of torture?
Once he finished cleaning her wound, he focused on the healing. It took longer than her bruised ribs, as he had to cure tendon and muscle and skin, but once he was finished, there was no sign that she had been hurt. He released a short breath, relieved, and then placed his finger against her chin so that she would look at him, partly so he could ensure she was well and also because he wanted to see her expression.
“Change,” he advised.
“I…don’t have anything to change into.”
“I have something,” he said, and helped her to her feet. He didn’t know if she felt dizzy, but he preferred to keep a tight grip on her hand in case that changed. Plus, he liked to feel her warmth. It reminded him that she was real.
He directed her behind a changing screen and handed her a black robe, noting the look of surprise on her face as she registered what she was holding.
She arched a brow.“I’m guessing this isn’t yours?”
“The Underworld is prepared for all manner of guests,” he answered. It was the truth, but he also could not remember who the robe belonged to.
“Thank you.” Her response was curt.“But I don’t think I want to wear something one of your lovers has also worn.”
Her comment might have been amusing, but instead, he found that he was frustrated by her anger. Would he encounter this every time they discussed past loves? If so, the conversation would get old very fast.
“It’s either this or nothing at all, Persephone.”
Her mouth fell open.“You wouldn’t.”
