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By the time they reached Olympus, her arms were under Pelops’ shoulders and she was hunched over trying to hold him high enough that his limp feet wouldn’t get mangled on the rough mountainside.
Thankfully the council-room she flew for had no roof, and only two inner walls with brightly coloured columns at all four corners. The bright colours made it easier to see the palace through her hair, still flying wildly around her head.
She heaved Pelops into the room, aiming away from the fire blazing in the central hearth.
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Persephone landed heavily on the sunset-gilded marble floor of Olympus’ council chamber, her teeth singing from the impact. Usually landing wouldn’t be an issue as she’d have just appeared here between breaths, but she hadn’t had enough strength and was forced to fly. Speed was rarely an issue when she landed, but she wasn’t focused on making a graceful landing. Her mind was busy with more important things.
The gods were already mid-assembly, each holding their servings of nectar and goblets of wine, gaping at her sudden arrival. At the body laying at her feet, staining their pristine white marble floors. She looked around the bright palace, teeming with divine life, and locked eyes with her mother.
Demeter wore a crown of golden wheat, as she had for Persephone’s whole life. Her hair was intricately braided down her back, a gold ribbon braided throughout the strands. She looked as she always did, golden and beautiful, but her dark bronze eyes were molten with rage. Persephone didn’t miss the moment her moment her mother saw Pelops, her eyes narrowing at the strong grip Persephone had on his shoulder, the brightness glowing around her dimming in her anger.
Persephone swallowed against the dryness of her throat, she wished she had taken a moment to drink and eat something before flying here. She was sure these next moments would be exhausting and without sustenance in her she feared she wouldn’t be able to stand before them for long. Worried she wouldn’t be able to think straight, and one must always think straight when dealing with the Lord of the Dead; if it came to that.
“Please,” she croaked, “help him.”
The gods only looked at her. None made to move or speak.
“Bring him back,” she said, feeling the tears slide down her face again. She looked down at Pelops’ body, still and hunched against her shins as she crouched down. She idly touched the side of his face, the same way she did on the mornings they woke up together, and lightly dragged her thumb across his cheek bone. She tried not to cringe at the dried blood that flaked off under her thumb.
The room melted away, the glowing floors and stone columns replaced with undulating green grass and leafy trees dancing in the spring wind that wafted in the smell of fresh budding flowers. Persephone watched her golden hair as it whipped around her face lazily, the ends stabbing her eyes. She cried out softly and dropped her head to hide her face from the wicked strands. Callused hands grasped her face and Pelops lightly kissed both of her eyelids and whispered, “All better.”
She opened her eyes to look at him, ready to grab his face in her own hands and kiss him, but she was on Olympus, looking at the slack face and vacant eyes of her dead lover.
“Please,” Persephone begged again, still grasping his lifeless head to her chest. She clawed at his body, bringing as much of him against her as she could, trying but unable to get him close enough.
She looked back up at them, pleading with her eyes, the constant flow of tears blurring her vision to the point that they were only dark blurs. She sobbed as she dropped her head to her chest, burying her face in his hair. It had been matted with dried blood, but now was wet with her tears and saliva.
Persephone breathed him in as she nuzzled her face into his hair, wanting to smell him again, but he only smelled of blood and dirt and sweat. Just as he had in the meadow when she’d found him. She was foolish to think a change in location would help the way he smelled.
She mumbled an apology into his hair and let her hand slide down his rough, stubbly cheek before she loosened her grip entirely, letting him slump to the floor so she could stand.
Her head felt like it was stuffed with wool and her throat ached terribly from crying, but she held her head high and locked her knees to stop them from trembling. She clenched her jaw as she looked over the Olympians, keeping her tears and sobs at bay.
Most avoided her eyes, opting to look just beside her head or at the large goblets in their hands. Demeter was staring daggers at her daughter and Persephone deflated a little, sagging her shoulders at the disappointment she felt radiating off of her; Poseidon was absentmindedly picking his nails and staring at Pelops with wide, blank eyes, his goblet turned over in his lap as if he’d dropped it upon their arrival.
Persephone willed Aphrodite to look at her, the goddess of love barely shaking her head in response. Of all the gods seated before her, Persephone was certain Aphrodite would have helped her, wanted to help her in the name of love.
Finally, she locked eyes with Zeus.
Fear flooded her body under piercing gaze. Her skin prickled all over, tingling with the terror he evoked. But she didn’t look away from her father. If he wasn’t going to help, if none of them were going to help her, then she had no other choice.
“I need to speak with Hades,” she demanded. Her voice was strong, no quiver or shake to betray her, to show how she was really feeling inside.
Zeus raised one thick eyebrow and scowled at her, scrunching his face into something grotesque before the room erupted with his booming laughter. The rest of the Olympians in attendance let out a universal breath of relief, and hesitantly laughed along with him, their eyes darting between Persephone and him.
All, except for Poseidon, whose eyes remained glued to the spot on the floor where Pelops’ body lay. He didn’t seem able to look away.
Ignoring Poseidon’s frozen state, she opened her mouth to demand an audience with the King of the Dead when the room went dark and all the air in her lungs was sucked out into the black, icy air that now surrounded her. Her lungs burned as she tried to breathe in again, and failed, because there was no air left in the room. It was sucked out with the light.
Then it was back, as suddenly as it disappeared, and the floors shone golden in the light again, revealing Hades standing in front of her.
9
INFERNAL ZEUS
A cold spice burned her nose at the sight of him; that signature mint scent associated with death and the Infernal King. Hischitonwas as black his hair, and the pins holding it up at his shoulder matched beautifully with the elegant gold crown nestled on his stupidly voluminous curls.
