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Once she left, disappearing into the air after noticing his presence, presumably back to Demeter’s small cottage that she thinks is well hidden, Hades stalked over to the stream. Grumbling to himself about his insolent wife as he splashed into the water. It soaked the edge of his clothing and made his leather sandals so slick that his feet slid right out of them. They floated on top of the water, rushing away too quickly for him to grab.
He shut his eyes, pursing his lips and breathing through the aggravation filling his chest. He had half a mind to turn around and follow Persephone back to her mother’s and drag her back to the Underworld by a chain tightly bound to her wrists.
The image of her bound and unable to escape him and his wrath was calming enough that he did not go after her.
Sloshing through the water, Hades made his way to the spot Persephone had sunk down and dug. It was easy to find, even if he had not been closely watching her it would not have been difficult. The rocks at the bottom were disturbed where she had sat down, cleaner than the rest, the thin layer of grime wiped away by her hands. One had been replaced upside down, a thick muck covering it. The current was quickly cleaning the dirt from the rock she had overturned, and in the seconds it took him to kneel in the water before it, it had cleaned the rock completely.
The water was somehow even colder as it splashed up his back and around his body. Tensing against the stream of water as the cold soaked deep into his bones, he muttered about how much he wanted to torture his wife for this.
Cursing him.
She was so naive, thinking she could curse the King of the Dead. He was the god mortals sent their curses to, and somehow she thought she could curse him. She believed she had cursed him from the look of joy and success on her face as she yelled at the sky, her smile wider than he had even seen grace her face. Even when he spied on her from afar, she had never smiled so joyously.
Hades froze, realizing he had not actually heard her call on him to fulfill the curse. He should have felt her speak his name twice; once as the cursed, and again as she asked for him to fulfill the curse.
Who could she have called for aid other than himself? Possibly Hekate, though the goddess of magic was quite a recluse and most likely would not even deign to answer her call, Queen or not.
Shaking the thought from his head, Hades dug into the sticky layer of mud that sat under the stream, pulling the small doll version of himself from the water. The stream cleaned the mud from it immediately, leaving a small wooden figure laying in his palm.
He made a fist around it, sending it back to his palace as he crushed it in his palm. When he opened his hand again there was no trace of thekolossosremaining, only a small pool of water sat in the cup of his palm.
The anger was boiling up again, his hands shaking with rage, his eyes narrowing as he pictured his wife gleefully skipping back to her mother’s. Thinking all was well because she had successfully cursed her husband, and freed herself from a life sentence of marriage to him.
Hades slammed his fists into the stream, water spraying around him and soaking him further. He could no longer feel the cold as it crashed into him, his fury warmed him from the inside, burning the cold from his skin.
Persephone was going to pay for this.
23
RETURN TO THE UNDERWORLD
The next morning, Persephone woke up in her own bed, surprised that she hadn’t been whisked away to the Underworld while she slept. Relief flooded her body – her curse truly had worked.
Giddy with excitement over her success in cursing her husband, Persephone jumped out of bed and ran to her mother’s room to celebrate.
Demeter was not there, nor was she in the back garden where she spent her mornings watching the sky light up. Any other day, she would be out there watering her plants from the largeamphoraeshe had re-purposed to collect rainwater.
The celebration at Mycenae must have been quite large and boisterous, for her mother to have stayed overnight rather than return home. Nobody loved their own bed as much as her mother did, sleeping elsewhere only a handful of times, usually when she was too inebriated to make it home.
Nothing could dampen Persephone’s mood today, not even the large wine stain she found on her newest dress that her mother had clearly borrowed and stained without replacing afterword. Not even the sun beating down on her while she watered her mother’s plants, popping figs and berries into her mouth at every pass.
After she dressed in an older, unstained linen cloth, draping it around her waist so it hung to her feet before clipping it up at her shoulders with four red-gem-encrusted gold brooches. She didn’t recognize the brooches, but they had been sitting on the small table near the door to her bedroom, so she assumed they were a late wedding gift.
Persephone met Melia and Elektra at the front gate, her friends already bickering over what they would eat once they got to the palace center. Elektra wanted roasted fish, claiming a strong craving for it had woken her from her sleep in the middle night so she had to get some today. Melia was threatening to shove that fish somewhere when Persephone reached them, interrupting their argument.
She gestured for them to carry on with their conversation, her mind already occupied with thoughts of Pelops. Hoping he would see her at the palace, recognize her from the other day and fall madly in love with her again. The madly in love bit might take longer than a lingering glance across the busy market hall, but she could talk Aphrodite into helping her push him the right direction.
“Could we stop there for a moment?” Elektra asked as they made their way down the path from her home, pointing up the hill beside them, dotted with patches of colourful flowers and bushes. “Yesterday, I told Iris I would pick a few more flowers for the vase she made me.” She shuddered dramatically. “It is horrendous; children have no talent. I need pretty flowers to fill it; they will make it less of an eye sore.”
“Horrendous? A vase made by a child, horrendous? I am so surprised,” Persephone said, laughing and starting up the hill.
“That is awful, Elektra.” Melia’s tone was so condescending even Persephone wished she could escape. “Your daughter made you something, you should be grateful. At least you have a daughter to make you pretty things.”
“Pretty things? Were you not listening when I said horrendous? She has no talent, though she’s very sweet. Don’t think I’m ungrateful, Melia, just because I think the vase is ugly,” Elektra called over her shoulders, already halfway up the hill. She stopped and turned back to her sister as she said, “You have a daughter, too.”
“Don’t remind me,” Melia said, groaning. “I wish I could hear their little bare feet pad on the floors of my home, and crush their small bodies in a tight hug until they can no longer breathe,” she said in a brittle voice.
“Why not just have another? There is a good chance you would have another little girl, and if not you can just try again until you do.”
