“Lady Persephone! Have you come to play?”
She smiled, chest swelling with joy. “I’m afraid I cannot play today,” she said. “But Cerberus, Typhon, and Orthrus are eager. Would you like to play fetch?”
The dogs barked in excitement and the children took the ball. The group raced into the field to play while Persephone continued into the heart of Asphodel, admiring the work the souls had put into celebrating the holiday.
Every lamppost was wrapped in red ribbon, every home and shop was trimmed with garland, every tree and bush heavy with lights, berries, and pinecones. The air smelled like roasted chestnuts, sweet bread, and honey. It made her mouth water, though she’d had plenty of snacks while baking with everyone this morning.
In ancient times, they’d celebrated many winter festivals—Haloa, which honored Demeter and the fertility of women and the land. Then there was Poseidonia, which was mostly celebrated on the coast to appease Poseidon and ease maritime travel. Then there was Dionysia and Lenaia, which celebrated Dionysus and included dances and dramas, singing, and lots of wine.
Those events had coalesced into one, Christmas, and instead of honoring the gods, they celebrated family, connection, joy, and kindness.
Persephone preferred it, though she knew there were gods who did not—specifically Poseidon, though he was reminded often his inclusion in the leadership in the Upperworld and his right to continue ruling the sea were a gift that could be revoked at any time.
Few trusted him, especially the mortals. Their worship of him affected his power, and he’d felt the impact of that in the aftermath of the Olympian War. Over the last three years, the God of the Sea had learned where his power truly came from.
“Persephone!”
She looked to her right where she saw Zofie standing with a group of other souls. She smiled at the Amazonian who was wearing an oversized knitted sweater, courtesy of Alma, who had also stitched a giant reindeer on the front.
“Zofie,” she said. “How are you?”
“I am well,” she said. “But have you seen Apollo? We have all been waiting. It is time for practice.”
Since Apollo had come to the Underworld, he had been responsible for organizing and leading artistic programs among the souls. One of his annual events being the Christmas Eve choir.
“I haven’t,” Persephone said, brows lowering. It was unlike Apollo to be late. He was a perfectionist who had high expectations for everyone, particularly for himself. “Hyacinth hasn’t seen him?”
Zofie shook her head. “He says he left their home last night. They had some kind of disagreement.”
A dark feeling fell upon Persephone, knowing that disagreement was likely over the Ascension. As a deceased god in the Underworld, he was in a unique position. He could leave Asphodel for any part of the Underworld, a right she and Hades would have revoked if they’d known how much he was struggling.
“Oh no,” she whispered, and then summoned her husband. “Hades!”
The God of the Dead manifested in a plume of black smoke. “Darling,” he said over the cheers of the children who were oblivious to the urgent matter at hand.
“Apollo is missing,” she said.
Hades’s gaze hardened at the news. “I will find him.”
She reached for him, her hand coming to land on his forearm. “Take me with you.”
“Persephone,” he said, hesitating. “This could be…”
“Bad, I know,” she said. “It is bad, but Apollo is my friend, and I want to be there for him.”
Hades was quiet but nodded. She felt the pull of his magic as they teleported, surprised when they appeared on the bank of the Lethe. She’d expected the heat of Tartarus, but somehow, this was so much worse.
“Apollo!” she screamed.
The god kneeled on the snow-covered bank, punching at the ice-covered river.
Hades left Persephone’s side, reaching Apollo in an instant. He tore the god away from the river. He spun, facing Hades, tears streaming down his reddened face.
“Why am I not allowed happiness?” he said, his voice strained.
“You have had three years, Apollo,” Hades said gently.
“That is nothing!”
