“Your mother was in great distress.” She bites her lip for a moment, clearly worried. “Your father was no help at all.”
“You can tell me, Beatrice. I’ve heard some of what happened.”
“She took her anger out on first Zeus then Olympus. When you could not be found, she turned to the mortal world to upset the balance of the gods. She refused to provide life or harvest. Food and plants became scarce. Many have lost their lives. She demanded we all feel her pain and loss. Such a giving god, so gracious and compassionate, turned to wrath and spite.”
My eyes slowly close as I do my best to contain the anguish of knowing what my mother is capable of. My mother loves me so much she was willing to cause incredible pain, but I have always known her to treasure the mortals who pray to her. They are a gift. She told me such.
I open my eyes. “And has she given any sign she will stop?”
Beatrice shakes her head. “She has not given the mortal realm relief.”
“She must,” I murmur, then clear my throat. “I will speak to her. I will do my best to convince her that there must be a reprieve.”
“My lady…Persephone,” Beatrice says quietly, seeming uncomfortable with the question in her mind. She nearly whispers the question, “Did he hurt you?”
I thought he did. I thought Hades was a monster who had crept up to Olympus and taken me from my bedroom. I thought he made me a prisoner so he could break me down and hurt me for his own enjoyment. It is odd how my recollection has changed. Or rather what I care to admit has changed.
I don’t wish to lie to Beatrice. I cannot tell her all of what Hades did for me, but I won’t give her the impression that he harmed me for his own entertainment. He never did, but I cannot say the process of coming to terms with myself was entirely without pain.
“He showed me the parts of myself that feel pain,” I say finally, the words finally fitting with the experience, at least enough to share them with Beatrice. “And in doing so, he gave me power over it.”
Beatrice studies me again for a long moment, then seems to find honesty in my face and smiles, the corners of her eyes crinkling.
“You look well,” she whispers, as if it is supposed to be a secret. “Truly, you are not afraid?”
“I’m not afraid,” I confirm and offer her a simper.
She smiles back, her eyes sparkling, and hugs me once again.
After a beat, she releases me and steps back, taking on a more deferent stance, her hands folded in front of her.
We both take a few breaths, calming down from the rush of our reunion. I cannot believe I did not see her last night. My mother required that time, however, and I can only hope that settling my mother’s heart will convince her to have mercy on the mortal realm.
“I am not only here to greet you,” Beatrice says and straightens her shoulders. She swallows thickly, “I have come to bring you a message, my queen.”
Hades
My andron grows warm as the hour I am to speak to Persephone approaches.
I’ve done my best to keep busy. I’ve walked my realms for hours. I’ve taken Cerberus with me, and we have gone to every place I can think of. I’ve repaired as much damage as I could hunt down, my throat closed with guilt.
It is only the thought of her that provides me with such calmness and intent for justice and balance. Even as the screams of the dead continue to pour through my realm and disrupt what little peace the four corners of the Underworld held.
I’m the cause of much of the damage, but it is not only my doing. It is Demeter’s as well. Hecate’s.
Zeus’s. The righteous anger is barely tamed within me. Like a dog tethered to a collar, I maintain the semblance of control knowing I may see her soon. I must have my Persephone, my queen, my love, my life.
And I cannot promise, even to myself, that I will not cause more damage to my realms. I’m not myself without Persephone. She has changed me. My love for her feels more desperate, and more volatile, than it ever has. To know such loss is a torture that should be saved for the worst of the dead.
Zeus begrudgingly agreed to give Persephone the scry of Olympus. As I understand it, he suffers the wrath of Demeter still. The god of gods has betrayed Demeter, and she’s sure of it. But I’ve agreed to keep what’s been between us secret so long as he agrees to uphold the law of the gods. She’s eaten the forbidden fruit, I’m sure of it. She will be returned. She must. It is only time that keeps us apart. Unless he makes a very ill-advised decision, I’ll speak to her soon.
The wait feels longer than the years I spent alone, hopeless, on the edge of madness.
I lit the fires an hour ago, when I could no longer keep myself away from the andron, then walked around the large space, lighting the fires in the smaller grates as well. The entire room dances with warm reflections. And in them, the memory of her beauty, her sadness and fright, her delight and power. All of her and all she will become. The fire licks into the perfectly polished obsidian, forcing the reflection to look as if I am standing among the flames.
I wish the sight could comfort me. Cerberus whines beside me at the thought. His howling pain echoes the emptiness in my chest.
I pace across the room more slowly, breathing deeply to calm myself. Impatience makes my muscles ache, so I stretch my arms above my head as I go, trying to ease the tension from my shoulders. In those eons I spent alone, there was nothing to sense but my own body in the dark, so I became accustomed to focusing deeply on each movement. To keep what little sanity remained in the pits of despair.
