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“Persephone?” Zeus tastes the name in his mouth, a look of incredulity passing over his face. “You condemned this boy to hide in shadows while you swore to my court he was a daughter?” Zeus hates being lied to more than anything—it doesn’t matter that he’s a compulsive liar, Zeus won’t tolerate another lying to him.
“Yes,” Demeter admits without a note of shame. “He was born a disappointment, but I still have uses for my child. Persephone is the one who keeps the gardens of Olympus lush. His gift is unmatched. To send him to the Underworld, for eternity, would be a punishment. As a ruler over the harvest, Persephone is a child who requires the kiss of sunlight to breathe.”
Kore—Persephone—laughs. The sound comes from him in disdainful, mocking tones.
“I would rather wither in the Underworld than spend another day hidden away as your greatest mistake,” he says to his mother. Kore’s eyes burn with wrath, and Hades finds him as beautiful as Chaos. “I chose my queen, Mother. Serving her will give me greater joy than a life spent disappointing you.”
“He speaks.” Zeus grins at Demeter, daring her to take up arms against her child.
Hades knows he believes a mother will stop just because she’s toldno.Zeus forgets that word never stopped Rhea.
“A choice was made,” Zeus tells Demeter with another of his gloating grins, “And you weren’t picked, Demeter. Aww, so sad.”
“Enough,” Hades interrupts, annoyed by the sudden drama of the night. “Our presence should be satisfactory, my brother. I will now take my leave and return to my realm. The petty arguments of Olympus exhaust me.”
Hades turns away from all the people who’ve spent their lives fearing her, mocking her, and shunning her. As she starts across the marble floor, a tender hand takes her arm. Hades pauses, turning her face up toward Kore’s. He watches her with a worried gaze, “My queen, don’t forget me.”
How could she? Hades could be scrubbed of all her memories, be condemned to inhabit mortal flesh with blind eyes, and she would still recall him—remembering Kore when she has nothing left. Remarkable, she has lived centuries and this is the first time her heart has been moved by a god.
“There is no light in my realm,” she reminds him, giving Kore a final chance to recant his pledge to her. After everything they’ve shared in the Underworld, Hades will allow Kore to return here. Free him from the bonds she imposed—and she could laugh at how they are a mortal myth come to life.
He doesn’t. Rather, Kore moves his hand to hers, weaving his fingers through hers with intimate familiarity. “You are the only light I need.”
Hades swallows her fears, stepping closer to Kore—close enough that she can breathe the scent of him. Warm leather, patchouli, fresh air, and clean pine, he’s an intoxicating mix of life. Hades is certain she smells only of death. She casts a glance over their stunned audience while plumes of black smoke wrap around her and Kore, drawing them back to the Underworld.
Home, at last.
24
Kore
Olympus never felt like home—not in the way the Underworld does when they return. Kore breathes differently here—the constraints of Olympus no longer choke Kore in this familiar darkness.
Hades doesn’t speak to him; her pale back is a siren’s call. Kore knows better than to touch or reach for her. He stands back, allowing Hades to breathe in the relief of her realm.
She walks away without a word, and Kore closes his eyes.
“I’ve fucked it up this time,” he murmurs to the empty hall.
Quiet shrouds the palace, as if all the creatures herein heard of Kore’s crime and punish him accordingly. They shun him for making a mockery of their beloved queen. He thought nothing existed in this realm when he first arrived. After the Underworld accepted him, Kore learned the truth. He never thought he’d miss the scuttle of strange beings.
Kore makes his way to his quarters feeling the oppression of silence. He learned to find stillness peaceful—addictive—but now Kore hates the emptiness this quiet brings.
Disappointment settles over his bones, weighing him down with new regrets.
I should’ve told her.
Kore wasn’t ready for that revelation, and he didn’t appreciate his mother dropping it on Hades in the middle of a crowded ballroom. He wanted to go his whole life without claiming the name Persephone for his own. Kore wanted to remain a hidden god, one relinquished from the burden of duty. Whatever that duty meant for him.
Now he realizes it is foolish to wish anything while the Fates are watching.
When he enters his chambers through his bedroom’s black door, Kore finds Minthe waiting for him. Minthe’s sharp features are animated by a glowing fire dancing in the hearth. The flickering light morphs Minthe’s face through a range of emotions despite his stoic expression.
Kore’s mouth dips with a frown, and all pretense of niceness leaves him. He’s never been the jealous sort, but there’s something about Minthe’s familiarity with Hades that rubs Kore wrong. His boundless servitude reminds Kore of a lover’s devotion.
“Why’re you here?” Kore asks, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him.
Minthe arches a dark eyebrow, and his mouth twitches with a condescending smile.There it is, Kore thinks,an arrogance. Superiority.
