His in The Fire (Hades & Persephone Duology #2)

Chapter 1 Persephone

Persephone

Olympus is blinding.

The shoes click on the white marble floor with every step I take, and I can barely breathe.

Hecate’s hand protectively around my arm holds me close, and I…

I can’t see. It is the brightest light I have ever encountered.

One moment, I was in the Underworld and the next, the mother of crossroads and keeper of the keys has taken me home.

I cover my eyes with a stifled gasp as my legs find grounding. Hecate’s grip tightens, but only so much that I may rely on her for support. She’s strong. I’ve always known such things, but now I can feel her power in her touch.

She pauses as my body stiffens and I heave in a breath, my head light.

Her eyes are vacant as I look up to her and yet they hold so many memories.

“Are you well?” Hecate whispers. Her voice echoes as if I’ve heard it three times. The mother, the maiden, the crone. All of her is concerned.

“Yes,” I answer in a hushed tone. I am not well though. My heart screams the truth. My soul is torn and where I belong is unknown to me. Fate has meant to torture me.

Her eyes flash as if she knows. As if she can hear every thought that races through me.

Unable to meet her gaze, my eyes adjust to my surroundings. Olympus.

Everything has changed during my time in the Underworld. I found myself there, my power and my strength. I learned to live without the fear of what was to come, and now I have been ripped away. Or rather I ripped myself away.

The words Hades and Hecate spoke ring in my ears. The words she said to me:

No magic will save you now. You must come back to the world that is now forever changed.

We have both changed, I answered, and now I know it is true. The girl I was before I went to the Underworld would never have found the light of Olympus to be so harsh.

And what Hades said to Hecate…

Do not leave her side. Do not betray me.

His own words were a betrayal to me, though. I’d fallen for him, truly and deeply. And yet he spoke in front of me as though there were conversations I may not partake in. Could he have made a deal with Hecate about me? Did they have some understanding before Hecate appeared in the Underworld?

You have betrayed me. That was what Hecate replied. I am no fool. There were conversations Hades participated in that I was not privy to. It all happened too fast. I was kept in the dark, and resentment bleeds in slowly with that knowledge.

Why didn’t Hades tell me? The memory of his voice sends chills through me.

Hecate is coming. There is too much death, my queen. The gods have created an imbalance.

My mind spins with these revelations. I inhale deeply. I will not allow myself to slip into feeling small. That is how I felt when I discovered I had been taken to the Underworld, and it cost me days I could have done more with. Instead, those days were filled with tears and despair.

“Are you sure?” Hecate questions. My gaze searches hers. Comfort lies beyond her concern. As if this is meant to be.

“It is…very bright,” I manage to say, my eyes stinging as they adjust. “And the Underworld…” I whisper, unable to complete the thought.

It was chaos in the Underworld. Parts of Hades’s realms collapsed, crumbling as I watched.

Souls poured through the sky above us, and Hades moved through the vast space so quickly I could not fathom the power it must have taken.

“I cannot see. I need a moment to adjust.”

Her grip loosens only so she may hold my hand as I come to terms with all that has happened.

I crave to go back to Hades. For him to stand at my side. I need to go back to my power, to the rooms I had grown used to, and to the magic I had been working on.

My magic. My heart stutters, and the doubt I once felt returns only to fall silent to the ringing in my ears.

The marble remains steady under my feet.

I blink slowly, forcing myself to stare at the floor. Even the floor is bright with light reflecting off it. It is a strange light, though.

The room Hecate and I are standing in is spacious and cool, but it looks out on a courtyard with white smoke drifting through it. A large pot has been tipped over and cracked, its pieces lying scattered where it fell. There is more smoke wafting above the roof.

Hecate must see my shock, because her grip gets gentler. “You have nothing to fear, Persephone.”

I turn my attention to her. Don’t I? I want to ask. War came to the Underworld because of me. I was taken, then stolen back. My father could have spoken with Hades, could have dealt with him without so much destruction, but he did not.

I do not speak the question aloud. It is not something I want to voice when I have no idea who may be listening, or who is responsible for what.

“I would not lie to you,” she says and again her voice seems to echo twice. All three of her reassure me. “Fear does not belong to you, so release it.”

I nod, although I don’t do so consciously.

At the thought, as if under a spell, the fear trickles away.

Emotions dim as logic replaces it. What has happened is gone.

What will come is not here yet. My feet are planted in the present and I stand with Hecate at the crossroads of the living and the dead.

Hecate studies my eyes, then gives a shallow nod.

“Are you in need of anything?” she asks. “Food? Drink?”

“I am not. Thank you.” I could eat, but it would replace the taste of the pomegranate seeds that still lingers on my tongue. The decadent fruit and memory of Hades. In the harsh light of Olympus, it feels like the Underworld might have been some kind of dream.

It was not a dream, I reassure myself. It was real. I’m disoriented because I have spent so much time in the Underworld, but I’m not powerless. Not anymore.

Hecate takes me at my word and releases me entirely as if she was only holding on to steady me for the journey. Was that what it was like to travel to the Underworld? I suppose I would not have noticed. To me, it felt like falling into a cold, dark sleep.

Somehow, I did not think the light would feel colder, but it does. So much colder than I remember.

I follow Hecate out of the room, our steps slow but steady and across the vacant courtyard.

The once lively state is far too empty for my liking.

Distant voices echo in the halls, and shadows move from room to room.

What happened here? I witnessed the souls streaming into the Underworld, but they had to have come from the mortal realm, not Olympus.

Did the battle rage here, too?

Impossible.

“Where is my father?” I question as alarm wraps itself around my shoulders. My pace quickens as I realize the time passed has been unkind to Olympus.

“We are headed to him now,” she says, and unfortunately my anxiousness only intensifies.

Hecate does not seem surprised by the quiet murmurs and the soft, rushing footsteps as we walk. She nods to a few servants who bow as we make our way through the halls. We stop once or twice only to let them pass.

My body quivers as we get closer.

I cannot get my bearings. I know these halls. I grew up on the grounds of Olympus. All my childhood memories were bathed in this light. Now it all feels unfamiliar, as if it rearranged itself while I was gone. As if it wanted to be something new when I returned.

Perhaps it is only a consequence of moving between realms.

Perhaps, I think, I am the one who is new and different, and suddenly these bright halls do not seem endless. They do not seem like a dream. They are not the place my heart aches for.

Hecate stops outside a beautifully carved quartz archway. It takes me a few beats to realize that this is the archway leading to my rooms.

My rooms. The ones I spent so much time in. The ones I whispered my worries to Beatrice in. The ones I set up altars in, begging for help with my magic.

The ones I was stolen from.

“Would you like to change?” Hecate questions delicately. It takes a moment for her question to register.

I glance at my simple linen gown.

My heart thumps a little harder. There are conversations that will need to be had. What does it matter what I wear? There are much more important matters at hand.

Goosebumps run down my arms.

Do not drink the wine. Tell me you understand, Hades said, just before Hecate appeared.

I will not drink the wine, I promised Hades.

I draw myself up and answer, “I will change later, if need be. Is my mother waiting for me?” My mother. I need her so. I need her now.

“She will return soon,” Hecate answers. “It is your father who wishes to see you and who you must see first.” Disappointment runs through me for only a moment.

I wonder about that as we walk through the halls. Olympus is teeming with servants. There are more than usual, or else they have all been called to help with whatever disaster happened here. Some kind of storm? An argument between gods?

I am certain I will find out.

It strikes me again that I am walking next to Hecate. Hecate, who I have prayed to so many times. Who I have begged for help in my darkest moments. Who Beatrice often relies on.

I steal a glance at her out of the corner of my eye. Her dark robes flow, sinuous against the white walls. She holds her head high. A subtle breeze, like magic, stirs her long dark hair.

She is regal and unmovable.

For a moment, I feel like a girl walking next to her—young and fearful that I would lose my powers and helpless to do anything about it.

But I straighten my back. I stand tall beside her.

I am a queen in my own right.

Is it your own right? My inner voice questions. Will you ever be allowed to return?

My throat tightens at the thought. I must return. Hades looked into my eyes and swore that his love would last forever. Forever, to the gods, is not a small thing. He intends for me to be his queen for all eternity.

Then what am I doing here, on Olympus? My mother. I need my mother.

It does not take long for us to reach the grand main hall. The doors open before us, and I step through with Hecate.

My father sits on his throne on the massive dais, and as I enter, he picks up his head. His eyes wide with surprise. They flash as he registers me and the delight and welcoming arms are unexpected.

A softness runs through me.

He rises from the throne and comes to me, his pace fast, his strides long, his arms outstretched. When he reaches me, he folds me in a tight hug. And I rest in his hold, feeling as if I belong. As if I’ve found love that I’d lost.

Hushed murmurs rise in the background.

With a prick on the back of my neck I can feel the eyes of Olympus watching. The main hall is not empty. There is an audience.

Finally, my father pulls back, his hands cupping my shoulders. “Persephone. Are you well?”

“I am,” I answer easily.

“And your journey was a safe one?” he questions, but I’m unable to answer.

“It was safe indeed, Zeus,” Hecate states. Her tone colder than it was with me.

“My daughter has returned to us,” my father announces, and scattered cheers go up from the others in the main hall. He looks down and studies my face again. Applause fills the hall and white gowns appear from the corner of my eyes.

Thoughts of my sisters bombard me. I’d forgotten how much I’d lost while in the Underworld. Slowly, I come back to who I was before and I find love there.

“You’re sure you are well?” My father’s eyes pry into my own. An urge to pull away takes over and I do just that, then I grab his hands with my own and hold them between us. The rough calluses caused by his bolts make me aware of just how soft my own hands are.

“Of course, Father,” I tell him. “I am well.”

His brow furrows. “You were not injured? Forced?”

I shake my head. I do not know how to answer him. My first weeks in the Underworld were harrowing, but that was because I was not ready to see it for what it was.

A new world. A whole realm.

With a king at the center of it. And a place for my power.

I can barely look him in the eyes. I know not what to tell. Especially with prying eyes and so many who will hear. I must be careful.

My voice is calm but low as I recount to the court. “I left my rooms. It felt like falling into a dream, and when I woke, I was somewhere else.”

My father looks solemnly into my eyes, the corner of his mouth turning down. “Stolen in the night. But you are unharmed?”

“I have not been harmed, Father.”

My father exhales, as if he is relieved.

“I am glad you were not harmed,” he says, pulling me close again. “You have the favor of the Fates.”

The Fates…just the thought of them brings back flashes of a memory.

I do not know if I have their favor, but I was given advice.

You may thrive in death as much as you would have in life, they said, in that voice that seemed to come from all of them at once. As much in the Underworld as you can on Olympus. But neither life would be complete.

How am I to be complete, then? I asked.

To simply be, they answered. You do not need to choose.

Chills flow down my shoulders now as they did then.

Once again, my father steps back. He smooths his hand over my hair. He has a soft expression on his face, but a hard glint in his eyes, as if there is something about me he cannot explain.

There is likely much about me that he cannot explain. Does he think I spent my time in the Underworld isolated and caged?

“I have questions,” I tell him firmly.

“I will answer all in time, but—”

“Where is my mother?” I question, not allowing him to finish. A hush falls around us, and my father doesn’t answer me.

“Persephone,” my father says in a low, careful tone. “My daughter. I need to know. Did you eat the food in the Underworld?”

“I wasn’t starved, if that is what you mean.”

He glances at Hecate, who says nothing.

“I mean…” My father hesitates. This, too, seems false.

When has he ever hesitated like this before?

It is never because he is unsure of his thoughts.

It is always done because he wishes to give a particular impression.

It didn’t seem quite so obvious before I went to the Underworld.

“Did you eat the seeds of the pomegranate?”

His face does not change once he asks, and that is how I know.

This is the thing that matters to him. The pomegranate seeds. They hold some importance. A great importance, if my father’s neutral expression means what I think it does.

I look directly into his eyes, aware of everyone watching. Aware of Hecate, who already knows.

“Yes.” I do not shout, but I use a clear tone, so that anyone who is listening to our conversation can hear, and there will be no mistake about what I have said. “I ate six of the pomegranate seeds.”

It is then and only then that the lights dim in favor of a stormy sky. His expression morphs to one of concern and the murmurs return, not nearly as hushed as they should be for the concern that suffocates the air.