Chapter Three
Hecate
Hermes is a young god.
Age isn’t necessarily the determining factor in the youthfulness of gods.
Some of us are born with all the wisdom and weight of ages on our shoulders.
I have felt every year that existed before my existence and feel every year to come.
It is the weight of death, of magic, of the knowledge needed to guide.
Hermes has none of that. He is all boundless enthusiasm and mischief, energy and cunning all in the same beautiful form. His youth cannot be measured in the time since his birth no more than mine. And yet, I know he is new to much. His moods, quick and mercurial, are proof enough of that.
It’s enough of a warning to stay away, to keep my distance lest I be burned by the crackling fire ready to spill free of the brazier and set fire to everything in its path.
But I can’t shake off the chill the space between us causes. I want to step back into the circle of his arms, to grab onto him and bury myself under his skin. To feel the burn of his lips on mine.
It’s a ridiculous impulse, one for gods and goddesses who feel want and desire. This is a passing shadow of those feelings. I’m sure of it. I’ll only disappoint him by indulging in it.
So why did I agree to see him again?
Hades’ palace, looming over us as we cross fields of asphodel is a welcome distraction. Shades stop to watch us pass, breathing deep as Hermes sheds Olympian power with every step.
The Underworld feeds on life and Hermes has it in spades. The souls of the dead can’t drink from it directly, but they know it will come to them through this place as it redistributes the power like a breeze carries dandelion seeds.
He won’t be able to stay much longer. Just enough to achieve his mission and then back to his golden, marble halls on top of Olympus where he belongs.
A place I have long since forsworn.
The gates of the palace open at our approach, though whether they open for me or Cerberus—tail held high and wagging as he rushes inside—is unclear.
After today, it might never be me again.
The guards spare a suspicious eye for Hermes as we climb the steps, but as long as he’s at my side, they don’t interfere. Hermes, for his part takes it all in with a wide eyed sort of wonder, the youth in full display.
“It all looks so endless,” he comments as we crest the stairs, turning to look back over the sprawl of the underworld.
“You only see a small part of it,” I tell him. “It goes deeper, darker than you can imagine. We’re at the apex.”
Hopefully, he would never need see Tartarus, the prison of so many of my kind and those who served them.
“And you? Where is your piece of it?” His face is open, earnest, grey eyes drinking me in. My cheeks flush hot with ichor, lit from within under his interest.
Hot and cold. He’ll chill me again in just a moment, and I try to brace myself against it, and fail.
“I have small villa and my workshop over there.” I point to a copse of trees, bare and haunted, gnarled branches twisting upwards for sunlight they’ll never see.
“I’d like to see it. When this is over.”
I hum but don’t answer him. When this is done, he’ll leave, as he must. Seeing my house is not on the agenda.
Instead, I lead him inside, past flickering torches, flames guttering in unfelt wind. Hades palace is sprawling, great feast halls, open atriums, room after room for gods who never visit. It’s a large prison. Lonely.
I spend little time here, preferring the close confines of my own space, but today, others have gathered, no doubt drawn by the commotion.
We pass Nyx and Erebus on their way out, whispering to each other in tones only meant for lovers’ ears. They raise their chins at me, no deference paid.
Such is the way with Titans. I bow my head. Night and Darkness are not the sorts I wish to have as enemies.
Deeper in, we catch a crowd. The vicious Erinyes, apathetic Nemesis, even spiteful Eris gather at the edges of a grand hall, peeking in through the doorway. Eris giggles at a naiad, Minthe, as she pouts and glowers.
“How it must pain you,” the goddess of discord crows, making no secret of her presence. No doubt, Hades can hear every word inside. “Lording around here like a queen as you have been. Tell me. Tell me how it hurts.”
“To the void with you, Strife,” Minthe hisses in return. “He’ll tire of her. Gods tire of anything once it’s no longer shiny.”
“And you’re positively dull as dirt now,” Eris replies, her long curls shaking along with her cackling laughter.
If anyone is going to delight in this mess, it’s Eris, whose only joys come in the suffering of others. She delights in rubbing salt in open wounds.
Today, it’s not my concern. If I have my way, nothing Eris ever does will be my concern. I clear my throat and watch as the gaggle of goddesses whirl around to face me.
“Hecate.” Eris’ smile is jagged, like a shark readying to bite. Her grey eyes take me in, unimpressed, before sliding to Hermes. “And who is this? Another Olympian for Hades’ new collection?”
Hermes’ eyebrows shoot up, and I step between them. “Hermes is Zeus’ messenger. If you’ll step aside, we’ll pass, and you can go back to ripping wings off flies or whatever else you wish to fill your time with.”
But I’ve made a mistake. Eris’ sees the fault lines in everyone, the cracks, even in her fellow gods, and I’ve made my weakness for Hermes clear. Her eyes narrow before that predatory grin of hers flashes wider.
“Oh, Hecate,” she purrs. “What have you done? Showing preference for your Olympian allies again?” she tsks. “What will Hades say? Perhaps I should stay. You might need my help.”
She’d help turn the whole incident into a war. I send an imploring glance over her shoulder to Nemesis, who raises her hands and shakes her head, wanting no part in reining in her sister.
Nemesis rarely has any interest in anything but whatever Dike declares. Righting wrongs is her only domain and as annoying as Eris is, she hasn’t wronged me. Yet.
Hermes comes to my side, a scowl pulling his features. “Aren’t you too busy bullying river nymphs here? I’d hate to take you away from important work.”
“I can do both. Can’t I, Minthe?” Eris throws a smirk over at the naiad, who sniffles. “What, crying already? Disappointing.”
Minthe, unable to hold it in any longer, hiccups a sob and dashes down the halls, disappearing from sight. I try to work up any sympathy, but Eris had been right in one respect: Minthe had been a bitch with Hades’ favor.
“Eris,” Nemesis finally says, her eyes rolling skyward as she heaves a sigh. “You know as well as the rest of us Hades forbade you from his presence.”
Eris huffs and plays with the sleeve of her chiton, the threads fraying under her touch. “I’m sure he’s over it by now.”
“Doubtful.” Nemesis grabs her sister by the scruff of her neck like an errant kitten. “Come along. I’m sure you’re not done with Minthe.” The Erinyes cackle with delight as Nemesis marches her off, and they follow, heckling Eris as she hisses and fights every step of the way.
I don’t envy any of them the pain Eris will inflict on them for the indignity once she’s free, but I sigh, rolling my shoulders in relief.
“Is she always like that?” Hermes watches them go, frowning.
“She’s Strife,”I say, the word describing everything. “She knows no other way.”
“And you have to deal with her?”
“Not every day.” I shrug. There are far worse things than a rude daimona. “Sometimes I can go several moons without seeing her.” I prefer it that way.
He nods. “Seems wise.” He straightens his shoulders, but it seems to take more energy than it had before, as though he can’t quite keep himself upright. “We should get this over with.”
“We should. You can’t stay here much longer.” Our time together dwindles, and the knowledge aches in my chest like a wound.
He stares at me, his lips parting as though he might say something to argue, but he falls silent, shaking his head. He gestures for me to lead, and I enter the hall.
The feast hall is large, almost impossibly so.
It stretches out the length of a chariot area, so much so I can barely make out the figures seated at the far end of the table.
The curious goddesses and creatures would have only been able to spy glimpses of them from their perches at the doorway, a safe vantage point.
We get much closer.
Hades comes into focus first, a dark slash across the pale marble floors.
Tall and imperious with long dark hair that spills over his shoulders like a tumble of shadows, even darker eyes and a full beard concealing a mouth I know from experience to devious and cutting, he sits in the chair like a king on his throne, which he is.
He sips from a cup of wine, dark eyes cutting in our direction.
“Hecate. Son of Zeus. What a surprise.”
No one believes him. Hades knew we were here from the moment we crossed the gates. Very little goes on in the Underworld without his knowledge. He knows who Hermes is without introduction, so I make known, turning my attention to his lone guest.
At his side, pale as a spring bloom, sits Persephone. Her long hair flickers orange in the light from the hearth, and she gazes up at me with eyes rimmed red.
My hands clench at my sides.
“Hades,” Hermes says with a fetching if not entirely sincere bow. He bends so elegantly, the curve of his back distracting in the best and worst possible ways. “I am glad to see my sister well.”
“She is well,” Hades agrees, resting his hand over Persephone’s. The goddess stares at him, not quite terrified but not the doting lover he is trying to portray her as. “She’s my new queen. Zeus could not ask for a better match for his daughter.”
“And Demeter? Do you think she would say the same?” I ask, the words jagged like shards of ice.
Mention of Demeter is enough to make Hades flinch, which pleases me. But then he glares. “Have you forgotten your fealty so soon, Hecate? After I gave you place here when no one else wanted you?”
“Hecate acts only in the interest of a mother who misses her daughter,” Hermes intercedes, “surely you cannot hold it against her.”
Hades scoffs and leans back in his seat. He waves and impatient hand to Hermes. “What does Zeus want then? Get on with it.”
“Zeus is concerned about his daughter, as I’m sure you can imagine.”
Hades cuts him off with a laugh, shoulders shaking, the sound echoing around the empty hall. “The last thing Zeus is concerned about is his daughter. He runs off with a new mortal or nymph weekly. He did the same for you, did he not? At least I have married Persephone. I intend to keep her.”
“But you cannot,” I interrupt, not surprised by the argument in the least. “Demeter does care about her daughter, and she holds all of Gaia in eternal winter until Persephone is returned to her safely.”
Persephone gasps, her hand flying to her mouth. “Mother. Is she all right?”
“She will be well as soon as you set foot on Gaia once more,” I assure her. We all will.
“How much like an Olympian lapdog you sound, Hecate.” Hades his shakes his head. “Disappointing.”
“I will live with your disappointment as long as I can return Persephone to where she belongs.”
I move around the table, behind Hades, to offer my hand to Persephone. “Come, your mother awaits.”
Persephone blinks her wide eyes up at me, not sure whether to move or not. Slowly, she reaches for me, but before I can pull her from her chair, Hades tightens his grip on her other hand.
“Unfortunately, it’s not so simple anymore,” he tells me, lips curled in triumph. “Persephone has eaten the food of the dead, you see. She is bound to this place.”
I hiss in a breath and drop her hand. “And I suppose you did not tell her the consequences of this?”
Persephone stares at me. “T—the consequences?”
“Would it matter?” Hades strokes his fingers over Persephone’s wrist. “She is my queen. I would not deny her sustenance if she desired it. She belongs here with me.” His dark eyes gleam.
“Besides, Zeus is the one who gifted her to me, so if you want to be angry at someone, Bright One, lay it at his feet.”
My eyes go wide, the wind whistling past my ears. I shouldn’t be surprised—of course Zeus had a hand in these events—but I am anyway. His own child, gifted to Hades to kidnap, to drag down into this dark, unforgiving world. A child of flowers and fresh growth doomed to death and shadow.
Almost unthinking, I turn to Hermes, needing to see his shock, to know he had no part in these schemes, but his mouth is set in a hard line, and he’s staring at Hades, studiously ignoring me.
He knew. Of course he did.
I’m such a fool. Distracted by a pretty face and some flattering words to forget what I’ve always known. Olympians can’t be trusted.