Persephone
Chapter eighty-six
The following evening saw something entirely different, something entirely unexpected and yet so desperately needed by all those who remained in House Hades—a party.
I had never seen the throne room so dressed up, nor so much liveliness in a hallowed hymn of death.
The braziers had never been brighter, nor was I aware there was this much food in a place resided primarily by the dead.
Those who survived the Morningstar’s onslaught wanted to feel what it felt to be well, maybe even feel alive again for a brief moment, something I could hardly blame them for wanting after what happened.
A chill that had nothing to do with the breeze surged down my spine.
You patch the wound, and still it festers. Did you ever wonder what the Lethe knows, little goddess?
That’s what the Morningstar had said. I glared at the Lethe, whose shores lapped benignly out the window to my right.
I clenched my fists against the siren song of its shores and swells.
Try as I might, my memory remained stubbornly out of reach.
Even more maddening, I didn’t even remember having a gap in my memory.
Mother had reached out to me several times since Hades banished her. Each time, he asked me if I wanted to speak to her.
I didn’t.
For the first time in my life, I let my anger run free. My betrayal. It would take a long time before I was ready to speak to her. Time, we had now, thank the Fates.
The party was as eerie as it was beautiful. Joy was a strange thing here—not that of mortal laughter and frivolity, not even the spectacle of Olympus with the clinking of goblets, chaotic disarray, and overabundance.
This was infernal. Opulent. Haunting.
It was half temple, half ball, with swaths of black velvet that caught that flickering light in the obsidian halls, and thundering, haunting melodies that you felt not in your heart, but your bones.
The revelry of those who wore chains like accessories, those who didn’t just wear death—they became death.
Even Thanatos, with all his taciturn expressions, almost cracked a smile.
The judges exchanged stories with booming voices by a lively hearth, several nymphs leaning in to eavesdrop.
Not that I could blame them. Rhadamanthus in particular had a distinct way of storytelling that enthralled and ensnared like nobody else—and with all the outlandish, even scandalous, deeds of every judged mortal at his disposal, who could blame anyone for wanting to listen in?
The specters and nymphs danced alike with shadows and ghostly firelight wheeling overhead, their collective laughter echoing like a breeze over hollow stone.
The scents of ale and wine diluted in the wafting of myrrh, smoke, and crushed pomegranate.
Even the Acheron glimmered in the light like liquid night, a beautiful spectacle beyond the high glass windows.
What both alarmed me and made my chest twist in joy was witnessing Hecate’s smile. It was sharper than any blade forged down here, but it was still a rarity I didn’t know I had so longed to see.
For the moment, there was peace. The barrier held, and for tonight if nothing else, the only thing that mattered was this. Tomorrow we’d face the turbulence on the horizon, but tonight we celebrated being alive—more or less.
Or as alive as the Underworld could be. Tonight, even death could take an easy breath and a night off.
I swear I felt the Underworld hiss at the turn of my thoughts, as if to object.
My green dress shifted along the stones like water flowing over rock.
I was immediately handed a goblet of my favorite pomegranate wine by a very drunk Audenth within moments of passing into the threshold of the party.
We'd already partaken from what remained of her bottle of Lethefire, something that warmed my heart both literally and figuratively.
“My lady—oh!” she hiccupped, slurring the rest of what she was saying. “You probably dance like a mortal!” she challenged, but the bite of her words was entirely diminished by the wide, cheeky grin.
I took her by one hand, clinking our glasses with the other before we chugged them down with giggles. “Perhaps, but you look about as coordinated as a leaf blowing in a storm, so I can’t be too out of place.” I winked.
Hades
There she was. Not even aware of what a jewel she was, the green of her dress perfectly matching her eyes, the lightness of her skin stunningly contrasting the dark waves cascading down her back.
She even wore the diadem I’d given her, an intricate array of gold and black.
The diadem was her in her duality; intricate but bold.
Beautiful, but with hard edges. Gold accented her eyes, while the black accessorized her thick curtain of dark hair.
She’d fingered it so gently after initially looking at me like I was insane.
“You’re to be Queen of the Underworld,” I’d told her. “Best to start looking like it.”
That crown caught the lights of the bone braziers as she danced and twirled so raucously, I couldn’t tell if she and Audenth were truly dancing or just tripping endlessly with a little flare.
Her cheeks were flushed, breathless and radiant, making my heart squeeze.
I'd longed to see her this happy down here, and her joy in my imagination paled in comparison to the real thing.
The fire had returned to her eyes the last few days, and for a moment I could see the goddess of spring within the Queen of the Underworld—bright, colorful, impossible, beautifully and chaotically alive.
Hecate stood beside me, a drink in her hand and a faint curve to her lips—not a smile. To accuse her of such a thing would be close to betrayal—but still it was good to see her unwind if only for the moment.
“She’s lighter,” Hecate observed. “One might even say happy.”
A small smile tugged at the corner of my lips, “One could only hope.”
“And you,” she added, arching a brow pointedly at me. “You seem less like a curse and more like a king.”
I almost laughed. “Careful, Hecate. Can’t let anyone think you’re going soft with those pesky emotions and all.”
“Nonsense. Heads will roll before that rumor flies….”
Audenth’s laugh pierced the night, bring our combined attention back to where she and Persephone dissolved into another fit of giggles, hair and finery catching in the light.
My queen’s friend waved a hand at her, collapsing into a seat, partly out of exertion, partly out of inebriation.
Persephone chugged her wine in a way that would make Dionysus proud.
I grinned, despite myself.
That was my girl.