Epilogue
Freya felt it, the moment the Underworld whispered for her return. She froze, her fingers clenching tighter around the reins of her winged horse. Lightning split the heavens in a silver scream, and then the earth beneath her feet gaped open, swallowing her whole.
A laugh tore from her throat as the gates of the Underworld yawned wide for her once more.
With a delighted cackle, she was pulled from the mortal vessel, finally returning to her true godly form.
She ripped away the valkyrian garments that bound her and let a black gown unfurl along her form like living shadow.
Her chestnut hair darkened, spilling down her back like ink, and her antlers, the ones shorn from her when she had been forced to wear a mortal shell, sprouted anew, vast and regal.
They were not the warm brown of the Faes but obsidian, cold and terrible.
Her once-gentle mortal blue eyes were stripped away the moment she abandoned her mortal body. Now, now her eyes were black as night, and they sharpened as she regarded her hands, hands that no longer belonged to Freya, but to Persephone, true queen of the Underworld, reborn.
Home.
At last.
Persephone strode through the silent fields of the dead, and the shades halted in their endless wandering, turning hollow eyes towards their queen.
Her long black gown flowed like a river of night, trailing behind as she made her way to the black citadel.
The towering doors of the castle groaned open before her, and she stepped inside, feet carrying her unerring to the throne room, a place Hades had always disdained, but she would claim.
Well.
Persephone flung the massive doors open with a forceful crack, a sharp smile cutting her face as her gaze fell upon the throne. Without hesitation, she climbed the three obsidian steps and seated herself, the weight of her presence sinking into the chamber like iron.
Her smile widened further when she saw Thanatos approach, his expression carved in disapproval.
‘Welcome back,’ he said, his voice low, clipped, and far from warm.
‘Where are my children?’ she asked, tone soft but threaded with command.
‘Zagreus is in Tartarus, working and—’
‘Fetch them for me, Thanatos,’ Persephone cut in, flicking her hand dismissively to wave him off like an errant servant.
His jaw clenched, the tendons sharp beneath pale skin, but he turned, obeying her order with reluctant steps. Yet before he had taken more than two strides, the heavy doors groaned open once again.
Persephone froze, her breath caught at the sight of Mal Blackburn striding into the hall like a storm given form.
She too wore black, a gown that whispered power with every step, a sword resting across her back like a promise unspoken.
But it was her eyes, those unnatural, purple eyes, that set a chill through Persephone’s veins.
Eyes that belonged not to a woman but to something feral, untamed, and exquisitely dangerous.
Mal halted a few feet away, a slow smile curving her lips.
‘I believe,’ she said, voice silk-wrapped steel, ‘that you are sitting on my throne.’
Persephone’s teeth clenched. ‘This is my throne.’
‘Not for long.’
‘How dare you—’
Mal raised a single hand, and silence descended as though the air itself obeyed her command. ‘This is merely a warning, Freya… or Persephone, call yourself whichever name suits your fancy. It matters little. Either way, you will soon be dead.’
Persephone laughed, the sound sharp, brittle, defensive. ‘You can only kill me upon mortal soil. How, then, do you plan on dragging me there?’ She leaned back, deliberately languid, letting her arms drape over the throne’s heavy obsidian armrests. ‘I rather like it here, actually.’
Mal’s smile deepened, and something in that quiet, dangerous curve made Persephone sit just a fraction straighter.
‘They say a mother’s love is the greatest force in all existence,’ Mal said, her gaze, those cruel, glowing eyes, never wavering from Persephone’s.
But Persephone noticed the way Mal’s hand rested over her swollen stomach.
‘Every move you have made, every sin you have committed, has been for your children.’
‘Do not dare threaten my children, Mal Blackburn,’ Persephone hissed, her voice edged like a blade. ‘Or you will regret it.’
‘Is that so?’ Mal tilted her head, amusement glinting coldly in her stare. ‘Your daughter Makaria is trapped in Hell. I put her there myself, after striking a bargain with its king. The only way you’ll ever see her again is if you return the soul I claimed… the one I took in exchange for Makaria.’
The world seemed to lurch beneath Persephone’s feet.
She gripped the throne’s armrests until her knuckles whitened, fury boiling her blood.
It couldn’t be true. It mustn’t be true.
She had done everything, everything, to reclaim her children, to keep them safe.
And now Mal Blackburn, cursed, wretched Mal Blackburn, threatened to undo it all.
‘I have already sent Allegra to the mortal lands, where I shall soon dwell, learning the craft of witches.’ Mal cast Persephone one final glance before turning on her heel, her hair whipping behind her like a banner of defiance.
Persephone caught the faint smile curling Thanatos’ lips, a quiet, traitorous satisfaction that only sharpened the bitterness coiling in her chest.
No. She would not stand for this. She had given too much, bled too much, sacrificed too much, only for Hades’ wretched offspring to rise and undo it all once more.
‘Do you not wish to know the truth?’ Persephone asked, her own smile blooming the instant she saw Mal falter mid-step.
Mal glanced over her shoulder, one brow arched. ‘Which truth?’
‘The one concerning your father.’
‘I already know it.’
‘Do you?’ Persephone leaned back against the throne, her posture one of languid ease, but there was venom in her eyes. She felt lighter now, triumphant, for she had found a chink in Mal’s unyielding armour. ‘Are you certain?’
Mal turned fully and Persephone’s smile sharpened like a blade.
‘Hades created me solely to be the God-Killer,’ Mal said, her voice measured, cold. ‘To kill Hecate and shatter the curse that bound us all.’ She gave a slight shrug. ‘He is dead now. I ended it.’
Persephone tilted her head, studying her like a cat might a trapped bird. ‘And are you so sure he didn’t lie? Hades was ever a master of twisting truths.’
‘About what?’
‘You may have severed his curse,’ Persephone purred, ‘but yours still binds you fast. It has never broken, Mal Blackburn. You are still cursed to love Ash Acheron. Killing Hades changes nothing.’
Mal’s eyes widened, sudden dread flickering within their violet depths.
‘No…’ she whispered, shaking her head before turning towards Thanatos, who kept his dark eyes trained upon the floor, silent as the grave.
Persephone laughed, the sound sharp and knowing. ‘Hades lied, because Hades has been desperate to unbind his curse almost from the moment it was woven. Had he told you the truth, you would never have driven your blade through him. And he knew it.’
‘How is that possible?’
‘The curse does not truly awaken until you meet the one fated to you,’ Persephone said, her tone smooth, almost indulgent.
‘Yours only began when you crossed paths with Ash Acheron… when you married him. And your child, her curse will lie dormant too, until she meets the one she is doomed to love. If she never finds him, the curse never stirs.’ She shrugged, elegant and cold.
‘So, in a way, by binding yourself in an oath marriage… you cursed yourself.’
Steel sang as Mal drew her sword.
Persephone’s eyes slid to Thanatos, her lips curving.
‘Are you going to kill him?’ she asked, amusement lilting in her voice.
‘You may, if you wish. Even Death can die, for when one god of Death falls, another always rises to claim the mantle. Death itself is eternal. So go on, then, end your curse.’ She gestured lazily towards Thanatos, whose jaw was so tight she thought it might shatter.
‘If you do it now, before your daughter draws her first breath and grows into a young lady, you might sever the curse completely. Spare her the torment you’ve endured. ’
Persephone watched with detached pleasure as Mal’s grip on the blade tightened, her knuckles pale.
Thanatos stood motionless, then finally raised his head, dark eyes locking on Mal’s.
‘Do it,’ he said softly. ‘Kill me.’
Mal hesitated, caught between fury and doubt.
Persephone tilted her head, curious to see what choice she would make.
Whether Mal struck or stayed her hand mattered little to her in truth.
All Persephone cared about were her own children.
And because of what Mal had done, because she had taken Makaria from her, Persephone wanted nothing more than to see her suffer.
‘Before you kill him,’ Persephone interjected smoothly, her voice silk over steel, ‘perhaps you ought to have Thanatos confess all the lies he has buried from you.’
Mal’s eyes narrowed to dangerous slits.
‘Go on,’ Persephone urged, almost lazily, though Thanatos held his silence like a fortress.
She gave a small, amused sigh. ‘Very well, I shall tell them myself. I must admit, Hades and Thanatos have always excelled at keeping secrets. I nearly slipped, once or twice, back in that drakonian castle when I saw you. I still don’t know how they managed to keep the truth hidden from you for so long. ’
‘Spit it out,’ Mal said, her voice sharp enough to cut glass.
‘Do you know the tale of the first wyverian king?’ Persephone asked, smiling faintly. ‘The one who could shadow-walk, who commanded a shadow wyvern just as you do?’
Mal nodded, her brow creasing with suspicion.