Chapter 20 Hades
Hades
There is trouble in the skies above the Underworld.
From the towers, the flashes of lightning strike one after the other. There’s no answering roll of thunder, and at first I think I am only imagining them—but no, they are there, splitting the morning colors. The cracks are bright and only last for a moment. They are not of Zeus’s power.
Cerberus runs to my side, carrying a stick in the mouth of his left head. I take it and toss it for him, then watch him dart around the grounds to find it. He stops for a minute and barks at the sky with all three heads, then peers at me.
“Cerberus,” I call, and he comes. I take him with me as I walk the path, surveying my realms. It is calm for now.
New souls are arriving, although many are holding fear of demons or suffering from the pain of those inflicted by them.
I have already sat in judgment of them this morning.
The meadows and fields are quiet, but not empty.
I cannot remove the demons I’ve unleashed, the mortal realm will remember she was taken from me and the pain I felt for all eternity. Such is the ways of gods and mortals.
Another flash of lightning hits the pale blue sky, forcing it to darken. Chills run down my spine as I think of my love.
Up ahead, Minox slips out from a shadowy part of the forest, looks in both directions, and hurries toward me. He does not run, but he moves with an urgency that is unusual for Minox.
“Minox,” I call as soon as he is close enough to hear. “What is it?”
“My Lord.” Minox is slightly out of breath as he approaches. “I have news of Olympus.”
My blood turns hot as I command, “Come with me.”
We return to my rooms. I will not have this news delivered where any souls may be privy to hear the gossip of gods. The peace in my realms is fragile enough as it is. They do not need to concern themselves with what the gods are doing on Olympus.
“Tell me,” I demand, as soon as the door to my chambers is shut.
“There is to be a meeting of the gods and goddesses,” Minox informs me. He steadied himself on the much-faster trip back to my private rooms, Cerberus racing ahead of us, caught up in my urgency. Now the dog is at the window. “On Olympus. About the trouble in the realms.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Has Demeter called this meeting?”
He shakes his head. “Zeus.”
“And I am supposed to sit here and wait for word? Persephone is on Olympus. My queen is there.”
“My Lord—”
I hold up a hand to silence Minox. It’s not just news from Olympus I have been waiting for. “Have you heard from Hecate?” I am bound to the Underworld. Physically incapable of leaving. The golden threads tie me to this place, and I’ve never felt like a prisoner until I laid eyes on Persephone.
“Not yet, my Lord. But I will try—”
Minox is interrupted by a thunderous crack from outside. It splits the sky in two violently. Cerberus barks before howling and his call is joined by two hounds.
My body is paralyzed by the sight of a dark cloud dissipating, and in its wake a cloaked figure lit by a torch. Hecate is here.
The guards open the heavy audience room doors as Minox and I make haste to our guest.
A servant brings a tray of fruits, a pitcher of water, and a cask of wine.
Hecate sits at the head of the table, her hooded cape draped around neck while both water and wine are poured, then lifts her wine glass to her lips.
The wine brings color to her cheeks and lips.
The Titan’s face turns younger. The mother, the maiden, the crone.
The three faces of a woman’s life fade into youth.
The maiden. Surely, she thinks of Persephone as we enter.
“Ah,” she says when she puts it down, a small smile on her face. “I am refreshed.” As I pull the heavy wooden chair out beside her, the legs scrape against the floor. The servants line the room, but Minox requests their leave before leaving himself and shutting the doors so we may have privacy.
“Hecate. Thank you for coming.” She grants me a modest nod before admitting, “I saw that you would ask me to come.”
“Do you know what is happening on Olympus?” I question, the nerves caused by my queen’s absence still rattling in me.
“Sit, Hades.” Hecate gestures with her glass. When I do not sit, she gives me a look. “Sit down. We must talk.”
I take my seat although I’m restless.
Hecate sips her wine again, then gracefully reaches for a piece of cheese with honey and a single ripe berry on the silver tray between us.
Her eyes close as she enjoys the decadence of the meal.
I do not reach for anything. I don’t plan on indulging in the meal until she gives me another look, as if it is somehow rude not to eat when Zeus is making plans and calling meetings on Olympus and I am here, without Persephone.
Begrudgingly, I take a morsel. The doors open and a servant enters with a decanter.
“At your request,” she states and I motion for her to come in.
It takes a century to summon a servant and wait for wine to be poured. The taste of it on my tongue reminds me of Persephone. She tasted the wine, then when I returned from court, she kissed me, in those days when she was beginning to blossom. I would much rather be drinking with her.
Hecate thanks the servant and lifts her drink, all the while I imagine what may be happening on Olympus. A trial perhaps? The clock ticks as Hecate keeps me waiting. She exhales, finally seeming satisfied.
“You and I had an understanding,” Hecate begins. “We both knew of Zeus’s habits.”
“I did not betray you.”
“You had Persephone taken from her rooms in the middle of the night rather than waiting for her to be nearly mortal. So much so that Zeus would remove her from Olympus. How is that not a betrayal of our agreement?”
“Our agreement was to bring her to the Underworld when the danger to her was too great. Doing so was not a betrayal.”
She stares at me, unmoving. Hecate knew of Zeus’s actions and the deal I conjured with him. “It was to be me, Hades. She was to come with me at the new moon so that I could offer reassurances to Demeter, and Persephone could choose to be with you. Your impatience is your demise.”
“Yes.” I burn with the same anger I did when Zeus informed me that he would make her mortal. I never wanted her harmed. I only wanted her mine. “It was. That is what we agreed on. It is Zeus you should be angry with.”
“He moves against all his children,” Hecate counters. “This is nothing new.”
“He was the one who wanted her out of Olympus and reached out to me to begin with. Either way, it was Zeus who demanded she go. And if I had not—” I am not the same as I was that night.
I had to stand in front of the mirror until I could hide how I felt.
Now I know it is impossible. I cannot hide how I feel.
Not even from Hecate. “If I had not taken her that evening, I do not know what would have happened or what she would have become.”
Hecate runs her finger along the edge of her wine glass and stares into the dark red pool.
It was wine that Zeus used to poison Persephone.
The rage and fear I felt that night mix into a deadly concoction.
Perhaps I went around them all to attain my queen.
But it is Zeus who bears the consequence, not I.
“Well, then.” Hecate places her glass carefully on the table, then lifts a sweet from the tray and eats it.
I find my hands clenched on the table in front of me and unclench them as Hecate chews and swallows with a thoughtful expression on her face.
“You had no choice. You had to take her.” Her tone is mocking and I grit my teeth.
“I had to send Minox. I could not take her myself, as you know.” The admission stings. “There was no time to summon you and—”
“Was there not?”
My jaw ticks as her face morphs into the crone and then back. She is a knowing Titan. “There may have been time to summon you,” I admit. “But it was not the new moon, or even close to it. You would not have been able to come.”
“You are mistaken.” Hecate leans back in her chair and it creaks with her movement, her wine drawn close to her chest. “It is not only at the time of the new moon that I may move between the realms as I will it.”
“But you are bound—”
“I am bound to return to the Underworld at the crescent before the new moon. I may travel between the realms when I wish. There is no other binding, and you are aware of such things.”
With a deep breath I steady myself. My instincts war with me and my muscles coil. I want to knock the dishes off the table. I want to hurl my glass of wine at the wall and watch it shatter. I don’t; I restrain myself. Something it appears I’ve been doing more often lately.
“It was not my intention to betray you,” I say, when my vision clears. “I was mistaken and for that you have my apologies.”
“You might have asked, Hades.” Her tone is gentle but even still, it enrages me.
There is no reply to that beyond a scream of frustration. Surely she knows what was at stake. The Titan is the oldest god. She’s walked through fires that burned centuries before I was conceived.
The respect I have for her is only outweighed by the knowledge that she is the key to Olympus that I need. I do not let my rage out. I stare across the table at Hecate instead.
And Hecate, for all she is willing to sit here at this table with me—for all she did come to the Underworld at my request—will not understand what it is like to ask a question of your own mind and get a twisted answer back, then come to believe it when there are no other voices and no other people.
“I wanted her and I did what I had to in order to take her,” I admit coolly.
“Who opened the realm?” she questions.
“Aphrodite, at my offer to reunite a demon soul with his fated love. I took advantage. I implore you not to disclose this indiscretion.” I answer her honestly, praying that she will be willing to forgive all if only I am honest.
“I suppose you thought that you could not wait,” she muses, as if she can see into my mind. “I suppose you questioned whether I would betray you to Zeus the moment I left Persephone with you. I suppose you thought there was truly no other choice.”
I give her a nod of agreement and do not utter a single word. That is all I can do. To open my mouth and explain is entirely too dangerous. Once I started, I might not stop, and then Hecate would be privileged to have knowledge about me that she would never forget.
“Yet,” she continues, “you have asked me to meet with you, because part of you hopes that I may be able to offer you passage to Olympus.”
Her guess is correct. “That seems to be something you are able to do,” I force out. “If there is to be a meeting of the gods and goddesses, I wish to be there too.”
Her gaze drops and then rises again with a heavy breath. “You wish to be there with your queen,” Hecate says quietly.
“Yes.”
A smile curves her lips. “Persephone has changed you after all. You would not have come to me before you had her as your queen.”
I swallow thickly. Yet again I am at the mercy of others and I loathe it.
“Love changes a man,” Hecate says, as if she is only thinking of it now. “Even if he does not know it himself.”
Straightening in my seat, I clear my throat. Hecate has had her conversation. She has seen too much of me, and it is knowledge I cannot take back from her. I’m not willing to give her more—not until I am by Persephone’s side.
If I can be at her side, then I will give Hecate anything she asks.
Given the satisfaction echoed in her eyes, I think she knows it.
“I am asking you to grant me access to Olympus so that I may attend this meeting along with all the other gods and goddesses. Will you allow it?”
Hecate places her wine glass on the table and stands with a flourish. She holds out her hand, still wearing that unsettling smile, as if she was the one who set all this in motion. As if she was the one to guide my fate.
“Let us go to Olympus then, my Lord,” Hecate says easily. “Why ever did it take you so long to ask?”