Destroyer of Light (20 page)

“Aidon,” she said softly, motioning him toward the antechamber door. He’d been lost in thought. Persephone was standing at the door, ready to open it. He watched her gaze across the room one last time, memorizing every detail. The antechamber and the bedroom were the first rooms he’d built— carved out of the cave he’d drunkenly retreated into after arriving in the Underworld. The rest of the palace was almost an afterthought. This was his sanctuary— a place for him to rest and meditate, to retreat. But it had only felt like home once he’d opened the door and let Persephone in.

He took a final look at the room, and then shut the door behind them with a hollow thud.

***

Hermes stood still, listening. He was restless, wanted desperately to go somewhere, anywhere, but any step he took with his winged shoes would echo far too loudly in Hades’s throne room. The room was pitch black but for the silver light filtering in from the terrace, the heavy silence broken only by an occasional howl in the distance. Cerberus. Hermes’s wandering mind alighted on the very real possibility that Hades would change his decision, lock him up in Tartarus, and declare war on the Olympians for breaking a Stygian oath.

Hades has every right to go to war
, Hermes thought, then urged his thoughts onward to less terrifying locales. He tried to discern which of Cerberus’s heads were baying when the beast howled. He couldn’t tell them apart.

“A wonder you slept at all, Psychopompos.”

He startled so violently that his petasos almost fell off his head. Turning, he saw a woman in crimson robes with a half moon held by intricately wound selenite beads on the center of her forehead. “I wa-wasn’t expecting you, Hecate,” he managed once his heart slowed.

“Few do,” she smiled. “A grim task you’ve been given, no? To sever a man from his lawful, beloved wife?”

Hermes pursed his lips before he spoke. “I have no choice. You know who my father is.”

“In that, yes. But what of the horses whose reigns you
do
hold?”

Hermes blinked and shook his head rapidly. “What do you mean?”

“Selene proved herself a masterful storyteller— she spun such
intimate
details into her tale about your visit with Hades and Persephone in the palace grotto last week. But I know
she
has seen no such things…”

“I…” Hermes fidgeted as Hecate narrowed her eyes at him. “You see,” he tittered nervously, “er, that is, you can’t imagine how persuasive my brother Apollo is. He
insisted—”

“Your tongue is too easily loosened, Hermes.” She walked to the brazier and with a flick of her wrist, brandished an unlit torch. Hecate thrust it into the coals. “And loose enough to risk war between the realms.”

He took a quick step back when the torch flared white hot in her hand, illuminating the room as she approached him. Hermes swallowed. He’d heard whispered stories about what she’d done to her enemies during the war. “H-Hecate, I’m not stupid.”

“Aren’t you, now…”

“I’ll not repeat a word of what happened yesterday!”

“Few of the futures I see are certain, Psychopompos. But this is one of them,” she said, advancing calmly.

“Please; I promise!”

“Pretty words. I need strong words. Perhaps I should be more direct, and burn out your wagging tongue…”

“I’ll swear!”

Hecate stopped her advance. The torch hissed menacingly between them.

He drew in a full breath. “I, Hermes Argophantes, swear on the Styx that I will not reveal a single word spoken by Hades in the throne room yesterday. Not one! To anyone.”

“Hard to believe,” Hecate intoned and lowered her torch. “You are known to do the bidding of
oath breakers
, Hermes.”

“But I am not one myself,” the God of Thieves said quietly. “Whatever else I may be, I take
that
seriously.” Hecate’s torch flamed out and disappeared from her hand. The lingering darkness left him almost blind. He waited for his vision to adjust and saw her calmly standing exactly as she was. “And despite what all of you think, I respect Aidoneus.”

“Respect.” She raised her eyebrows.

“The very least,” Hermes said through gritted teeth, “I’m afraid of him. Of… both him
and
her.”

“As well you should be.”

She glanced in the direction of the tapestry-shrouded staircase, the sound of sandaled feet descending from the chamber above. Hermes swallowed. A slender hand moved the cloth aside and Persephone peeked out, dressed in the same manner as yesterday, when Hermes had tried to spirit her back to the world above. She nodded to him, her face blank of emotion, and Hermes returned the gesture. Hecate bowed deeply. Aidoneus was right behind her, his hand clasped within hers.

Hecate glanced at their hands, the rings smoldering with a light of their own, and exhaled in surprise and relief. She quickly returned her features to solemn regard, but not before Persephone noticed her reaction and understood that Hecate knew. She allowed the goddess’s expression to give her a faint sense of hope, and prayed that Hecate would know to say nothing.

The four stood in the dark throne room without speaking. Silvery moonlight still lit the Styx and the marshes of Acheron, and all could hear Cerberus baying at the water’s edge. Only Hades and Persephone could hear the cacophony of shades, those souls in Asphodel begging her to stay, lamenting that they were being robbed of their long-prophesied queen. She tried as best she could to ignore the plaintive cries; if she listened too closely, she would be lost. Persephone knew that her husband was more practiced at letting their voices fade into the background.

Aidoneus spoke first, quiet and staid. “Shall we?”

Hermes bowed to Hades and shuffled his feet before he followed the Lord of the Dead and his queen. The four of them made their way down the flights of stairs and passageways that Aidoneus had spent a thousand mortal lifetimes crafting until they at last came to the atrium and the golden poplar tree overhanging the great palace gates. The procession to the docks was slow but brief. Hermes saw the silvery inhabitants of the Fields crowding either side of the pathway for a last glimpse of their queen, each bowed to one knee and silently weeping.

A pretty shade reached for the hem of Persephone’s peplos and kissed the embroidered cloth, her eyes wet with tears. Hermes squinted. The woman reminded him of his mother’s sister, Merope. Before he could get a better look, she vanished in a wisp of smoke, her apparition replaced by the tall, ghostly flowers. The mood was almost funerary.
How appropriate
, he thought.

He wanted to leave this land of sadness as soon as he could, but wilted when he remembered that by Persephone’s word, there was only one way across the river Styx— and the boat was already waiting for them.

Charon stood tall on one of the creaky bracings, his oar in hand, and his hood over his head to conceal his face in shadow. His eyes shone silver, matching the light from the river. Hermes looked away from the Boatman, feeling his heavy glare. He waited, watching Hades and Persephone look one another in the eye, almost as though they were speaking to each other. Persephone leaned into his chest and he stroked her hair gently. At last, Aidoneus backed away and silently took her hand, leading her to the boat.

Hermes dropped his gaze to his feet, angrily mulling over why Demeter would do this. Hades clearly wasn’t mistreating her. From what little he’d seen, they were well matched, and she had been granted a greater role in this world than a consort should ever expect of her lord husband. Hermes shook his head. How would anyone ever know the truth? Mortals and gods alike feared this place, and feared its stern master. Of course they would assume— their assumptions bolstered by Demeter’s wrath— that Hades had violated Persephone, body and spirit, and kept her here as his prisoner.

The couple ended their silent farewell and Hades picked his wife up by the hips as though she weighed nothing, lifting her clear of the water. Charon took Persephone’s hand, helping her the rest of the way into the boat. Hecate appeared by the queen’s side, gracefully shifting through the ether. Hermes let his winged sandals lift him and stepped in with them. He didn’t dare use them to carry him all the way across the Styx and await their arrival, though it could have saved him from Charon’s withering looks.

The boat lurched and Hermes sat down across from Persephone. Hades stood at the shore, his figure growing smaller as they rowed out into the river. His face was stone and he turned away suddenly, slamming the palace gates behind him.

The river was a pool of moonlight. When Hermes looked over the side of the boat all he could see was silver, and in the calmer parts of the river’s surface he could make out the darker seas of the moon itself, as though the whole bright orb were filling the Styx and they were gliding across it.

“Why do you look so sullen, Messenger?” Charon’s voice ground out, more strained than usual.

Hermes glanced up at him. Was it his imagination or did he see in the up cast moonlight a wet trail of tears on the Boatman’s sunken cheek? He felt a swell of compassion for Charon, but Hermes had no patience for his derision. “Do you think I take joy in this?”

“I would guess you’d be very glad. You’ve
won
after all— haven’t you, Olympian?”

Hermes gritted his teeth. “There’s no victory here, Boatman.”

“Oh isn’t there, now? Isn’t it victory when your king proves that he can break any sacred law he wants, assert his dominance over us and steal away our—”

“Charon, please,” Persephone said quietly.

He was instantly silent and lowered his head. “Forgive me, Aristi.”

Hermes fumed. “I was commanded to play this role and we all thought that Hades had—”

“Psychopompos,” Hecate hissed. “Perhaps it’s best if you hold your tongue.”

Hermes shivered, visions of a white-hot torch bursting into his mind. Hecate shifted in the boat and sat upright, letting Persephone lean onto her shoulder. The young queen looked down, her emotions starting to collapse under their own weight. It took all the restraint she could summon not to jump into the bottomless waters of the Styx and swim back to him. Hecate wrapped an arm around her and held her shoulder.

“Do not despair, my queen. Look at me,” Hecate said, waiting for Persephone to meet her gaze. “You have done a
marvelous
thing. No waters are deep enough to part you from this shore ever again.”

She prepared herself certain now that Hecate knew exactly what she had done, and thanked the Fates that she spoke cryptically to hide her meaning from Hermes and Charon. There was more she needed to know. Things to discuss more candidly, as Hecate had said. It was her first time apart from her husband and alone with the Goddess of the Crossroads, and she knew that neither the Ferryman nor the Messenger would dare interrupt them.

Hecate could sense what she was about to ask— whether or not she carried Aidon’s child with her to the world above. Her forehead tighten with concern and compassion as she gave her answer. “Blood is a dangerous thing in Asphodel,” Hecate said, echoing Aidon’s words from the night Persephone had first suspected she was pregnant. “It does not flow here.”

Persephone wilted. If her plan today failed, she had hoped to keep a more precious memento of Aidoneus than just the rings on her hand, or the jewels on her neck and girdle. Persephone grasped for possibilities. She hadn’t yet arrived
in
the Underworld when she could have first conceived by him, had she? And together they had already done the impossible. “What about the grove, Hecate? Life can be created here, can it not?”

“Only in that sacred place brought forth by you and your husband. And nowhere else,” she said. Persephone turned her face away to stare out into the river, frustrated. Perhaps Hecate was wrong. She ran her hand over her belly.
Please let her be wrong
.

Sensing her internal protestations, the Titaness spoke again. “The seeds of this world will bloom in the world above.”

“
Which
seeds?” she asked Hecate pointedly. She was thankful for the metaphors, but Persephone craved a clear answer.

Hecate shook her head. “The waters are muddied by endless ebbs and flows and the churned-up silt from all that has transpired. The Fates alone know the answer. But after today all will know.
Nothing
shall remain the same. Only that wellspring remains clear.”

The boat docked on the opposite shore and its passengers disembarked amidst a mass of shades. But instead of bowing to greet the procession of gods, the newly dead merely gawked at the mists overhanging the river. Hermes followed their wide-eyed gazes and felt ice crawl up his spine. A dark fleck was visible in the impenetrable mists, shrouded, but coming closer. He heard whinnying and saw moonlight glinting off golden wheels. Hermes stopped breathing.

It was Hades. Bearing down on them in his chariot.
Oh Gods
, Hermes thought in a panic.
He’s changed his mind and chosen war.

Hermes rose up slightly on the balls of his feet, ready to flee Chthonia, perhaps warn the others in time. Before he could move, his wrist was caught and squeezed hard by the little flower goddess, the dread Queen of the Underworld. She spoke low and calm, staring at him with her cold blue gray eyes. “Stay right where you are, Messenger.”