Destroyer of Light (44 page)

“She doesn’t ask to change her fate,” Clotho observed as she twisted the fibers together.

“This one is wise,” Atropos said with a sharp snip of a dark red thread. “She understands
ananke
.”

“She knows and accepts that we are only its stewards,” said Lachesis as she drew out another long piece behind the one cut by her sister. It became a golden yellow in her fingers.

Clotho looked up, the small flame faintly lighting her compassionate, ancient face. Her fingers still nimbly worked the spindle, turning the wool into thread. “Child, take heart. We have not finished speaking.”

“We never finish speaking.”

“So much weight given to words already spoken. Too much weight.”

“What do you mean?” Persephone said, quietly wiping her face with her shawl.

“There are infinite threads.”

“Woven in infinite patterns.”

“In our basket lie the threads for Hades and Persephone’s children.”

Persephone snapped to attention. “What?”

“Not immutable.”

“Not yet, at least.”

“So much still to undertake before they can be woven.”

Her tears started again, only this time they welled up with hope. “We will have children then…”

“Woman, take heed,” said Atropos. “We have not finished speaking.”

“We never finish speaking.”

“The words, they do not weigh enough. The threads are already heavy.”

“Words are words. Threads are threads. And those threads can spoil to felt once more to spin again.”

“Please just tell me!” She cried, wavering between hope and oblivion. Hecate was right. She shouldn’t have come here.

“Patience,” they said in unison, their voices dark. Persephone shuddered and dropped slowly to one knee, then the other, the cold mud seeping through her clothes.

“My apologies, Sparing Ones,” Persephone said, planting one hand in front of her and bowing her head. “Forgive me. I only seek to make sense of what you say. If there are threads for our children—”

“One, who is twice woven, cannot remain your own.”

“Two, the ether bound, who shines the torch in darkness.”

“Three, the blessed harbinger, who reaps the reaper’s heart.”

“All at last aeon’s end,” they said together, “And all to end the aeon.”

Persephone stood slowly, watching the Fates’ handiwork, one thread twisted, another snipped, hands moving, measuring, casting a wealth of colorful strands one by one into the straw basket at Lachesis’s side.

Three children…

“I… you said…” Persephone stammered incredulously, “I-I don’t understand…”

“We know,” they answered in lilting, sing-song unison.

Lachesis spoke the moment Persephone began to step back. “She is going to leave, now.”

“She thinks she’s heard enough.”

“Should we tell her more?”

“No, let her go.”

“There remains much to be done…”

“…by two in the dark.”

Persephone didn’t know if the Fates were dismissing her, or if she was actually preparing to leave. It didn’t matter, she realized. She curtsied once more, and lifted the hem of her peplos out of the mud. The low light outside beckoned her. As she stepped closer, the horizon brightened, becoming daylight, then grew brighter still. The clouds grew distant and wind whipped across the barren ground.

She breathed in the icy air, shaking like a newborn, and squinting as she emerged. Hecate stood beside the cave, her cloak wrapped tightly around her, the ends flapping in the gale. Persephone licked her lips, ready to apologize, ready to tell Hecate she was right, she shouldn’t be here—no one should be here.

“I know,” the Goddess of the Crossroads said quietly before Persephone could speak. She extended her hand as the wind grew stronger. “Come,” she said, “that is our sign to leave, and we should do so before it comes to pass.”

“What, exactly?”

“The creation or destruction of the cosmos. I don’t know which. Perhaps both. All these aeons and it is still unclear to me when we are.”

Hecate closed her eyes and the ether swallowed them whole, the whirl of the Void a comfort. When the Goddess of the Crossroads finally released her, she was standing alone in the throne room. There was no mud staining her dress or caking her sandals. Her hair wasn’t damp or blown out of place and the room was still flooded with darkness, just as it had been when she left it. Persephone turned on her heels, and ascended the narrow staircase, eager to return to the safety of her bed.

“He was a runt.
Hecate thought that Echidna would kill him when he was born, so she gave him to me to keep and to improve my mood, I think.”

“A runt? I can’t even imagine him being called
average
, much less a runt!”

“His paws were enormous— I knew how big he would get one day, but for a time he could fit in my lap. Would curl up on me and fall asleep when I was judging shades. Three little heads snoring in unison, with three tongues poking out. He wasn’t a very intimidating guard dog, at first—”

“Obviously,” she guffawed.

“It’s too bad he outgrew his spots…”

“Is
that
why you named him Cerberus? I’d wondered…”

“Yes,” Aidoneus said. “Not very creative, I know.”

“At least you didn’t name him ‘Three Heads’!”

He laughed and moved closer to her. Their conversation had meandered wildly since he’d settled beside her. They had spent the morning and afternoon making love, talking about everything and nothing, and sampling the bounty sent to the Underworld by the mortals.

Aidon felt as though the intervening time hadn’t passed at all, that they were as they had been before the pomegranate seeds, when she was supposed to be his for always, instead of this strange half-life they would play out until the end of time. He knitted his brow momentarily. The thought that in six short months she must leave again drove needles into him. He pushed it from his mind and focused on her instead, committing to memory every hair that had been pulled out of place, every eyelash framing her slate blue eyes, the gentle slope of her nose, the soft bow of her lips. The pain faded the more he studied her.

Persephone lay on her stomach, propped up on pillows and a soft black fleece, her arms folded under her chin, relaxed and sated, and gazing at him. Aidon leaned on his left arm, lazily tracing shapes on her back with his index finger. She smiled at him.

“You’re wondering what in the world I’m doing right now,” Aidon said.

“You read my mind.”

“Not a hard thing to do these days.” He bit his cheek. Something worried her, something increasingly palpable. He gave her a concerned look.

She giggled.

“While you were away I got a head start on learning how to write to you in the old tongue.”

She relaxed again. “So is that what you’re doing to my shoulders right now? Writing to me?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“What does it say?”

Aidon slowly traced the outlines of two glyphs, sounding them out as he wrote them. “I love… you…” he whispered. She buried her face in her hands and smiled, feeling her cheeks flushing hot, then turned back to him. He drew three more symbols, quicker and with a practiced hand. “Pers-epho-neia.”

“Persephoneia?”

“It was the closest I could get in their language. And it’s graceful. It suits you.”

Persephone blushed again. She rose up on one elbow, but he gently pressed her shoulder back to the pillow, stilling her so he could continue writing.

“Will you…” He drew the next two symbols and whispered as he traced their patterns into her skin. “…marry me?”

She froze. “What?”

“Will you marry me, Persephone?”

“I… we… Aidon, do you mean a
wedding
? We’ve been husband and wife for eight months, now. Far longer, if you consider that we were betrothed aeons ago.”

“By the laws of the world above. We are both
quite
aware those can be broken at will.”

“But we’re still married. We just spent the whole day doing…
married things
.”

Aidon laughed, then drew in a slow breath. “Persephone, I never asked if you wanted to be my spoils of war, or if you wanted to be the bargain I made with Zeus and Demeter. I ask you now, as my equal, as rightful Queen of the Underworld, if you want to be my wife.”

Her face fell. He was serious.

“I never asked your permission.”

“Aidon—”

“I didn’t. I
stole
that decision from you when I abducted you. I wish to return that choice to you.”

She was quiet, then shifted again to sit up, facing him. “My love, when you announced at the welcoming celebration that we would have a wedding ceremony…”

“I know. I knew as soon as I said it that I should have discussed it with you first.”

“You know that I love you, Aidon. Perhaps after all this, after Minthe, my mother… Should we wait?” In her heart, she didn’t want to wait; she wanted him to say ‘no’. But she needed to confront him about the truth first… and delaying that was far more comfortable.

He sensed the doubt in her voice and raised an eyebrow. “If that will make you more comfortable, we can postpone. Do you still
want
a ceremony?”

“I do.” She hesitated. The time to speak was now, but she swallowed the questions raging inside her and gave him a nervous smile. “Maybe a smaller ceremony? Instead of inviting everyone who lives in our kingdom?”

Aidon chuckled. “Anything you wish. We can even have just the
hieros gamos
itself, if that is what you want. Alone. Without anyone bearing witness.”

She felt her breath catch and tears clouded her eyes.

“Is that what you still want, sweet one?”

She nodded. “I do. I do, my love. But I’ve seen the Rite and its lasting bond… go terribly wrong. My parents…”

“I am not him. You are not her.”

“I know. But why is the ritual so important to you?”

“Because I want to seal myself to you. Permanently.” He rubbed her back. “I have wanted to since the night we shared the Key.”

“To bring us closer?”

“Yes.”

“I am already bound to you, Aidon. What more?”

“I trust you and I love you. I want us to relinquish everything that separates us, every possible thing that could stand between us.”

“Truly?”

“I swear it.”

It was inescapable now. Persephone took a deep breath. “Aidon, if we are to go through such a ritual, if we are going to bind ourselves to each other completely, then we need to know and consider everything about each other. You told me once that you would tell me the truth, you swore upon the Styx to do so, and I likewise should do the same for you.”

“You don’t have to, my love.”

“Yes, I do. I certainly don’t want to be less than you, but I don’t want to be some statue set upon a pedestal, either. I am as imperfect as anyone else.”

He felt his stomach drop, worrying where this could lead. “I will accept it then.”

“Good.” She stared at him and took his hand within hers. “I, Persephone Praxidike Chthonios, Queen of the Underworld, Goddess of Spring, swear on the Styx to tell you the truth, no matter what the consequences, and withhold nothing.”

He nodded and brought her hand to his lips, kissing it.

“I need the same from you, Aidoneus. That you will withhold nothing and tell me everything.”

“Everything,” he said. “I swear it in turn.”

She took a deep breath. “I visited the Fates.”

He froze.

“I asked them about children…”

Aidoneus stood up from the bed and paced the room, his hands raking his scalp. “Hecate took you, didn’t she? I swear by the Styx, when I see her next—”

“You’ll do no such thing. I demanded she take me, Aidon. Just as you once demanded
she
take
you
.”

“Then you know.”

“That it is more than likely that we cannot have—”

“That I
lied
to you.”

“You didn’t
lie
to me, Aidon. I never asked.”

“But
I knew
. I lied by omission, Persephone.” He exhaled with a shudder, then stood still, his jaw clenched.

“Aidon…”

“I know what they said!” His voice broke. “Gods above, of all the truths my father ever tried to use against me, it was that staying here, becoming ruler of the Underworld would make offspring, heirs,
a family
, impossible.” He stared at her.

“What if it’s not true, my love?”

“It
is true
and I made it so. I ate the asphodel to bind myself here for penance! But I didn’t realize until after I’d done it that consuming the food of the dead, making this place a part of me… Then you… Persephone, I stopped you from tasting the pomegranate
for a reason
that morning in the grove. If you had eaten that seed you would have shared my fate,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “But I didn’t tell you
why
I stopped you because I thought I would lose you. And when you ate the seeds on your own…”

“Aidon…”

“You’re a goddess of the earth. Of fertility, for Fate’s sake, and the consequences of eating the food of the dead are
eternal.
My silence, my cowardice robbed you of…” He turned away from her and went silent. His back shook and his head dipped as he crumpled forward. He tried to take in a full breath and calm himself. “I’ll go.”

“What do you mean?”

“The palace is yours. This is a vast kingdom. You were meant to rule here, and during the winter I can find another corner of this realm to—”

“Aidon, stop,” she said, her voice firm. His fists were at his sides, his muscles taut, his knuckles white. Persephone rose and walked across the bedroom to him. As she approached tension knotted his body further. “Face me. Please face me, Aidoneus.”

He turned slowly and brushed his hands over his face and back through his hair, trying to quiet the despair raging within him, to salvage some shred of dignity in front of her. This might be the last he would ever see of her. Persephone brought her hand to his cheek and he closed his eyes.

“You know that I love you.”

He shook, his words coming from behind gritted teeth. “You bound yourself here, to me, without knowing the whole truth. I destroyed any chance you ever had to bear children.”

“I forgive you.”

He opened his eyes, his voice a harsh whisper. “Why?”

She smiled at him. “You’re behaving like you forced me to eat the seeds.”

“Isn't that what I did? Slowly and methodically? By seducing and tempting you and letting you fall for me without telling you all of what I knew? What would you have done if I had told you?”

“Aidon, had you told me all you knew, I would have eaten the seeds anyway.”

He stared blankly at her, not sure he’d heard her correctly.

“My lord, I love you. More than any…
possibility
, more than any future plan. The Fates laugh at our plans, anyway. I love every flaw, every virtue that outweighs those flaws a thousandfold. You were afraid I would reject you; you were only trying to keep your heart safe.”

“I don’t deserve your forgiveness. You’ve never withheld anything from
me
.”

“Did you wade into the Lethe while I was gone?” she guffawed. “Don’ t you remember? Until the last few days I was here, I hid my heart from you because I was afraid. I feared many things— that you would tire of me once you’d won me. You know that. I slept beside you, I made love to you, I spent every free moment with you, but I couldn’t admit aloud that I loved you.” She bit her lip and stared at the floor. “But what you didn’t know was that after we returned from Tartarus, I discovered that I hadn’t bled while I was here and because of that I thought I was with child by you.”

“Oh, sweet one…”

“I didn’t tell you what I suspected. And it made telling you I loved you so much more
complicated
.” Her voice cracked. “I didn’t know what to feel, or what to say, and I didn’t want to say anything to you because I was afraid you would abandon me, that you didn’t want that responsibility. I was afraid that our child would grow up as I did.”

“You must know that I would never do that to you. I would cherish any children we had.”

“And I would never leave you or stop loving you for not giving me a child.”

The fire crackled in the hearth and they stood before each other for a long moment, saying nothing. Aidon took a step forward and reached for a loose tendril of hair falling down her breast. He brushed it behind her back and pulled her tight against him, feeling her sigh in relief as she wrapped her arms around his back.

“Don’t you understand?” she said. “You asked me if I wanted to marry you. I accept. I freely choose you, Aidoneus.”

He kissed the top of her head. “Even if it means we cannot have a family?”

“You shouldn’t believe everything the Fates told you.”

“I’m afraid I have no choice.”

“Even if they told me something different?”

He scowled. “Their words are never meant literally. If they gave you any hope, you need to let it go. It will only ruin you.”