The Dark Wife (16 page)

I seethed at myself as I stalked up the palace steps, ran through the now-familiar maze of passageways. Why had I been so proud? Why had I risked my life just to prove a point—or, if was honest, to avoid disappointing my only friends? They were kind and genuine. If their opinions about me changed for the worse at finding me
boatless
, helpless, I would have deserved that judgment, and I should have accepted it with grace.

And what, exactly, did I think Hades’ opinion of me was, anyway? More foolishness, to dare hope that the goddess of the dead, the woman who had offered me sanctuary, a home, out of simple, instinctive compassion, could ever—

She stood before me in the shadowed hallway. Her lips parted and her dark eyes widened at sight of my drowned appearance.

I was so taken aback, so humiliated, that I stood mutely, shivering, staring at her like a dumbstruck animal caught in a trap.

I didn’t know what she was thinking, never knew what she was thinking.

“I just…I had an accident, but…”

I didn’t have the strength to invent a lie, and I didn’t want to tell her the truth—though she could probably guess at it, at least in part, just by looking at me. In that moment, I felt so ashamed, and I was so tired, so weak, that, overwhelmed, I tried to slip past her.

“Persephone.”
She
lay
a hand on my arm, and her eyes swept down the length of me, from my matted wet hair to my soggy sandals, and back up again.

I swallowed the lump in my throat, lowered my gaze, but she coaxed my chin up with the tips of her fingers. Her black eyes shone; her beauty struck me like a blow.

“Persephone,” she whispered again, and there was so much warmth in that pronouncement. I cherished the sound, even as I hunched my shoulders and bit my lip.

I couldn’t cope with this, couldn’t even stand, so I slid down, back against the wall, and sat with my arms wrapped around my knocking knees.

Wordlessly, Hades eased
herself
down beside me. The heat of her body made my shivers intensify; I wanted to bury myself in it. I leaned, hesitant, against her shoulder, just barely touching her with my damp skin. She made no protest, moved nearer to me, and my heavy head slumped down against the side of her neck.

I heard her heartbeat—or was it mine? It beat fast and loud.

Hades didn’t ask me why my clothes were wet, why my hair smelled of foul water and death. She didn’t ask about the bruises on my arms, or why there were tears in the skin of my wrists. She didn’t ask why I was so cold, why I was shaking, or even, when I began to cry, why I was upset.

We sat in silence, and after I had wept noiselessly for a little while, she drew up onto her knees and pulled me to her, embracing me fully with both of her arms. I didn’t worry about my wet garments; I didn’t care that I looked like the risen dead. None of that mattered—nothing mattered—except for this moment.
This moment.
I nestled it in the soft center of my heart.

We sat against the wall like that until—exhausted, comforted—I drifted into a light sleep. I woke when she lifted me up, gazed at her in wonderment as she carried me through the passageways, over the threshold of my room, and settled me down on the bed. She covered me with blankets, drew them up to my chin, and smoothed back the damp hair that was clinging to my face.

And then she sat near my feet, staring at her hands and the floor.

When I jerked awake from a terror of black waters and grasping hands, the sour taste of death in my mouth, she was there at once; she pressed the length of her body against my back, encircled me with her arms again,
steadied
me while I trembled.

But I trembled from the nearness of her, and I ached over the distance that I so desperately wished to close.

“
Shh
, Persephone.
You’re safe,” she whispered.

My heart tumbled over with gratitude. I was safe, alive, and I determined to never take a second of my immortal life for granted again.

Eight: Cerberus

Pallas collapsed on her pallet, arms crooked loosely behind her head. “It’s a lost cause. They’re fools; they won’t listen.”

“They didn’t listen yesterday. They didn’t listen the day before that. They never listen, but still you cling to hope.” I seated myself on the floor, rested my elbows on the bed. “What’s changed today?”

Her eyes were dark, and her mood was solemn, and she made no reply. She was like this often: she spent too much time in the village of the dead, offering up disregarded arguments, shouting over the slurs flung at her by the band of dissenters.

Ever since my near drowning in the Styx,
Charon’s
words had haunted me, and I felt nothing but despair when I thought of the dead, their misery, and their hatred for Hades.

I patted Pallas’ shoulder awkwardly, sighed. “Hades will return soon. You should speak with her—”

“I
can’t
talk to her about this. She mustn’t know how bad things truly are. You don’t understand.” Pallas buried her face in her hands. It was a long moment before she looked up, strain and stress evident in her red-rimmed eyes. I offered my arms to her, and she scooted near, jutted her chin against my shoulder. I felt it there, a distinct weight, but I gazed, worried, at the top of her head; I could see through it now, through all of her body, as easily as I could see through the village’s dead.

“She has a right to know…” But my words sounded unconvinced, even to me. If we told Hades about the riots, the rising undercurrent of hostility, she would spend hours and energy she didn’t have to spare attempting to appease the dead. Even an immortal could be pushed to the limit, driven mad. We lived forever, but we were not invincible, not omnipotent. We could be depleted, lessened… We could wither.

I couldn’t bear the thought of Hades sacrificing
herself
for the sake of these ignorant souls. It enraged me, how immensely wrong their assumptions were about their lone, devoted protector.

“Why are they so unswayable?” I wondered aloud. “Doesn’t it seem…odd to you? Where did these notions come from, and why have they rooted so deeply?”

“I wish I knew.”

“Let me help you. Perhaps together we could—”

“Thank
you,
I appreciate the thought, but…” She rubbed at her eyes, looked at me glumly, sighed. “Persephone, you don’t realize how much Hades—”

We both turned toward the doorway at the sound of sandals scuffing on stone.

Hades pushed the shadows aside as she paused in the space just outside my room. She smiled at Pallas, who sat up straighter on the bed and bowed her chin low.

“How are you, Pallas, Persephone?”

“I’m well
, ”
I said, casting furtive glances in Pallas’ direction. She stared back at me, shook her head meaningfully. I nodded.

“Forgive me for leaving so suddenly, Hades, but I must rest.” Pallas patted the top of my head gently, and when she stood, she offered Hades a hasty embrace. “Enjoy your evening.”

“Thank you,” Hades called to her, as she hurried from the room, her bare feet slapping against the marble floor.

“Is Pallas all right?” she asked me, and I hesitated.

“I—I don’t know. I’m worried about her appearance. She’s…fading.”

“I’ve noticed that.” Hades moved into the room and crouched down beside me. “I’ll track her down
later,
ask her what the matter is. But right now…” She smiled at me, black eyes bright. “I went somewhere today.”

I gazed at her questioningly, and she took my hand. “Come, let me show you. I brought you something back.
A gift.”

Mystified, I rose and crossed the room with her, followed as she led me through unfamiliar, downward spiraling corridors. We descended a staircase, lined with flickering
torches, that
felt never-ending; it stretched far below the surface of the earth, deep within the belly of the palace.

As my feet carried me down the last flight of steps, I stared in awe at the rocky formations of a massive cavern; stones shaped like dripping fangs hung from the arched roof and poked up here and there from the damp ground.

“What is this place, Hades? And what gift can you have hidden so deeply?”

She shook her head and smiled a smile full of secrets. We moved to the center of the space—Hades insisted that I hold her arm; the rock beneath our feet was slick—and then she did something unexpected: she fell to her knees, whistled,
offered
her hands to the darkness.

“Come,” she said, and I heard a distant whine, high-pitched, excited.

I lowered myself beside her, stared into the darkness.

“Come,” she called again, and presently it came: a small creature slinking away from the cave’s shadows.

It was a small dog, a puppy, scarcely old enough to be separated from its mother, but it seemed sturdy, confident. At sight of Hades, it scurried over the stone, sliding, and thrust its little paws into her lap. She ruffled its fur, grinning.

It was an adorable scene, and Hades’ joy was infectious, but I couldn’t help noting the obvious: the puppy had four legs, one tail, and three heads.

“What…is it?” I asked, as the dog cocked its ears—all six of them—at me, crept to my side and sniffed my knees. Hades shooed it closer, and it crawled into my lap, pressed paws against my chest, and licked my face with surprising care and concentration, first with one tongue, then the second and the third. Three smooth puppy tongues bathed my cheeks and chin, and I laughed out loud—it tickled too much. Hades laughed, too, and the cavern echoed with the sounds of our mirth.

“This is Cerberus,” said Hades, petting the central head. It rolled back on its thick neck and licked her fingers. “Do you like him?”

“He’s monstrous,” I grinned. “And, no, I love him.” I pressed my nose against his warm little shoulder; it was so comforting, the familiar animal scent. I’d played with wolves in the Immortals Forest and sometimes napped with them, my head resting upon a pillow of thick grey fur, cozy and safe in their den.

“Well, then,” Hades smiled gently, “he’s yours.”

I gazed down at the squirming ball of fluff and heads in my lap, the most precious, most beautiful gift I could ever imagine—and then I looked at Hades. She was watching me shyly, her eyes dark and soft.

“How can I thank you?” I breathed, and Hades’ lips parted; I stared at them, my heart like thunder, and I made my second choice.        

I nudged Cerberus off of my lap, leaned forward, one palm flat on the ground, the other, trembling, snaked around Hades’ neck, and I kissed her.

She was yielding, and she smelled like the earth, my earth, and I pressed harder against her mouth, because I could never be close enough; but I felt her lips slacken, and I immediately drew back, breathing hard, worried that I had gone too far, offended her, ruined…everything.

I cursed her dark eyes, the impenetrable blackness of them, gazing at me so steadily.

“Forgive me—”

“No,” she whispered, “forgive me, Persephone, for waiting so long to do this.”

A lick of fire burned through me when her lips found mine, and I felt too hungry, too eager, but she felt it, too—she must have—because the kiss deepened, blossomed, lush.

I had wanted this…I had wanted her from the moment we met on Mount Olympus. Some part of me always knew, and it had laid in wait, counting down the days, hours, minutes, until finally...
now
.