For the Love of Hades (The Loves of Olympus) (12 page)

He drew in a steadying breath, his nostrils filled with her scent. Panic found him anew, and he closed his eyes to fight it. He had never known such fear, never. His hand tightened upon her shoulder as he bent forward to rest his forehead atop hers. He would never feel such suffering again, nor wish it on his deepest enemy…

“Hades?” Hermes stood inside his chamber, staring at them with wide eyes. “What happened?”

“I’ve never been so pleased to have you here,” Hades spoke softly, too relieved by Hermes’ arrival to safeguard his heart. He stood carefully, slipping his arm from her hold and pulling the furs over her. “She was caught on a battlefield, between Persians and Greeks. She was wounded, gravely so. She needs…”

Hermes handed Hades a large cask of nectar and a basket full of ambrosia. “I have it.”

Hades nodded. “My thanks.”

“She is an Olympian, Hades. And friend to me. Persephone has my protection as well as yours.” Hermes’ face hardened with anger. “I would see those that did this suffer.”

Erysichthon’s face rose before him, hard and… crazed. He’d been drunk with bloodlust, more so than any mortal Hades had ever witnessed. “As would I,” he agreed.

“Did they? Were they punished? Was justice delivered?” Hermes rarely spoke with such heat.

Hades gazed at Persephone then, explaining. “There was no time for vengeance. She was…” He paused, swallowing back the emotion that choked him. “She was too frail.” Hades shook his head, rubbing a hand across his face.

“No… It was wise, to shelter her… But I would go with you when you seek vengeance, when she is well once more.”

Hades nodded, worry rising within him once more. He would see her laughing again. Feast upon the sounds of her teasing voice and the sparkle in her green eyes. But she did not stir. Her long lashes rested on pale cheeks. He sighed, feeling useless once more.

“Did Erysichthon not protect her?”

Hades shook his head. “He wanted me to leave her…”

She moaned, her brow furrowing as her hands hovered over her wound.

Hades poured a glass of nectar and knelt beside her, lifting the cup to her lips. “You must drink, Persephone.”

She did not stir.

Hermes cleared his throat. “She will heal. She is strong, Hades.”

Hades nodded, but his gaze was fixed upon her. He spoke softly, cautioning himself, “Take word to her mother. Assure her that, once Persephone is well enough, I will see her safely home.”

“What else do you need of me?” Hermes asked, his face pained.

Hades could not think. Was there anything else? She had the food and drink of the immortals. Time would heal her, if she could be healed. There was nothing else to be done. He shook his head, saying, “I thank you.”

Hermes’ face was somber as he regarded Hades, but he nodded. “Shall I send Aeacus to you?”

“No. Tell him I am not to be disturbed. He and the judges will earn their keep.”

“Surely there are women who might tend to her?” Hermes asked softly.

Hades glanced at Persephone, her pale skin… how still she was. He nodded. “Ask him to send a woman, a servant, one with some knowledge of healing. Aeacus will know who.”

Hermes nodded. “You have done all you can.”

“She will be well.” His voice was hard. “I will see to it.”

“Let the woman tend her, Hades. And rest easy.”

 Hades glared at Hermes. He would not leave her, not yet. How could he? Did Hermes not see her? Did he not see how fragile she was? How could he suggest such a thing? He bit back his tirade, though his tone revealed him. “In time, Hermes.”

Hermes’ tawny eyes assessed Hades too carefully. Hermes would draw his own conclusions, but Hades had no desire to hear them. Instead he held his arm out, waiting for Hermes to clasp it.

“You’ve only to send Theron, if you or Persephone have need of me,” Hermes offered in parting.

She sighed, drawing Hades’ attention back to her. The muscles of her face moved easily in sleep. He resumed his seat by the fire, his eyes never leaving her.

The servant woman arrived soon after, cleaning the floor and removing Persephone’s bloodied garments. She warmed a pan of water over the fire to clean Persephone’s wounds, but when she reached for the pan, Hades stopped her.

“You may go,” he murmured. “Return in the morning.” As she left, he went to work sponging the smooth flesh of Persephone’s stomach with gentle hands. The wound was dry, the telltale start of a scab forming. He took care not to poke or prod it. But the sight of her, covered in so much blood, was too much for him… It would distress her, should she wake. And he would do all in his power to keep her calm and safe.

Erysichthon swayed. He’d yet to stop, to rest, since she’d left. He could not. He could think of nothing else.

She’d suffered. Her screams filled his ears and pressed the air from his lungs.

Where was she? Where?

Who was the bastard that had taken her? Erysichthon’s hands fisted, a snarl escaping him. He would see that man suffer. He would see him suffer as none had suffered before. He would watch the light in his black eyes die out.

His men… He’d none to call upon. He’d left them to the Persians. What else could he do? There were too many of them, too many… And she was being taken from him. He’d no time to call them back, no time to prevent their defeat… their slaughter.

He stilled. So many dead… He could do nothing for them.

Instead, he must find her.

He’d ridden after her but found nothing, though he’d searched long into the night. No tracks from the bastard’s chariot, no path from his monstrous chargers, and none that had seen the man who’d taken his Persephone from him.

Two days of searching. Two days of praying to Demeter, demanding her aid.

He offered sacrifices, offerings… Whatever the Goddess sought, he would appease her.

But he was alone, with no clues to guide him. He was powerless… but his fury was limitless.

An idea formed, one he refused to accept. But the more he prayed, the longer Demeter stayed silent, the more his idea took hold and rooted deeply. If Demeter would not answer him, there was some purpose behind it. In all of his years of fealty, he’d respected her careful actions. She did nothing without deliberation. If she remained silent now, there was a purpose.

Had she had taken Persephone? Was that why she did not answer him? Had she sent
him
? He would know the answers, hear them from her lips. For his mind was too clouded to see the truth.

He stared at the ax in his hands.

He had no patience for games. He knew only this: Demeter had deserted him, deserted her daughter to some… some barbarian.

“Persephone,” his voice twisted, his grief choking him. She’d taken the breath from his lungs and the strength of his heart. He felt nothing but agony at the loss of her.

And anger.

This man, whoever he was, had no knowledge of the reckoning Erysichthon would deliver upon him. He would learn who his foe was, he would hunt the man down, and he would see his vengeance appeased. He would bring Persephone home.

And Demeter, Olympus, would learn that a mortal’s wrath could rival even Zeus’ temper. His face twisted. He had no interest in the Gods, save one. If Demeter would not think of her daughter, then she must have a hand in this. And he would see her suffer as he suffered.

“Hear me,” Erysichthon cried out. “You faithless harpy, hear me!” He lifted the ax. “If you no longer feel the need to protect sweet Persephone, if you would take her from me, I no longer feel the need to protect your precious trees.”

His arms trembled under the weight of the ax, angering him all the more. There would be no weakness in him. He would not rest until justice was done.

He swung the ax, gritting his teeth as metal met wood. The trees were old, hard, and hearty. This would be no easy feat. The tree shook, the sudden snap and crackle of its breaking trunk pleasing him. He turned to the next tree, his purpose restoring his drive. He would fell the whole grove and build a feasting hall for his wedding.

When Persephone was found, their wedding would be celebrated across all of Thessaly. And she would smile at him, in awe of his daring.

His arms burned, his back cramped, but he set a steady rhythm. Nothing existed but the sound of his ax against Demeter’s trees.

The ax struck, piercing the tree’s bark with a strange sound. Unlike the hard crack of metal on wood, this was akin to metal on flesh. And when Erysichthon pulled the ax free, the trunk spurted blood. A keening, wailing cry began, sharp and stabbing to his ears. He lifted the ax, striking hard. The blood continued, flowing down the trunk to soak the ground. On the fourth strike the sound stopped. It took longer to see the tree break and fall.

“You kill a wood nymph?” a woman’s voice, old and rasping, reached him.

“Do I?” he shrugged. “I’d not meant to.” He looked closer, spying the lifeless limbs of the woman hidden inside the tree. He felt a twinge of regret… Did it matter? This wood nymph would be one of Demeter’s faithful. His anger rose within him and he swung the ax again.

“What is the purpose of such destruction, sir?” the old woman asked.

Erysichthon barely glanced at her as he hacked away at the tree. “These trees will appease my lady wife, the Goddess Persephone. I shall build the finest feasting hall in all of Greece, to celebrate our union.”

“She asked this of you?” the old crone wheezed.

He turned, raising the bloodied ax. “It is a surprise, woman. A gift.”

The old woman regarded him with clear brown eyes. “A gift, you say? What of Demeter? Will she give you her daughter after such a deed?”

“Give me? I am king here.” He smiled, shaking his head. “And Persephone is mine.”

The old woman stepped closer to him, her knobby hand resting upon the ax handle. “Careful, my lord, I entreat you. You’ve had the favor of Olympus. Such a course, such blasphemy, will see you lose it. And, perhaps, your Persephone too…”

His chest tightened as he bellowed, “You think I fear the Gods? When I have pleaded for their aid and they have offered none? I have lost her! Persephone, she is gone from me… Taken… And still they do nothing…”

The old woman stood still, her hands trembling and fisted. “She is gone?”

“But I will bring her back. I will wed her. The Gods cannot stop me.” He shrugged her hand from his ax and returned to the trees. “And we will celebrate in a hall the likes of which the Olympians will envy. We will dine on the finest foods, my lady and I.”

“Your soul is trapped in a dark place, my lord. Where are your wits? What has happened to you?” her voice sounded strange to him, familiar. “You say you are king? But I’ve heard of Erysichthon’s unwavering loyalty to Demeter…”

He glanced at her, laughing. “I am loyal to none who turns from her daughter. Be gone, woman. Your prattling slows my work.”

“Stop this desecration, my lord. I beseech you.”

He snorted, cutting through the tree with powerful strokes.

“You bring about your own downfall, oh King.” The woman pointed one gnarled finger at him, “You shall never satisfy the hunger in your blood, Erysichthon of Thessaly. No matter what you eat or drink, your hunger will demand more and more. Until you’ve nothing left to feast upon but your own greedy flesh.”

He felt a chill down his spine, a queer uneasiness in the pit of his stomach.

Would she continue on? Would she continue to berate and warn him with empty words? He turned, all but snarling, and lifted his ax in warning. But she was gone.

The moon was gone and the sun was high, yet he tried to carry on. He’d no strength left, his body collapsed beneath the last cypress. He sat and stared over the stumps, bleached white in the moonlight. Their broken, jagged remains were a fitting image for his broken soul. Sleep eluded him. He felt nothing but desperation… and hunger. A powerful hunger, rivaled only by his need to find Persephone.

###

Persephone was cold. Hades piled on furs and linen, stoked the fire and drew closed the windows. And still she was cold.

He took her hand in his. She looked so frail to him, exhausted and defeated.

The moon had risen twice since he’d brought her here, but there’d been no change. Her wound was healed, pink and sealed with no trace of a scar. He’d left her but once, in the care of the woman Aeacus had sent to him.

And still, she did nothing more than shiver. But that, he supposed, was something.

He sat beside her on the bed and leaned forward to smooth the hair from her forehead. He knew it foolish, but he whispered into her ear, “Be brave.”

Her eyes opened, and her head turned towards him.

He stiffened, daring to hope. “Persephone?”

She tried to keep her eyes open, but they drooped shut.

Relief found him. He let go of her hand and stood, pouring a small amount of nectar into a cup and returning to her. A movement caught his eyes, drawing his attention to the bed. Her fingers waved weakly and her hand lifted slightly from the furs. He glanced at her hand then took it in his. Her hand relaxed.

He swallowed, looking at their joined hands. Did she find comfort from his touch?

He squeezed her hand then released her to lift her head. “You must drink.”

Her eyelids fluttered, but did not open. He lifted the cup and she drank. A small sip only, but it was enough. He set her back upon the furs and smiled broadly, pleased.

Her hand fluttered, and he reached for it. He could not stifle a soft laugh as her hand stilled, clasped warmly in his. He stared at their hands, considering.

She was shivering, her hand like ice in his hold. She felt truly frozen, yet her skin was covered in a light sheen of perspiration. He hesitated only moments before he lay at her side and pulled the furs over them.

He drew in a tight breath, cursing his weakness as he drew her against the length of him. Fragile as she was, he could not ignore the feel of her–soft against him–or how she affected him.

He froze then, for she moaned and turned into his chest.

He gathered her close. “Shh,” he murmured into her hair. He lay back, settling her forehead on his chest and wrapping them tightly in the furs. “Sleep.”

He resisted the urge to bury his nose in her hair, to press his lips against the top of her head.

She slept instantly. Her body softened and her shivering ceased. Her hand, pressed against his stomach, twitched in her sleep. That she lay with him, silk and woman, was torture enough. Such movements did little to calm the heat in his blood.

He took her hand in his. Her fingers clasped him in return. It did not escape him that she fit against him perfectly…

“You will be well,” he murmured against her head, his passion cooling to be replaced by something else… something infinitely more dangerous.

She sighed in her sleep, causing him to smile as he finally drifted into sleep.

###

She heard him. He spoke to her in her dreams.

There were times she almost thought them real. But he would never hold her against him, never cradle her hand in his.

Yet she knew his voice, for it was her favorite sound. And he demanded, earnestly, for her to be brave and heal.

She was feeling better. The pain in her side had raged, but now it only ached. And yet, her body felt so weak and tired. She could not bear to open her eyes or speak.

Besides, such dreams kept her pleased with sleep.

###

“More?” he offered, keeping his face under careful control.

“No, thank you.” Her voice was unsteady, but oh, how he loved the sound of it.

He nodded, setting the ambrosia beside the nectar. He cast another glance at her, watching her as she looked around her with wide eyes.

“How long have I been here… in your home?” she cleared her throat, coughing slightly.

He offered her water, which she drank thirstily. “Three moons.”

She froze, staring at him. “So long?”

He nodded. And every night he’d held her close to warm her. “Do you remember nothing of what happened?” He prayed she didn’t.

Her face fell, her forehead wrinkling as she concentrated. “I remember running away from Erysichthon.”

“Were you?” His throat went dry. She’d been running away? If he’d taken Erysichthon’s challenge, so arrogantly issued in Demeter’s grove, he would have spared her all of this. She would never have known such suffering.

She nodded. “The rest is unclear.”

He nodded, wrestling this newfound guilt. “Perhaps it’s better you have no memories of what happened.”

Her voice was steadier now. “You brought me here?”

“You were injured.”

“Injured?” Her brow furrowed as she regarded him, perplexed. Then her eyes grew wide and her mouth opened. She pushed the furs back and lifted the linen from her skin. The smooth golden expanse of her stomach greeted them.

He swallowed.

“I was…” she whispered. “You were there… And you…” She turned bright eyes upon him, the sheen of unshed tears unmistakable. “You saved me.”

He swallowed again, nodding once. She studied him, her eyes traveling over his face, his hair and shoulders.

He stood, moving towards the fire. It was one thing to care for her, to aid her as she healed, when she was unaware of the lengths he went to do such things. It was quite another to have her look at him with such pleasure.

She should not look at him so.

The silence grew, forcing him to turn to her.

She looked into the distance, her hand upon her stomach. No sign of her wound remained. Did she suffer still? He held his place before the fire, gripping the mantle to do so. “Does it pain you?” His voice was harsh.