For the Love of Hades (The Loves of Olympus) (7 page)

Persephone glanced at Hermes and understood. Her heart was in her throat as she waited for him to reveal all to her mother.

“Poor man.” Demeter sighed without lifting her head or opening her eyes. “He is too alone.”

“Mayhap that will soon change?” Hermes spoke, staring into Persephone’s eyes. “We should hope he will find someone who might help him forget the ghosts of his past and find some warmth and laughter.”

Persephone blinked.

What was he saying? Was he speaking for Hades? Had he come on his behalf?

“I hope so,” she whispered cautiously.

Hermes searched her face, asking, “Do you?”

She nodded.

She could do nothing more than stare at Hermes, swallowing the questions that begged to be asked.

“You are right. He has grieved long enough. We must hope he finds peace,” Demeter murmured, her voice fading as she dosed. A thin, reedy snore rose from her, and her posture relaxed in sleep.

Hermes leaned forward, whispering, “His heart is hard.”

She shook her head.

“No?” Hermes’ brows rose.

“Guarded, yes. But not hard.”

He smiled at her. “Guarded, then.”

She blushed fiercely. “Do you… Did he send you?” She felt such hope, such promise.

He shook his head. “Never. He would not think it.”

Her face fell, but she nodded.

“He will fight you.” Hermes held his hand up, further buffering their whisper from Demeter’s slumbering form.

“Will he? Fight? Me?”

He nodded. “He will not give up his heart easily. No matter how eager it might be to leave him.”

“Is it? If only that were true,” she whispered. “I have no wish to… torment him with my … affection. But I do… I am, most fond of him.”

Hermes covered his mouth, shaking his head. “Persephone,” he sighed. “He’s forgotten what a heart is for.”

She felt sadness at such words. “I would show him. I would help his heart find its way… to me.”

He studied her for some time, then said, “Then I will help you…”

Demeter sat up, jolting sharply awake and making them jump apart.

“Persephone? I forgot to tell you. In one week’s time, we journey to Thessaly. You will meet Erysichthon, King of Thessaly. He is most loyal to me. Since Hermes will not have you, I’ve decided that Erysichthon may.” She yawned, stretching before she rose to her feet. She reached for her daughter’s hand, pulling Persephone up with her. “It promises a fine match. For he can protect you when I am away.”

Persephone was too stunned to speak or resist.

Erysichthon?

“You may sleep here, Hermes. But my daughter and I must find our beds alone.”

Persephone stared blindly ahead, stunned. How could such bliss turn to misery?

###

Erysichthon watched the last of the revelers go, and with them his daughter Ione. He’d done as Demeter demanded, sent his daughter to wife with a man older than his own father.

His Ione had smiled throughout, a fine daughter.

“A good wedding,” a man said, his pale blue eyes assessing Erysichthon with ease. “I hear the father is soon to marry?”

Erysichthon looked at the man. A fit specimen, well-muscled and agile, Ione would have fancied him. But that he knew of his impending marriage? This was troubling. Few knew he was considering it, and none who he might wed.

“Do I know you?” He knew he didn’t. He cut too striking a figure. And he wore fine robes, too fine for an unimportant man. “You were a guest? From Haemon’s family?”

The man shook his head. “I come for other business.”

“Oh?”

The man’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I seek Erysichthon. The great King of Thessaly, warrior of Greece.”

“You have found him.” Erysichthon paused. “You are from Olympus, then? What does my Goddess want of me now?”

The man smiled, a most magnanimous smile. “Fealty.”

He scowled, waving the man to follow. “When have I not given her fealty?” He entered the great hall, waving off attendants and servants. “I have done all she asked, without the promise of her daughter’s hand.”

He poured two cups of wine, offering one to the man. He paused then. The man regarded him with a furrowed brow, his jaw tight.

“My apologies,” he murmured quickly. He would not lose Demeter’s patronage now. “I fear today has been trying. I am honored to do whatever Demeter would have of me, with or without Persephone as my bride.”

The man smiled broadly then, his pale blue eyes regarding him closely. “Sometimes the Gods forget what it is to be mortal. It is rare for an Olympian to make any sacrifice, but they do not hesitate to ask for such examples of devotion.”

Erysichthon felt the truth behind the man’s words. And yet, he knew his Goddess was different. “Demeter is a rare Olympian, I think. She has never asked for anything indulgent of me, until now. And, truth be told, she asks for what I should have already done. Marry and ally my kingdom with that of our neighbors.”

“You are loyal to Demeter.” The man’s eyes were too sharp.

“I am.” He nodded, treading carefully. “And I will remain so.”

The man’s gaze wandered, regarding the wine with sudden interest. “Have you met your bride to be? The fair Persephone?”

He near choked on his wine. “Is that your message? Has Hermes refused her hand?”

“Hermes?” Again the pale blue eyes narrowed, a strange smile playing upon his lips. “He has.”

Erysichthon smiled. “Well, then, this day grows more promising.” He patted the man on the shoulder. “I have not seen her. But she must be a beauty; there is none more lovely than her mother.”

“Would that the mother was as eager to marry as her daughter?” the man offered, laughing.

Erysichthon could not laugh. His smile faded, for that had been his dearest wish for so many long years. “I will learn to love her daughter as I love her mother.”

The man regarded Erysichthon with a peculiar twist to his mouth. “You
are
a loyal subject indeed, mighty Erysichthon. I can see why Demeter would place her daughter in your care.”

He nodded. “We shall see, friend. We shall see.”

“Sweet vines,” Persephone whispered, clasping the fragile shoots delicately. She knelt, not caring that she’d be covered in soot. She shuddered with worry. The vines did not call out to her, they were too still, too quiet. “Hear me.”

There was no answer from the vines, but the faint scrape of claws on rock reached her.

She was not alone in the vineyard. She sucked in breath, peering into the gloom. Between the low lying fog and dying plumes of smoke, she could see little. The hair on the nape of her neck stood.

“Come away, Persephone,” Crysanthe implored softly. “There’s too much damage. We will tell your mother there was nothing to be done…”

She heard Crysanthe and Myrinne, but her eyes sought out their silent companion. She found him, eyes warm and golden, watching her. She knew the broad slope of his shoulders and the line of his velvety black snout. Hades’ hound…

Was Hades here? Her heart thumped rapidly, causing her to suck in her breath.

She’d not thought he’d venture out, not when his realm was filled each day by the never-ending flow of casualties. The Persians were a fierce foe.

As her eyes wandered the charred vines and stakes, she wondered if this was how Hades’ realm would look.  Black, dark, despair, and defeat. Is that what the dead had to look forward to? She would ask him… if he was here. If he was here, if there was a chance of seeing him, she would prefer to do so alone.

Crysanthe and Myrinne complained, anxious to leave this place.

Myrinne was finishing, “If rain finds us, we’d best be home.”

Persephone glanced at the sky, unable to separate the smoke from the clouds overhead. Rain was not her enemy. She welcomed the showers for they brought life. She spoke carefully. “I cannot return to my mother with such news. I can save them. They are Dolopian grapes, needed for nectar. I must try.”

The hound moved, capturing her attention once more. He disappeared amongst the vines, a ghost in the gloom.

She shook her head. No matter how her heart leapt at the thought of seeing Hades, she must remember her duty. She must do what she’d come to do. She brushed the brittle leaves away from the vines roots. She scraped at the earth, clawing the dead debris away, to plunge her hands into the moist brown soil beneath. It hummed weakly, life flickering.

She smiled up at them, overcome with relief. “There is hope here. I cannot leave it untended.”

Myrinne sighed. “What shall we do?”

“This place… It unsettles me.” Crysanthe’s voice quavered.

Her companions were discomfited. She understood. All around them lay evidence of man’s worst abilities. The vineyard, once well tended and abundant, had been annihilated. Such destruction was wasteful and thoughtless.

“Go back.” She raised her hand when they both began to argue. “I must do what I can here, to help those still living, those I can save. Listen closely. Gather whatever seedlings have long roots. I’ve at least six ready for planting, but leave the rest. And bring soil from my pot; it might be needed to repair such devastation.”

Such an errand was necessary for the repairs these grapes would need. And it would give her the time to seek out Hades.

“Crysanthe should go,” Myrinne said. “It’s not safe for you to be alone.”

“No, no, Myrinne, you go,” Crysanthe shook her head as she spoke.

Persephone shook her head. “Both of you go. One of you cannot carry the seedlings and soil without damaging one or both. Besides, rain is coming. I would have the planting done before it leaves. Go now, hurry.”

They’d scarce left when Persephone sensed the hound’s return, the dark edges of his shadow moving through the grey-black tangle of the scorched vineyards. She sat back, waiting.

The hound came to her, with drooping ears and tucked tail.

She held out her hands to the animal. “Hello, friend.” He crept closer, nervously circling her before rushing forward with a slight whimper. He rested his head on her lap, sighing deeply as he relaxed against her.

She laughed, running her hands over his head. “Are you seeking shades for your master? A hard and heavy task, I’m sure.”

What kind of life was lived seeking death? How could joy be found in such employment?

The hound stared up at her, his tail thumping slightly in the blackened earth. Each thump dislodged a cloud of black and grit, making her cough. The hound sat up, cocking his head at the sound, whimpering.

“The dust,” she explained. She paused then, her eyes narrowing. “I’ve no notion whether you can understand me or not. I can speak to the trees, the grasses, and all manner of growing things. But you’ve no roots.” She caught one silken ear between her fingers, rubbing it softly.

The golden eyes drooped, his mouth lolling open in a canine grin. She laughed in return, the sound carrying on the wind.

The faintest plea reached her, silencing her. She waited, rigid. Her laughter… she’d woken the roots and the vine cried out, in sadness and pain. She felt it and called out, “I am here, I am here…” She withdrew her touch from the hound and moved down the vines until she’d found it. She set to clearing the debris from the base of the vine stalk. Only then did she dig into the dirt, pulling and turning the earth with her long fingers.

The sweet sound of the vine was louder then, more reassuring. The roots ran deep, securely anchored below the topsoil. She pressed her hands flat, letting the warmth of her power seep into the earth and the roots. The roots pulled it in, drinking deep of her energy and sighing with pleasure.

She listened, moving along the vine stalks. She was deliberate, clearing the area, digging deep and pressing her energy deep. The hound, she noted, went with her.

“There now,” she said to the hound. “See how it plumps?” She pointed a dirt-encrusted finger at the stalk she’d just healed.

The dog whimpered, staring at the stalk.

“You’re right.” She nodded. “It’s still a sad sight. But it’s a start.” She sounded hesitant. The hound came to her side, pressing his nose to her cheek. “I won’t give up on them, don’t worry.”

She moved on, ignoring the discomfort of her nails tearing free in the earth. It made no difference that her chiton grew heavy from soot and dirty ash. She had to answer the call of the vines. But the pleas grew faint, then silent, as she reached the end of the row. She stood, covering her mouth to stifle the cry. The vines had disappeared.

No vines, no grass, no shrubs or trees. Only the smoldering remnants of half of the vineyard remained. The destruction ran the entire hillside. Even the great house atop the hill had suffered.

“Why is such a thing necessary?” she asked the hound. She reached out, comforted by the feel of his head under her palm.

She turned back to the vines, crouching by the silent stalks to weep. “I am sorry,” she murmured, sifting through the dirt. She dug in vain, scooping the dirt away and pressing her hands to the plant.

“Take my strength… Let it reach you,” she whispered even as the stalk cracked and splintered from her touch. She winced, pulling her hands away as a sob choked her.

The hound whimpered, pressing his nose against her cheek. She wrapped her arms about the animal, accepting the comfort he offered.

 “Persephone?” Hades’ voice startled her.

She turned, wiping the tears from her face with grubby fingers. How could she feel such sadness… and such joy at his mere presence?

His voice was laced with contempt. “You should not be here.”

The dog whimpered, but stayed at her side. Her hands kneaded the animal’s fur, all the while assessing Hades’ mood. He was angry, truly angry. The tension in his stance, the rigid line of his jaw, made him even more fascinating, and glorious, to look upon.

She could not speak, not yet. Her gaze fastened on his face, remembering the caress of his breath upon her cheek, the press of his lips upon hers… Her hands clung to the hound, keeping her from swaying on her knees. Truly, her body seemed to rise, stirred by his presence. She had thought of him so many times. Had he thought of her?

His face was hard as granite, his jaw clenched fiercely. He would not look at her.

“Come,” he bit out the word, startling her again. His gaze fixed on the hound at her side.

She sat back, releasing the animal. The hound shifted from paw to paw, whimpering, but did not leave her. His brown eyes looked between the two of them nervously.

“Go on,” she murmured, smoothing a hand over her dirtied skirts. Her hands, she noted, trembled. She stilled, resting her clenched hands on her knees. She must steady herself.

Even his anger pleased her. He was here.

“Did Hermes send you?” his words were soft.

She could scarce contain the surprise on her face at his words. “No, no… No one sent me. Well, that’s not true. The grass, the trees…” She hesitated, choked once more from their pain. “The fire was large. As was the suffering, such suffering that all things green and growing called out to me.”

“And you came?” His eyes flitted over her face, so quick she feared she imagined it. “Did your plants tell you the cause of the suffering?”

She nodded, swallowing. “And that those responsible were gone…”

He sighed, shaking his head. “Persephone.”

She stood, knowing she was covered in the filth and grime of her labor. “I have a duty, like you, Hades. I know it’s trivial, perhaps, when compared with you or Hera… or my mother. But they, the plants, rarely ask anything of me. How could I deny them? I could not.”

His gaze swept over her, lingering on her muddied skirts. When his eyes found hers, he winced. He drew himself up, stepping back, as if pained.

“Does your mother know you are here?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No. She was needed elsewhere. The Persians are nothing if not thorough in their travels.”

He moved so quickly, she took a step back. His face was tight with fury. His tone was hard and bitter. “Go home, Persephone…”

She stared at him, his words all but lost on her. He stood so close she could smell the heady musk scent of him. She leaned forward, letting her eyes feast upon him. His eyes were blood shot, rimmed with black shadows. “You are tired,” she said.

A sigh, hiss-like and exasperated, slipped between his compressed lips. “Persephone…”

“You should rest.” She was scarce aware that her hand rose, reaching for him. But his hand caught her wrist and his grip upon her was bruising.

“Do not,” he rasped, holding her still. “You play at things you know nothing of. You come here, to heal what needs no healing. Death is a renewal for life, is it not? Yet you would venture out, alone and unprotected, for adventure? Have you so little respect for your lady mother? For Olympus? You are a Goddess, albeit unnecessary, whose fate impacts us all.”

She wanted to recoil, but his grip only tightened. His words, hot and biting, fell upon her shoulders like blows.

“If you are taken or injured, your carelessness would endanger all else. Demeter, and no doubt Zeus, would not let the matter rest. Those fighting this battle would suffer their indifference because of your selfishness.” His nostrils flared and his blue-black eyes bore into hers. “Because of you.”

Persephone blinked back tears. His words rang true. She would never forgive herself if she endangered another…

“Get you home, now.” He released her wrist roughly, causing her to tip unsteadily.

She nodded, swallowing her tears. “I would never…” she paused, breathing deeply. “Forgive me…”

His expression twisted, causing her heart to seize painfully. He was angry with her, yes. But he was disappointed too. And that knowledge settled coldly into the pit of her stomach.

He turned, glancing over his shoulder. “Come, I will see you home.”

She nodded, overcome with pitiful sobs. She could not stop. Had she chased any hope of his affection away? She sniffed, following behind him. Did he really think so lowly of her? Was she… was she unnecessary?

To him, perhaps. She glanced at the contoured lines of his shoulders, bare and pale in the sun. She had no anger. His burned too bright, with too much conviction, to doubt that she was the one at fault. So she followed, weeping, until they reached the main road. She could bear it no longer.

She lifted her robes and ran from him, for once eager to reach the walls of her isolated home.

###

“Tired?” Aeacus smiled as he rushed forward, sword held high.

Hades shook his head, kneeling to brace himself. His sword turned, deflecting Aeacus’ blow at the last. He stood, spinning and raising his sword to strike. The sword froze, its tip pricking the back of Aeacus’ neck.

“Yield?” Hades asked.

Aeacus looked back at the sword against his neck. “I have no need to continue. I am no match for you, as you’ve made clear this long and tiresome morning. But you seem no less agitated now than when we began.”

Hades lowered his arm, shrugging.

Aeacus relaxed his stance, rolling his head as he drew in a deep breath. “What ails you?”

Hades looked at Aeacus with a lifted brow, his irritation clear.

Aeacus laughed. “While I would never dare to call you pleasant, you’re not one to succumb to temper. Such fits are contagious, I fear…”