For the Love of Hades (The Loves of Olympus) (9 page)

He sat with a sigh, summoning a servant and taking two cups from the tray. She watched him, no less a mountain of a man at ease. He had no fat on him save the tell-tale thickness associated with drink. His long hair was dark brown, not black, shot through with silver. His eyes were alert, his features even and strong. She supposed he was attractive.

But the only emotion he stirred within her was vague unease.

He offered her drink, smiling.

She shook her head. “I fear my mask will not allow me such pleasures.”

He winked. “Then take it off, fair Persephone, and let me look at the woman who would be my queen.” He drank the cup down, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and turned towards her.

Fear churned in Persephone’s stomach.

His eyes held something more than humor or curiosity, something troubling. Yet she would not let him discomfit her. She was a Goddess, after all. Even if she was to be his wife, she was an Olympian first.

She drew in a steadying breath, lifted an unsteady hand to remove the mask. She was thankful to be rid of it… until she saw his face. His eyes widened and his smile tightened.

Did she please him?

She swallowed, turning towards the gawking faces before her. They were a sea of strangers, assessing her. They spoke of her, behind raised hands, with tittering whispers and subdued tones. And her uneasiness grew.

She missed her meadow and her flowers … even the terse companionship of one with midnight locks and haunting blue-black eyes.

It was Persephone. The Fates would show him no mercy, then.

Her green eyes held him, round with panic, even while the rest of her face was hidden by the chalky white porcelain mask she wore.

Why was she afraid?

She looked ready to bolt, as if the slightest motion would send her running from this festive hall. She stood straight, but he could see the trembling of her hands, the unsteady rise and fall of her chest. She clung to the swag of fabric, hiding behind her pillar.

It was too much for him.

He would not stay. He’d let Hermes goad him. Let his temper make him careless with his blade. Hermes had made short work of him, laughing in victory. When they’d arrived, Hermes had left him quickly. Well disguised behind a grinning mask, the light-hearted deity went off in search of more enthusiastic companionship.

While he was left alone to stare into her green eyes, eyes that had plagued his dreams and distracted him from his duties… eyes that crinkled when she smiled, or sparkled when she laughed. They seemed greener now. Perhaps it was the bright white mask that made them so brilliant.

Perhaps it was that he’d missed her.

She blinked at him, stirring him from his musing.

By the Fates, he had missed her. And he would suffer for it.

He forced himself from the room, sucking in air that his lungs seemed too shallow to hold. Once outside, he leaned heavily against the wall.

Mortals brushed past him, peering at him with knowing smiles and whispered assumptions. They thought him some inebriated reveler, a mortal fool unsteady from too much wine and merriment. Their titters and laughter served to heighten his irritation.

Why had he come?

He turned back, peering into the room. She was staring up at this man, Erysichthon, her intended. Yet she was no less rigid with fear. Hades’ hands fisted, and a fiery flash of anger ran through him.

Did she not want this alliance?

He watched as the king took her small hand in his. Watched as the king’s massive hand clasped hers, enveloping it. Erysichthon’s brown eyes raked over her, to linger on her curves with distinct fascination.

Hades gripped the door frame, holding himself back. He would gladly smash the head of this lecherous mortal for regarding her so. She was a Goddess. She was worthy of respect and reverence, not lust.

While she ascended onto the king’s dais with easy grace, the panic in her bright green eyes told him she felt neither calm nor assured.

Erysichthon whispered something to her and all fell quiet as she drew her mask from her face.

She
was
beauty. Even now, when her discomfort was obvious, she sat with poised dignity. How could he not admire her?

“Hades?” Hermes whispered his name.

His words were harsh. “I must leave before this arrogant fool knows my wrath.”

Hermes grabbed Hades’ arm, his voice sad as he said, “Come, my friend. I’ve asked too much of you this night.”

Hades followed Hermes without resistance. The night air was chill in the garden, filled with the scents of fresh flowers and earth. Hades drew in a deep breath, easing the fury from his muscles. He pushed the mask from his face, welcoming the fresh air upon his flushed skin.

“You find him ill-suited?” Hermes asked, sliding his mask back as well.

“He looks at her as if she were a… a delicacy for his pleasure. He would be wise to remember that she is…”

“Soon to be his wife?” Hermes spoke without inflection, causing Hades to turn to him.

“Is it agreed upon?”

“Demeter brought Persephone here with the union in mind. I cannot imagine anything would change Demeter’s path. But if you spoke with Zeus…”

Hades held up a hand. “Is that why you brought me here? To encourage my… weakness? Do not continue, Hermes. Leave me and enjoy your companions. I will find my way home without you as my guide.”

Hermes hesitated, then entered the hall and left Hades alone with his thoughts.

He sat, wearily, beneath an aged oak. It cast long shadows, no doubt intended for lovers in its seclusion. The thought did little to ease him. He leaned against the tree and scowled, lost in his thoughts and anger.

Demeter favored her daughter. All knew it to be true. Why then would she seek to marry Persephone to the likes of … Erysichthon? The mortal had the look of… Hades swallowed then. That was it. Erysichthon reeked of the same self-importance, greed, and unrestrained hunger as Poseidon.

Or was he too blind to see that this mortal was a good choice for Persephone?

A slight sound reached him and he pulled his mask into place.

Persephone crept, moving on silent feet, down the steps and into the farthest corner of the walled garden. She pressed herself against the wall, touching the leaves and thorns of the rose bush as she stared up at the moon high overhead.

He watched her, in awe of her beauty.

She was troubled, wary.

His hands tightened, fisting in the dirt. Would that he could cheer her. He could do nothing but ensure a future of sadness, offer her nothing. And still he found himself rising to go to her.

Heavy footfalls found them, introducing Erysichthon to their midst.

###

Erysichthon stared at the girl. He drank heavily from his cup, letting his eyes roam over Persephone in the moonlight. She was lovely, he conceded, perched at the edge of his gardens, ready to take flight.

“Fresh air?” Erysichthon asked softly. “It is warm in the hall.”

She turned wide eyes upon him, nodding.

He saw her skittish nervousness and moved slowly, carefully, to the bench amongst his roses. He sat, smiled at Persephone and patted the bench beside him. “Sit with me, then, and tell me of your life.”

She stood still, glancing nervously about her.

His gaze raked her from head to toe. Surely he could find some spark of her mother if he looked hard enough? But where Demeter was clearly driven, fair Persephone seemed uncertain. She was timid, uncomfortable. She’d bristled when he tried to tease. Demeter would have sat at his side, fluttered her eyelashes and bent him to her will with ease.

He closed his eyes, feeling the pain that had yet to dull.

Demeter. She enjoyed their battle of wits, as did he. She knew and accepted him as he was. Like his Ione. The pain intensified. He swallowed down the last of his wine and pushed thoughts of his lost daughter aside. He would bring her home, in time.

He turned, smiling broadly at his intended. “Are you familiar with Thessaly, Persephone?” He added, “I would be pleased to take you on a tour.”

He watched the slight crease of her brow, the tightening of her mouth. So she was as pleased with this arrangement as he was, then? It was some comfort.

Her voice was tight. “That would be lovely, my lord.”

He bit back a laugh. Her tone assured him she saw nothing lovely about the idea. Perhaps they would suit, in time. “There’s much to see, I assure you. In time, I hope you will come to love this land as I do, as your mother does.”

She turned brilliant green eyes upon him. Curious, he’d never seen such a shade before. Quite unsettling. “Is it safe?” she asked.

He laughed then, throwing back his head. “You are a young thing, aren’t you?” He wiped a hand across his mustache and shook his head. “No one threatens my people or property, Goddess. Not even the Persians. If your mother had not selected Thessaly for her precious cypress grove, I would have built a monument to Ares instead. I’m a warrior. You need never fear for your safety while you are with me.”

He saw her nod. “My safety has all but consumed my mother, sir. If she feels I am safe in your care, I know that you are a most capable and skilled warrior.”

He watched her, the slight smile that wavered on her full lips. He drained his cup of wine. She was pretty, he supposed, in her own way. But he felt no attraction for her.

“You don’t look like your mother,” he murmured.

She turned round eyes upon him. “Oh?”

“You are fair where she is dark. You are soft where she is,” he paused, “less round. I’ve never seen the likes of your hair, so red. And your eyes are a most peculiar shade of…”

“Green, while hers are a most pleasing brown? Yes, I know, sir. I’ve lived at her side every day. She is lovely. And while she is my mother, we are, as you see, different women.” Her brows rose, waiting for his response.

His gaze wandered over her, leisurely.

She was not her mother, but she was not hard to gaze upon. True, her eyes were odd, but her lips were lush and full. Her skin was sun-kissed, sprinkled with a fine dusting of freckles. His eyes dropped.

He could find no complaint with her bosom. She had delectable breasts, larger than her mother’s and firm with youth. “I meant no disrespect, Goddess. You are a fine woman.”

When his eyes settled on her face, her skin turned a brilliant shade of red. She blinked rapidly, turning to regard the dimly lit gardens.

“Come, blossom.” He stood, offering his arm. “You’ve had your air, now meet those who will be your vassals.” He paused. Would she tease with him, as her mother did? He would find out. “Unless you were hoping to lure me into the gardens? It is not an uncommon practice, I know.”

He bit back a smile as she clasped his arm, tugging him towards the hall with surprising force.

He laughed, cupping her cheek. His next words saw her eyes widen and her mouth fall open in pure astonishment. “If you wish to wait to bless our union, I will not press you otherwise. Though a kiss would serve, for now?”

Her eyes looked ready to pop out, making him chuckle.

She gasped then collected herself. When she spoke, there was bite to her tone. “I have yet to give you such a promise.”

Erysichthon threw back his head and laughed. She was not as soft as he’d thought, then. The knowledge cheered him somewhat.

###

Erysichthon was snoring.

Persephone smiled then poked him, one toe nudging his leg. He didn’t move, so she poked him again, not so gently.

He snored harder, his mouth falling open.

She stood, staring down at the man who would be her husband. She tilted her head to regard his slumbering form. Erysichthon did not wake when she moved from his side.

No wonder. He’d emptied the entire skin of rich wine Olympus had delivered to him this very morning. It was a gift, the messenger said, to honor their impending wedding.

He continued to snore, so loudly the tree branches overhead shook. She sighed, relieved.

It was good he was such a sound sleeper. She might enjoy some of this day, for Erysichthon’s mood had been most strange. Until today, he’d been a most chivalrous host, respectful if, at times, teasing.

But today, he’d stared at her with new eyes. He seemed more enamored with her each passing second. Perhaps it was the wine? Stronger perhaps than what this mortal king was accustomed to?

All in all, she’d enjoyed their day. A large company of men had accompanied them to the cypress groves, following Erysichthon’s orders to surround the grove and give them peace… and privacy. They’d shared a nice meal. He’d eaten quickly, drinking his wine with relish.

“You tell stories?” he’d asked, his eyes lingering on her face.

She’d nodded. “I do. What stories do you prefer? Of adventures or love or battle?”

Erysichthon sighed, leaning back on an elbow. “Any story from your sweet lips will please me.”

She glanced at him, a small smile on her lips. He seemed in earnest. His brown eyes were warm, if heavy-lidded, when they met hers.

“Tell me one of your favorites, so that it might become one of my favorites.” He tipped the wine skin up, emptying it before he lay back upon the grass.

“Very well,” she began. “In the years after Cronus defeated his father Uranus, the Titans prospered. But greed found him, turning Cronus into as great a tyrant as his father before him. He feared that his children might one day seek to overthrow him, as he had done with his father. Children, his own children, were his greatest threat. When his wife Rhea gave birth to their first child, Cronus swallowed it whole. On and on it went, child after child, until Rhea could bear it no more. Great with child, she hid on the isle of Crete and birthed Zeus. She returned to Cronus and fed him a stone, wrapped in a babe’s cloths. But Zeus lived and grew strong and able….”

His snores had interrupted her.

She stretched, walking briskly from the slumbering king. When she could no longer hear him, her pace slowed. Alone, amongst her mother’s cypress trees, she found peace.

Birdsong assailed her. The wind lifted the tree branches, releasing their soft welcoming whispers. The grass, too, seemed pleased by her visit. She savored such soothing companionship. Her cloak slid about her hips as she wandered through the cypress trees with soft steps, reveling in the quiet.

It had been three days since she’d arrived, and there had been precious little of it so far. Erysichthon was a loud man, as was his household. His servants, even his animals, seemed determined to out-speak the other. So much noise, for naught.