Goddess of Spring (15 page)

“Pomegranates.” Her lips felt numb.

“Do you not like pomegranates, Persephone?” Hades frowned at her troubled expression. “I can have them taken away.”

Lina glanced up to see the covey of servants peering at her with large, pale faces filled with concern.

Don't be paranoid,
she told herself,
it's just a silly coincidence
. “I love them. Everything looks absolutely perfect.” She purposefully scooped up several of the drops of red fruit and popped them into her mouth. Flavor burst against her tongue and she sighed with delight. “They're wonderful!” She slurred through the sweet juice.

The servants let out a collective breath of happiness.

“All appears to be to my liking, too,” Hades said sardonically. Persephone seemed to have cast the same spell over his servants as she had over his horses. “You may leave the platters. If we need more, I will call for you.”

The servants scurried back to the kitchen.

“Aren't you going to join us?” Lina asked Iapis, looking from him to Eurydice. Did the dead eat? She had no idea, but it seemed rude not to ask.

“No, Goddess,” Iapis said.

“Iapis and I have much to discuss,” Eurydice added eagerly. “We are going to get the drawing supplies.”

Lina smiled at the girl, glad that she appeared to be so at ease.

“Go ahead. I'll see you tomorrow,” Lina said around another mouthful of pomegranate seeds.

“Oh, but you must call for me when you retire tonight so that I may help you ready yourself for bed!” The panicky edge had crept back into her voice.

“I'll be sure I do,” Lina said quickly, not wanting to disappoint the child.

Satisfied with her goddess's reassurance, Eurydice was smiling happily as she curtsied to Persephone and Hades before following Iapis from the room.

“She will become more secure with time,” Hades reassured her.

“I hope so. She's going to wear me out.” Lina sighed.

“The dead require a great deal of care.”

Lina nodded in agreement. “It's like the jewels—I had no idea until now.”

Hades smiled, charming and relaxed again. “Which is why I have had the food of the Underworld set before you. Refresh yourself, Persephone, so that the little spirit need not be concerned that her goddess is wasting away here below the world of mortals.”

“Ha!” Lina began heaping her plate full. “It's not likely that could happen, not surrounded by”—she gestured with the long silver spoon—“all of this.”

“It pleases me that you appreciate the beauty of the Underworld,” Hades said, helping himself to the olives.

“Who wouldn't?” she said between bites, and was instantly sorry when she saw his expression begin to change again. She thought suddenly that it was as if he placed a blank mask over his face so that he could cloak his emotions at will. She kept glancing nonchalantly at him, waiting for him to discard the mask and become approachable once more. For the next several minutes they ate in silence, until she noticed that the tension in his shoulders seemed to be easing and his features had begun to thaw. She took a sip of wine, considering. Yes, he definitely appeared more at ease with his fork full. Her lips twisted. He was a god, but he was still male.

“Do you mind if I ask you some questions about the dead?” Lina asked.

His eyes shifted from his plate to her and back to his plate again. He chewed and swallowed. “I do not mind,” he finally said.

Lina hurried on. “It's just that I don't know simple things, and I don't want to say something that would embarrass Eurydice, or upset her again, like when I mentioned her drinking from that river, um . . .” She floundered.

“Lethe,” Hades provided.

“Right, Lethe. See, that's exactly what I mean. I don't know enough about the Underworld.”

“Ask as many questions as you desire,” he said.

“Okay, well, the delicious food that we're eating makes me wonder if the dead can eat.”

“No, the dead do not thirst and hunger as do the living, but their souls do retain the essence of their mortal life, so they carry with them into eternity their unique needs and desires. You have witnessed some of that with your little Eurydice. She carries with her fears and insecurities from the World of the Living, even though the things that troubled her there cannot touch her here,” Hades replied, trying to hide his surprise at her question. Persephone was certainly not what he had expected. Unlike any other immortal he had ever known, she appeared to be honestly interested in his realm and the spirits of the dead.

“That makes sense.” She frowned as she nibbled on a sugared white petal. “It's obvious that memories from her life are definitely bothering Eurydice. Poor kid. I wish there was something I could do.”

“There is, Persephone, and you are already doing it. The little spirit needs to feel security and a sense of belonging. She would have eventually found those things in Elysia, but you have brought them to her by giving her a place at your side. She feels comfortable now and useful, and much less apt to obsess about lost chances and what might have been.”

Hades smiled encouragement to the young goddess. She had done well by the little spirit. Too many immortals would have believed that noticing Eurydice's distress was beneath them. She was no longer among the living; therefore, she could no longer worship them. So the spirit was no longer of interest to them. Persephone's actions thus far told him that she did not adhere to that type of cavalier belief system. Hades watched Persephone ponder his words as she sipped her wine. The goddess was a mystery to him. She had the beauty of an immortal, but she seemed so different.

“That makes me feel better,” Lina said, telling herself firmly that she was talking about Eurydice and not about the warmth of Hades' smile. She was quickly becoming fascinated with the dead—and not just with their god. “Do they sleep, too?”

Hades' eyes crinkled at the edges in amused reaction to her unusual questions. He had never had a conversation like this before, and he was surprised to realize how much he enjoyed talking with the young goddess about his realm.

“They do not sleep exactly as we do, or as do living mortals, but they require rest.”

“Are your servants like Eurydice? I mean, did they choose to stay here with you rather than go on to Elysia?”

“Some did, but not out of love for me, as has your Eurydice. For most it is simply that they find comfort in holding fast to the echo of their mortal lives. Others are performing duties as a part of penance for past deeds.”

Hades helped himself to the fruit of the Underworld while he awaited her next question. He could almost see her teeming thoughts. She had stopped eating and was twirling a strand of her long hair around one finger, an action that he found strangely endearing.

“So, Iapis must be one of the dead who stays because he loves you.”

This time Hades could not help laughing aloud. “Iapis is not one of the dead, Persephone, he is a daimon. But, yes, he has chosen to remain forever by my side.”

Lina didn't know what stunned her most—hearing that Iapis was a demon and/or the effect Hades' laughter had on her.

She reacted first to the least volatile of the two.

“Iapis is a demon?” she squeaked.

At the second burst of Hades' laughter the servant's door swung open and several startled heads peeked into the dining room then retreated quickly, but not before Lina registered their shocked expressions.

“I said he is a daimon, not a demon.” Hades shook his head at the young goddess.

“Oh, well, of course,” Lina sputtered while her mind screamed WHAT THE HELL IS A DAIMON? Thankfully, her inner voice provided an answer.
Daimon—a spirit of a lower divinity than the Olympian gods. They are guardians and semi-deities. They are immortal.

“Young Persephone, how sheltered you must be not to recognize Iapis as a daimon,” he said, still chuckling.

The damn man was laughing at her and looking at her with the same benevolent, fatherly expression he'd used on Eurydice. And he'd just called her “young Persephone!” Like she was a silly little girl! He had no idea he was dealing with a grown woman. One who definitely did not like being the butt of male jokes. Her irritation made her forget that he was God of the Underworld and she was visiting his realm. In that moment he was just another man who had pissed her off. Without stopping to consider the consequences, she narrowed her eyes at him and edged Persephone's soft voice with her own flint.

“I suppose in some ways I have been sheltered. I've been taught to believe that one's guests should not be used as a source of comedic fodder.”

Hades sobered instantly as he recognized within her eyes the coldness of a goddess's wrath. He was a fool. He had allowed himself to relax around her and had stumbled into the snare of his own fantasies. Persephone was of Olympus—he must never forget that. He inclined his head in stiff acknowledgment of her reprimand. “I ask your forgiveness, Goddess. There is no excuse for my rudeness.”

Without speaking further, he stood, bowed again, and walked from the room, leaving Lina to stare after him and curse sincerely and fluently in Italian.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“IAPIS!” Hades' voice echoed through his vast chamber.

“My Lord.” The daimon materialized within two breaths after his name had been spoken.

“Go to her. When she has finished her meal, show her the way back to her chamber. Be certain she has everything she desires.” Hades paced restlessly as he talked. “I insulted her.”

Iapis stayed silent, but he raised one brow.

“Then I left her there. She had not even finished her meal.” Hades raked a hand through his hair, causing some of the shorter strands to come loose. He looked at his loyal friend. “You know I have never been able to do this.”

“This?” Iapis asked.

“This! This! This mixing with them. This insane ritual of feint and stab they require to maintain their interest.”

“Perhaps you mean conversing with a goddess?”

“Of course that is what I mean!” Hades exploded.

Nonplussed by the god's show of temper, Iapis kept his voice calm and inquisitive. “And was Persephone requiring much, as you call it, feint and stab before you insulted her?”

Hades stopped his pacing and rubbed his brow, considering Iapis' question.

“No,” he said truthfully.

“So you had been conversing with her?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” he admitted and then reality caught up with him. He had been enjoying himself. She had shown such interest in his realm, and she had been so easy to talk to—so unlike Aphrodite or Athena or . . . his lips curled in a sneer as he thought of the other young goddesses he had known. They were spoiled, manipulative beauties who rarely thought beyond their own needs and desires. When Persephone's voice had hardened at what she had taken as an insult, he had instantly been reminded of those other lovely immortals and his reaction had been automatic. He had absented himself from her presence.

“Did you mean to insult her?” Iapis asked.

“Of course not!” He started pacing again. “I thought what she said was amusing.” He gave Iapis a dark look. “She had mistaken you for one of the dead.”

Iapis' lips twitched as he tried not to smile.

“I laughed at her and then I spoke to her as if she were a child. That insulted her. She reacted as any goddess would have.” Hades hunched his shoulders.

“You say she reacted as any goddess would have. Then may I assume the dining room has been destroyed and she has departed the Underworld?” Iapis said.

“No, she . . . no. She remains and she destroyed nothing.” He stopped his pacing and met the daimon's inquiring gaze.

“Then it appears she did not react as any other insulted goddess,” Iapis said logically. “What exactly was her reaction?”

“She said that she was not accustomed to being used as comedic fodder,” Hades said.

“And what did you say in return?”

“I apologized and left.”

“Might I suggest that the next time you apologize and stay, my Lord?” Iapis said.

“The next time?”

Hades could feel the all-too familiar burning sensation building in his chest. He knew that soon it would spread to the back of his throat and he would spend another miserable, sleepless night. Too choleric. That is what Hermes said was wrong with him.

Iapis nodded. “The next time.”

“She is different.” Hades' voice had deepened and he spoke with a quiet, controlled intensity.

“She is, indeed.”

“She does not shun the spirits. She . . .” Hades broke off, remembering her flushed reaction to him, the curiosity in her voice and the warmth in her eyes. His jaw clenched. “I should stay far from her for the rest of her visit.”

“My friend”—Iapis rested his hand on the god's shoulder—“why not let yourself enjoy her presence?”

“To what end?” Hades rubbed his chest and shrugged off the daimon's hand. “So that I can taste life, and then when she leaves or loses interest in dallying with me—as she must—I am left with what? It is not enough, Iapis. It has never been enough.”

And there it was, Hades thought as he began pacing again, the thing that separated him from the rest of the immortals. Unlike the other gods and goddesses, he longed for something that he had witnessed over and over again between the souls of mortals, but he had not glimpsed once, not even briefly, between immortals.

“My Lord,” Iapis said softly, “is it not better to experience even a small amount of happiness, than none at all?”