Page 13 of A Touch of Chaos

“It will do you no good to seek answers for how your mother lived,” said Hecate.

“How do you know?” Persephone asked. She did not often question the Goddess of Witchcraft, but in this, she did.

“Because you already know all there is,” Hecate replied. “As her soul heals in time, so will yours.Perhaps then you will come to understand or at least accept.”

“Where is she?” Persephone asked, gazing over the golden plain.

Again, Hecate did not speak, but she did not need to because Persephone had found her mother. She recognized her long, straight hair, the color of the golden grass at their feet. She looked slight and small, having lost the command of her presence.

Persephone left Hecate’s side and went to her. She kept her distance, making a wide circle around her until she could see her face. It was the first time she had seen Demeter without that critical glint in her eye, without the harshness that had carved her features into a severe mask of disdain.

Demeter’s gaze shifted to Persephone. Her soft lips turned upward into a gentle smile. Despite the show of warmth, none of it touched her eyes—eyes that had once turned from brown to green to gold as she moved through various stages of anger. Now they were simply a pale yellow, the color of wheat, and they possessed no recognition.

“Hello,” she said softly.

Persephone tried to clear the knot at the back of her throat before she spoke, but her voice rasped anyway.

“Hi,” she said.

“Are you the lady of this realm?” Demeter asked.

“I am,” Persephone said. “How did you know?”

A line formed between Demeter’s brows. “I don’t know,” she said, and then her gaze shifted—cast off across the field. When she spoke again, her voice was filled with a note of wonder. “It is peaceful here.”

Perhaps selfishly, Persephone wished that she felt the same.

Abruptly, she left Elysium and found herself in the dim chamber of her and Hades’s bedroom. There was no fire in the hearth to warm the air or eat away at the darkness, and in that cold room that had no life to speak of, she crumpled to the floor and sobbed.

CHAPTER IV

HADES

Hades woke to a sharp and burning sensation in his side. He roared in pain as he tore his eyes open in time to see Theseus remove two fingers from the wound he’d inflicted with Cronos’s scythe.

“Good,” Theseus said. “You are awake.”

Hades gritted his teeth, glaring at the demigod, his eyes watering. He wanted to speak, to curse him, but his words were lodged in his throat, tight with pain.

“Forgive me,” the demigod said, gaze falling to his two bloodied fingers. “But you were not roused by my calls.”

It wasn’t until Theseus rose to his feet that Hades realized he was in a different position than he had been when he’d fallen asleep. He was no longer hanging from chains but sitting on the floor. The massive net that had draped his body was gone, replaced by one that fit more like a shirt. Despite the difference, Hades could still feel its weight and the strange way it seemed to drain his energy—like it had teeth sinking into his very soul.

“Come, Olympian,” Theseus said. “You must earn your keep.”

Hades had to fight his compulsion to remain where he was. He did not like being commanded, especially by an arrogant demigod, but he could not deny that he was curious about where exactly he was and wanted any opportunity to observe and devise a plan for escape.

He rose to his feet, though his limbs trembled.

Theseus did not immediately lead him from his cell. Instead, he studied him, his critical eyes burning along his frame.

“Admiring me, Theseus?” Hades hissed, breathless.

“Yes,” the demigod said and then met Hades’s gaze. “Have you ever felt so weak?”

Hades scowled, and Theseus offered the barest smile before turning to open a nearly invisible door.

“Even you must admit to being impressed by our technology?” Theseus said as he passed into a narrow passage that was no brighter than Hades’s cell.

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