Page 21 of A Touch of Chaos

“Queens do not kneel before queens,” she said.

“Then what do I do?” Persephone asked.

“Whatever Hippolyta does,” Hecate replied.

Persephone held the queen’s heavy-lidded gaze, her eyes the color of prehnite stones.

“Persephone, Goddess of Spring, daughter of Demeter, wife of Hades,” Hippolyta said, and her voice commanded attention though it was not harsh. “Welcome to Terme.”

Then she bowed her head, and Persephone did the same.

“We are grateful for your invitation, Queen Hippolyta,” Persephone said.

The warrior queen offered a small smile and then stepped to the side. “Walk beside me, Queen of the Dead.”

As Persephone joined her, Hippolyta turned, and the gates groaned as they opened, revealing her city, cast in amber light from the torches burning in the night. Despite the dark, the lush terrain of the Amazonian fortress was evident. Thick trees dotted the landscape,sprouting between homes covered in flowering vines and gardens teeming with fragrant flora.

“I did not expect your kingdom to feel so much like home,” Persephone said.

It even smelled like spring—sweet with an edge of bitterness.

Hippolyta smiled. “Even warriors can appreciate beautiful things, Lady Persephone.”

Can you?she wanted to ask.When you hold honor so high?

But that would be an insult, and she was here for Zofie, who, despite how her own people had hurt her, believed wholly in the need for redemption. Persephone would not ruin that with her anger. Besides, it was Zofie’s exile that had brought her to Persephone.

It had also brought her to death’s door.

Persephone could not help the pain that blossomed in her chest as she was once more reminded that she bore witness to Zofie’s murder. It had created a darkness within her, something different than what had grown in the aftermath of Lexa’s death.

She feared how it made her feel, how it had changed her.

She wondered if Hades would recognize that wounded and withered part of her. If it would feel familiar because he had witnessed similar horrors.

That thought gave way to a different kind of pain, an ache she felt deep in her soul. She held her breath, hoping to suffocate every emotion that had risen inside her, and let her gaze fall to her feet. They walked along a dirt path lined with foliage, and as the leaves brushed against the hem of her robes, they seemed to grow taller and thicker.

“You are truly a Goddess of Spring,” said Hippolyta. There was a note to her voice, a sense of surprise.

Reluctantly, Persephone met her gaze, hoping she had managed enough control over her emotions.

“Were you in doubt?” she asked.

“New gods are a rare thing these days,” said Hippolyta.

It should have occurred to Persephone that some might be skeptical of her divinity. The world did not always take kindly to new, full-blooded gods. Such was the case when Dionysus was born. He had to fight to be counted among the Divine, and his battles had been bloody. But Persephone was not interested in proving herself—not to the world, to the Olympians, or to Hippolyta.

“It is curious that death would choose life as a bride,” Hippolyta said. “It is like the sun falling in love with the moon.”

“One cannot exist without the other,” Persephone said. “Just as honor cannot exist without shame.”

The queen gave a wry smile, and there was a tension at Persephone’s back that she knew came from Hecate at her slight.

“True, Queen Persephone,” Hippolyta said. “Though I suppose it is not about one or the other but what comes in between.”

They continued down the path in silence when Hermes gave out a sudden, high-pitched scream. Swiftly, they were surrounded by Amazons, their weapons drawn. Persephone and Hippolyta whirled toward the god only to find his hands balled up beneath his chin and one leg off the ground.

Hecate and Ilias stared too.

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