Page 9 of Song of Memories

“Do I?” Orpheus made a noncommittal sound in between kisses. “I certainly don’t mean to. How can I not stare at you like you’re the most stunning thing at the market?” Before Eurydice could respond, Orpheus wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her into his lap in a swift display of his strength. She settled over his lap, and Orpheus cupped her jaw with one hand, his other hand playing through the long strands of her hair again.

“You’re my muse, Eurydice,” Orpheus whispered, staring up at her as though she had hung the stars in the sky. “All I’m able to do around you is try to absorb everything that you are. Do you know what a futile task that is? To try and capture everything about you that makes you…you?”

“Why does it need to be captured?” Eurydice raised an eyebrow, studying Orpheus. He only tossed his head back and started to laugh, a rich, joyful sound that flooded the clearing like the sunlight itself.

“Oh, Eurydice. What else would I do with you?”

“You could love me,” Eurydice responded, wrapping her arms around Orpheus’s neck, sliding their bodies closer to one another as the air around them grew thick with the scent of irises and crocuses once more.

“Ah, I could,” Orpheus gave her a soft smile and nodded, “but immortalizing you is the greatest form of love I could offer, sweet Eurydice.” Orpheus kissed her gently, tightening his grip around her waist. When he pulled away, his hand was full of petals.

“My sweet Eurydice, with petals in her hair.” He gave her another dazzling smile, and she slid off his lap, while Orpheus started jotting down notes again—their conversation and her anger already long forgotten, a stanza that had already been written.

Eurydice lay back down in the soft grass, content to close her eyes and listen to the sounds of the forest, wondering if love always felt like surrendering parts of yourself to someone else.

5

Pan paced back and forth through the receiving room in Hades’s hall. It was one of the finer rooms that he’d ever been in—and he’d partied in the most illustrious of places that both the mortal and immortal world had to offer—but that was what being a god of gemstones got you. It didn’t matter the floors were practically glowing with dark obsidian tiles. Pan was always anxious whenever he was indoors.

Hades’s sprawling estate was carved out of hell itself, cropping out from the stone walls and spreading over several different levels. It overlooked the banks of Styx, with a prime view of Charon and his infamous docks. From one of the thousands of windows carved into the impenetrable walls, Pan stared, walking back and forth and unable to take his eyes off the shores of the river.

The great hall was made of black stone and covered with inlaid jewels, with rich woven fabrics, the colors of gemstones, hanging from the rafters. There were tall basins in each corner, full of oil and burning with a dark flame, casting rainbows and flickers of color off the stones embedded in the walls. At one far end of the room there was a small dais with two obsidian thrones that looked as though they had sprouted up from the stone floor like trees.

Pan didn’t think anything in the room counted as wealth—he measured wealth in entirely different terms than Hades. Pan’s definition hinged more on how many different types of trees you could plant in one clearing or how long you could run in the soft grass without running into another soul. Pan was big, even by a god’s standards, and appreciated wide open spaces where he could stretch out. He had thick, curling black hair, wide shoulders, and dark skin from his days in the sun. On more than one occasion, he’d been mistaken from behind for Hephaestus.

None of that was on his mind, however, as he ricocheted back and forth, passing in front of the tall, arched windows, still unable to tear his gaze off the Styx.

The air was filled with the sounds of excitement, people murmuring and shades gossiping with one another. It had been a long time since the atmosphere in the Underworld had been this electric. Pan knew why.

Orpheus is on his way to the Underworld.

Pan let out a long string of ancient curses under his breath, wringing his hands repeatedly as the sounds of his footsteps echoing off the walls started to drive him insane. In moments like this, his control started to crack, and his magic was unpredictable. Pan was switching back and forth between his satyr and fully human form, flickering like a flame, changing so rapidly that it was impossible to tell what he looked like.

If he was being honest with himself, Pan always preferred his fully human form, but it was possible to contain his magic at the best of times—and he was feeling particularly beastly on what was surely going to be a glorious day in the Underworld.

“Fucking Orpheus,” Pan spat. “What a no-good, good-for-nothing poet…” Pan uttered the word ‘poet’ like it was a swear word, but a soft, feminine presence cleared her throat behind him.

“Are you cursing the poets now, Pan?”

Pan whipped around and let out a sharp cry that was half-scream and half-bleat. He hadn’t heard anyone enter the room, and he assumed that most of the Underworld’s inhabitants would be down on the banks of the Styx to watch the fateful reunion.

“Persephone!” Pan blushed crimson, offering her a short bow at the waist. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Persephone smiled, a knowing look crossing her face that Pan rightfully identified as being mixed with a fair amount of pity. Her long blonde hair was undone, with only a few small braids pulling it away from her face, and a red chiton trailed on the ground behind her. She looked radiant as both dark and brightly colored petals decorated the ground behind her. It was a notable trait that she shared with some of the nymphs. It was part of Persephone’s role as the goddess of spring, but also as a fertility goddess, which was one aspect she shared with Pan.

That shared synchronicity between them had created somewhat of an unlikely but steadfast friendship between Pan and Persephone, especially if they were helping the other one cause a little bit of chaos. Pan was worried once Persephone’s evolution into the Dread Queen was complete that part of their alliance would end, but he was happily proven wrong when Persephone showed that she was more likely to cause a stir than ever.

When Pan was looking for a way into the Underworld to visit Eurydice after her death, Hermes may have pointed out the loophole, but it had been Persephone who convinced Hades that it was to be allowed to happen. For that, Pan would forever consider himself in Persephone’s debt—even if his serenity in the forests of Asphodel was inevitably set to be corrupted.

“I should have known I would find you here,” Persephone sighed gently. “Although, I’m fairly certain that your treaty with Hades allows you access to the forests of the Underworld, not our throne room.” Her tone was playful enough that Pan could tell Persephone was far from upset, but he cringed slightly nonetheless.

“I won’t tell him if you don’t?” Pan offered up, tapping some of his fingers together. Persephone burst into a fit of laughter, sounding as airy and unbothered as possible.

“Oh, sweet Pan, you should know by now that I could fill the caverns of the Underworld ten times over with the things I don’t tell Hades.”

“Is that right?”

Pan jumped in alarm for the second time that afternoon as Hades slipped through the heavy oak doors into the throne room. Persephone only raised an eyebrow in response, clearly challenging him to push her on the fact and seemingly not at all surprised to see him. A soft, knowing look passed between Hades and Persephone, and Pan’s chest tightened at the sight. Sometimes it was additionally challenging to be in the presence of two people so irrevocably in love, and today was definitely one of those days for Pan.

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