Page 68 of Hades and Persephone: Threads of Fate

Poseidon blinks slowly, before he murmurs thoughtfully, “Tragic.”

“What?”

“You were the only one she ever loved, Hades,” he tells me with a confidence that has the fire burning along my bones in an instant. “Her heart only ever belonged, exclusively, to you.”

“I know she loved me. But not completely. Not the way I longed for her to love me. Absolutely. The way I loved—the way Iloveher.”

Poseidon sways in the water, his glowing eyes never leaving me as he considers. When he speaks, his voice is low with emotion. “I believed you took her for her beauty, ensnared by her innocence. It was my belief that once you believed you had her, like a toy to a spoiled child, you were no longer interested. I believed that you shared her, allowing others to indulge in her, because she was a token of pride for you, the Dark God of the Underworld. I believed that she meant little more to you than the Crown of Souls you wear upon judgement—a prop.”

“She was my Queen!” My roar is swallowed by the sea as Poseidon swims a circle around me.

“Is it possible, Hades, that if I believed she meant so little to you—that she believed it, too?”

I’m not sure if it’s the fall of night or the chill in the sea, but a shiver grates along my too-hot bones. “I don’t understand.”

Poseidon’s eyes flutter closed and open again. There is something there in his gaze. Something that speaks of disappointment. “She will tell you when she is ready.”

“She does not remember her past.”

“She will. She is already remembering. It’s in pieces now, but she is smart. She has always been smart. It won’t be long before she begins putting those pieces together.” He smiles, a coy thing drenched in the glow of his eyes as his teeth sharpen into deadly points. “You have your spies, Hades. I have mine.”

“I thought you keep to the seas now, brother. Or are you shifting again?” Poseidon’s deadly smile stretches. I’d shiver, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction. When he doesn’t answer, I demand, “What was your relationship with my wife, brother?”

His smile finally falls. “She was my friend. Only ever my friend.”

His words ring with absolute honesty. Still, I ask, “You never had her?”

“Only her trust and a glimpse into an exquisitely beautiful, tragically abused mind.” His eyes drift to myyacht where it bobs in the water. If he wanted to, he could have his seas swallow it whole. He doesn’t allow his eyes to drift from the yacht as he tells me, “I loved her dearly. For a long time, I was jealous of you, even as I loathed you for the heart she so freely offered you. The heart you were too blinded by guilt to see that it bled in her outstretched hands as she begged silently for you to notice. To take.” He begins to lower into the water, leaving me with an ominous parting, “Don’t make the same mistake, brother. Open your eyes.”

And then he is gone, disappearing in a flash of silver to the ancient city of sunken land he rules far, far below.

Chapter

Thirty-One

Persephone

“Does he see you yet,my daughter?” The woman tips her head to the side, her wheat-colored hair twisted into a crown of braids high on her head.

“He sees me.” In my lap, I pluck the petals of the asphodel I picked from the meadow before I crossed the bridge to the Garden of Silence where nothing grows, surrounded by the forgetful waters of the Lethe.

It’s why I meet her here. It’s the only place in the Underworld where our words won’t be remembered, collected by the realm my husband,my King and God, rules.

“Last I heard, he invited Aphrodite’s golden boy into the Underworld.” When I dare to look at her, her expression is smug. She raises a single brow. “Am I wrong, daughter?”

“Who told you?” It hurts that she knows.

“Have you slept with the golden boy in front of him?” She leans in close. “Does he watch, calmly, as you share your body with another?”

I want to cry, but I lift my chin. “Yes.”

“And what did I tell you, dear daughter?”

“That if he could watch me with another, he did not love me.” My voice is so quiet, my heartbreak so acute. “That he will never love me.”

“Good girl.” Mother toes a pebble of blue apatite; the single crystal spit from the Lethe, and the only thing in the garden of silence. It’s harrowingly beautiful, this garden of forgotten dreams, frozen into little blue crystals for eternity.

When I say nothing, Mother turns to face me. Her hand on my face is gentle, her touch offering a warmth she does not offer often. I can’t help but lean into the touch, hungry for the rare love from the Goddess who birthed me.

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