Page 35 of Hades and Persephone: Crown of Souls

With my hand on the nob of the saddle, I begin to pull myself up. Big hands clamp around my waist and lift me easily onto the beastly horse. Before I’ve even had a chance to pull breath intomy lungs, Hades is settled atop the horse behind me, and Alastor is already stepping away—in the opposite direction of the Palace of Hades.

I fumble my words. “Why—shouldn’t—I thought we were going to the Palace?”

“No.”

I twist to catch a glimpse of his face. The flames are still dancing in his eyes. He’s angry. I sense that I shouldn’t push him, and yet I ask, “No?”

“I am taking you to the Grove of Persephone.”

“But—”

“The Weeping Pines of the Grove are currently in bloom. I wish for you to see them.”

“But—”

“They bloom only twice a year.” My mouth snaps closed as he continues, “For decades, you would come to the Underworld in the fall, and they would weep with joy. In the spring, when it was time for you to adhere to the bargain I accepted with Zeus on Demeter’s behalf, they would weep in loss, for you would leave.” His chest expands with a deep inhale. “When you left the Underworld, they kept with their weeping cycle. It is not due for another four weeks, but your arrival in the Underworld after centuries of your absence has inspired a joy like no other. They weep abundantly, and it is a sight to behold.” His voice lowers. “It is a sight I do not wish for you to miss.”

“You’re telling me thattreescan sense I’m here?”

“The Underworld is sentient, little goddess, and you are its mother. Of course, it can feel your presence, as any child can feel the presence of its mother.”

“I thought—” I pause, swallowing hard as Alastor travels south along the rapids of the blue river. “I thought the Underworld was a Primordial God?”

“It is.”

“Then—who was it who initially birthed the Underworld?”

“The Underworld is an extension of Tartarus,” Hades explains. “Tartarus was formed of Chaos, the Goddess of Matter.”

“Chaos?” I frown, syphoning through all that I know of Greek Mythology. “Was she not the creator of everything?”

“She is, yes.”

“So, essentially,sheis the mother of the Underworld, then. Not me.”

“She birthed Tartarus. The Underworld formed when I swallowed Tartarus, binding the Primordial God to me. The Underworld is an extension of both me and Tartarus. It is a realm unto itself. It is an evolution of the initial creation, in which your fertility allowed life to sprout.”

“After you—after you came into me, you mean?”

I can feel the tension bleeding from him. It’s so thick, it threatens to suffocate. “Yes.”

“So, you are the father, then?”

There is a long pause, as though he’s never considered it this way. Softer, he says, “Because of you, I became known as the God of Afterlife.”

I catch my breath. “Because of me?”

“I stole your innocence, little goddess.” The pain of his voice stills the beat of my heart. “I tore into your body with my own, and planted the blood that would vein life into the soil of the Underworld. I came into your body and urged your unwilling womb to carry the seed of life that would ignite the Underworld and paint me a king amongst souls.”

I can’t help myself as I twist in the saddle once again to look at him. The same desperate sadness I’ve seen in his eyes so many times before is there now. But now, I think I have a little more insight into what it means.

There is no question that Hades deeply regrets the rape of Persephone, in which history paints him a terrible God, just as the Underworld crowned him ‘King’.

I wriggle until both legs are swung over one side of Alastor. Hades’ grip is firm on me so that I do not fall as the horse continues to lumber over the cool jade blades of night-painted grass. I catch his face between my hands, ignoring the tickle of his trim beard as I catch his eyes with my own. For this, I need him to look at me. To look into me.

I need there to be no question that this is my truth, and I offer it to him willingly with absolutely no hesitation.

“I know how you took me. I remember the moments you claimed me?—”

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