Page 169 of Where Darkness Bloomed
Anger stirred again in Hades, rising like smoke from a dying fire. But he reined it, shaking his head.
“My wife is gentle-hearted,” he replied. “I will not watch her grieve the world again.”
Zeus’s brow lifted. “Then you’ll bargain with Demeter?”
“No.” His reply was swift. “My terms are final. Persephone will live in the Underworld for six months, then above for six months.” His gaze lifted to the throne where it sat on the dais. “During her absence, I will hold this realm in both of our names—just as she holds the living.”
Zeus nodded, though doubt lingered in his gaze. “A fair balance, if Demeter can be restrained from destroying the earth in her absence.”
“Persephone will temper her mother while she’s above. She will ensure there is harvest enough for them to endure.”
The shadows thickened, growing inky black. The chamber darkened, and Hades’s voice turned low, hard. “If Demeter dares protest, then she may descend to the Underworld and face me herself. But I will not offer more than this.”
Zeus’s mouth flattened. But he gave a single, curt nod. “So be it.”
A searing flash of light split the chamber, warring with the shadows that reared in answer. Zeus was gone, vanishing into lightning.
Stillness settled over the throne room once more. Hades exhaled, his gaze still lingering over the solitary throne on the dais. Ancient, solemn, always waiting.
Soft footsteps stirred the silence, and his eyes shifted to the entrance.
Persephone stood in the archway—quiet warmth framed by dark marble. Her emerald eyes sought his.
Without a word, Hades extended his hand. She came to him, her fingers slipping into his.
Her face tilted up to his. “What weighs on you?”
His gaze wandered her—the beauty, the open softness and fierce light that mingled there. Stunning. The ages could pass him by as he stood there, drinking in the sight of her, and he would count it no loss.
“Zeus asks me to bring Helen of Troy to the Underworld,” he said, brow furrowing. “Her husband’s ship is lost, and suitors are tearing Sparta apart. I was thinking of her fate.”
Sorrow rose in Persephone’s eyes. Her gaze left him, her thoughts folding inward.
Releasing her hand, Hades framed her shoulders, his thumbs brushing lightly over her collarbones. “What would you have me do?”
She didn’t speak at once. Her gaze drifted, as if seeking the shape of justice in the quiet hall.
“Helen has suffered much,” she said finally. Words of quiet mourning. “Her life has been devoured by the desires of others. War. Betrayal. Burdens she never asked to bear.”
Hades said nothing. He watched her steadily, listening.
“Grant her what the world has never given her.” She looked up at him, eyes clear. “Let her rest.”
He was still for a long moment, holding the weight of her words in silence. Then, slowly, he nodded.
“So be it.”
Chapter 63
Helen awoke to the violent lurch of the Spartan ship, tossed roughly by the wild sea. Dull pain throbbed at the back of her skull. Her fingers found the brittle crust of dried blood tangled in her hair. She winced.
Boots crashed down the narrow steps into the hull.
A moment later, Menelaus staggered into view, reeking of wine, his face bloated and ruddy with rage.
It was the first time she’d seen him without a battlefield stretched between them. No distance. No armor. Nothing but the horror and resignation churning in her clenched stomach.
He offered no greeting, though she’d expected none. Only fury.
