Page 175 of Where Darkness Bloomed
“I would not fail you again.”
Fear and sorrow twisted inside her like a knot she wasn’t sure would ever untangle. But his hand remained between them, open and unshaken.
Once, their hands had touched through blood and fire, the world collapsing around them. Now, her trembling fingers lifted—and found his.
Achilles’s hand closed around hers, warm and strong. With deliberate ease, he drew her to her feet.
The world dissolved at once, fading like fog beneath rain. The roar of the river vanished. The scent of earth and stone faded, replaced by warmth and sweetness—salt air, sun-drenched pine, and the distant hush of waves.
When Helen blinked, they stood on a shore bathed in golden light. White sand warmly cradled her bare feet, framed by turquoise shallows glimmering with coral and scattered shells. A breeze stirred her hair, carrying the scent of rain-soaked earth. Beyond the beach, a forest rose—poplars and alders swaying beneath cliffs of white stone.
Above, the same sky of dark stone stretched, vast and endless. Only now,she noticed that the expanse was studded with gemstone stars, burning brighter than fire, more precious than gold. The heavens here had been carved, not born.
“Come.”
Achilles’s voice was quiet, certain. His hand still held hers—firm, not forceful, its strength steadying.
He guided her from the beach, following a narrow footpath winding through the forest’s cool hush. Leaves whispered overhead, the breeze threading through branches, fragrant with sea and rain.
At the base of the cliffs, the path ended.
There, Achilles paused. With a gentle tug, he drew her forward, stepping aside so she passed ahead of him. His silent presence remained like a promise at her back.
Behind them, the aquamarine sea sparkled through the trees, hushed now.
Ahead, nestled in the cliffside, an arched entryway stood. Its mouth was veiled with white linen, billowing softly in the wind.
The fabric brushed against her bare arms as she stepped through.
Inside, her breath caught.
The chamber glowed with firelight. Smooth stone walls curved inward, laced with veins of cerulean and emerald, gemstones threaded through the rock like rivers of light. Beneath her feet, the stone was cool, polished, seamless.
At the center, a hearth burned with low flame. It gave off no smoke, only the scent of cedarwood and spice. Around the fire, cushions and blankets were gathered in soft folds. A low table nearby held bowls of ripe figs and grapes, silver platters of meats and cheese, and a crystalline pitcher of wine that gleamed with hues she could not name.
Tucked into an alcove carved from the far wall, a bed lay draped with furs and linen. Simple, but generous. A merciful promise of comfort, of rest.
Helen stepped forward into the quiet dwelling, awe rising in her chest. “What is this place?” she asked in wonder.
Achilles stood at the threshold, watching. His presence filled the doorway without effort, solid and still as stone. “A sanctuary,” he said. “A home shaped by our host.”
Helen turned, her brow furrowed. “Our host?”
“The Lord of the Underworld,” he answered evenly. “Hades. And his queen, Persephone.”
The woman at the river.
Her gasp was soft, but it seemed to echo through the chamber as her gaze swept it again. The firelight, the touches of comfort. The quiet promise of refuge.
A lump returned to her throat. “I cannot imagine I am deserving of this,” she whispered.
The fire crackled softly, the only sound.
It was a long time before Achilles spoke again from behind her, his voice like iron beneath velvet. “You are among the blessed of the Underworld. Recompense for all you suffered in life.”
She turned to face him once more, and her pulse faltered beneath the intensity of his gaze, unrelenting but not unkind.
Her breath hitched. Understanding struck, hard and sudden, lodging in her chest. It sent her gaze skittering away from him. With nowhere to land, her focus fell to the floor.
