Page 184 of Where Darkness Bloomed
“Why didn’t you speak to me?”
“You were not alone. And I didn’t wish to frighten you.” A shadow crossed his face as another memory surfaced—of the chariot breaking through the earth, of her scream. His voice roughened. “Though I did, in the end.”
Persephone watched him for a moment, her expression gentling. Then she stepped away, slipping free of his arms.
He watched her walk to the water’s edge, standing in the same spot he had first seen her—graceful, beautiful, incandescent with life. Ages ago, it seemed.
Then she knelt, pressing her fingers into the grass.
A slender copper shoot pushed through the soil, stretching upward. The bark deepened to golden-brown, and emerald leaves burst forth as it rose over her head. Rosy blossoms followed, burgeoning into rich, crimson fruit.
A pomegranate tree.
Here. In this place where the Fates had brought their threads together, weaving hers inseparably with his.
Persephone rose and returned to his side, slipping her arms around his waist. His chin rested atop her head. The sun stretched long shadows across the grass, and stillness settled over them, soft and deep.
“You did frighten me.” Persephone’s whisper came softly. “And when I came to know you in the Underworld, I became even more afraid.”
Hades stilled. His brow furrowed as he looked down at her. But when his mouth opened to speak, her fingertips touched his lips—a featherlight caress that silenced him.
Rising onto her toes, she lightly pressed her lips to the hollow of his throat. When she drew back, her eyes were misty.
“What I felt for you frightened me,” she confessed, each word drawn from deep. “It still does. But leaving you, being apart from you…” Her voice faltered against him, breaking like waves against the shore. “That terrifies me more.”
A sharp ache flared in his chest, warring with the warmth stirring there. It cleaved through him, even as it made him whole. He cupped her chin, tilting her gaze to his until her breath warmed his lips.
Persephone spoke again, and her voice was gentle as silk, eternal as stone. “For as long as stars burn in the heavens,” she vowed, “and long after their light is lost, I am yours.”
His lips fitted to her, a meeting of soul and flesh—fierce and tender, longing and love bound into one. Everything narrowed to the heat of her touch, the taste of her vow, the infinite thread weaving them together.
He pulled away, his breath steady despite the ache between them. His gaze held hers, unwavering, deep as the roots of the earth.
“The stars mean nothing to me,” he murmured. “Not when I have stood in the light of you.”
Reverent as a prayer, he touched her cheek with his fingertips.
“Where you are, I will be. And when you go, Persephone…” He exhaled slowly, the words heavy with devotion as vast as the Underworld. “I will wait. For eternity itself, if I must. Even when the world is dust and time is forgotten, I will find you. I will come for you, always.”
A tear slid down her cheek, but she smiled—quiet, softly radiant.
His queen.
His wife.
“Always,” she whispered back.
As she drew him down, her mouth finding his again, the earth sighed beneath them. The pomegranate tree stood, a silent witness—its roots entwined deep below, inseparable.
Epilogue
Sea spray whipped through Odysseus’s hair, tangling it into salt-stiffened curls. Overhead, seagulls wheeled, screeching like restless sea spirits.
He stood at the ship’s helm, steady despite the violent pitch of the waves, calloused hands firm on the railing. His eyes were fixed on the open water, but his thoughts were already leagues ahead.
Toward Ithaca.
Toward home.
