Page 24 of Where Darkness Bloomed
Zeus followed, leaning against a marble column as he waited for him to speak.
“I’ve come to speak of our oath,” Hades said at last, his eyes on the constellations burning overhead. “The vow we swore after war with the Titans.”
At that, Zeus sobered instantly. “The old law,” he said slowly. “None may interfere with the Fates.”
“Yes.” Hades turned, facing him fully. “Yet, what of your daughter with Demeter?”
A beat. Then—
“Kore.”
“She remains with Demeter,” Hades continued evenly, “though the Fates bound her to me long ago.”
Silence settled between them, deep and heavy.
At length, Zeus inclined his head. “I do not deny it.”
“Then will you support my claim to her?”
Zeus’s brow flicked up. “She has agreed?”
Hades thought of her face beneath the solstice moon—her eyes lit with wonder, breath shallow as her emerald gaze searched his face.
“She has not refused.”
Zeus gave a dry huff that might have passed for a cough. He ran a hand over his short beard, contemplative. “You have no quarrel with me. Kore is a lesser goddess—the goddess of spring, beloved by mortals.” He studied Hades for a long moment, then rolled a shoulder in indifferent assent. “If you desire her as your wife... then she is yours.”
A pause followed. When he spoke again, his tone shifted—growing solemn, echoing the old rites. “As her sire, I grant her to you in marriage. If she will have you.”
The words rang like a seal, spoken and done.
Hades inclined his head, masking the unrest that shifted beneath. “You have my thanks,” he said quietly. Then, after a pause, “What of Demeter?”
Zeus grimaced. In the distance, thunder echoed the gesture. “Of all the immortals, she is the most stubborn. And Kore is her only child.” He glanced sidelong at Hades, warning in his eyes. “You’ve witnessed her wrath. Rain falls in torrents, or not at all. Crops flourish or else wither in blight.”
It was true.
Hades had seen it many times—floods of souls arriving on the banks of the River Styx during years of famine or drought. Mortals starving as the earth offered no mercy.
A grim testament to Demeter’s volatile nature.
“Nevertheless,” he replied firmly. “I will have her.”
Zeus folded his arms, his expression turning shrewd. “Then take her,” he offered simply. “Marry her away from Demeter’s sight.”
Hades stilled, absorbing the weight of his words. “Do you think that wise?” he asked at last.
A sardonic smile tipped across Zeus’s mouth. “None will interfere witha lawful marriage, lest they invite Hera’s wrath. If the vows are sworn and consummated, Demeter will have no recourse.”
Hades stood silently.
He had tasted Demeter’s fury once before, for this very transgression. Time had done nothing to temper her. In this, she would never yield. He was certain of that.
But the image of her daughter burned in his mind. Eyes soft as spring leaves. A cascade of blooms rising at her bare feet, dark hair spilling over the shoulder bared by her chiton. The way she had tilted her head into his touch. Her quiet power, born of the earth.
The Fates had not erred.
They had entwined their threads long ago, his with hers. She had been destined to stand at his side, to walk with him through the turning of the ages. And yet she had been hidden away, kept beneath her mother’s shadow, buried beneath roles and titles not her own.
