Page 131 of Where Darkness Bloomed
“But he is mortal no longer.”
The words slid over her skin like ice. She swallowed hard. “What do you mean?”
Hermes held her gaze calmly. “The one who entered the Underworld,” he said, “was Dionysus.”
Chapter 49
Cypress trees rose like solemn sentinels around Persephone, their dark limbs whispering in the dusk. The air had begun to soften into shadow, folding quietly around her as she walked through her husband’s grove, each step heavier than the last. Fatigue dragged at her limbs, her thoughts dulled by sleeplessness.
Worry had long banished any hope of rest. When her eyes did close, dreams came—haunting, urgent.
The goddess and her child, Achilles, disappearing into the cave of dark crystal. Always seeking, always beyond her grasp.
Thetis had visited the Underworld with her son. That much was certain. How she’d done it, Persephone could not say. But there, in the earth’s shadowed heart, something had shifted. Achilles’s fate had been altered, twisted from the path of mortal men.
The dream always ended too soon, its truth hovering just beyond reach. Still, she felt it with bone-deep certainty: the secret of Achilles lay hidden in the Underworld.
At the grove’s heart, Persephone knelt to the moss-carpeted earth, her fingers pressing into the dark loam.
A vine slowly unfurled—thin at first, then thickening as it crept along the ground. Heart-shaped leaves blossomed, tendrils twisting and curling. Tiny green buds formed, then opened into pale flowers. As the petals withered and fell, clusters of burgundy grapes swelled in their place, ripening.
Persephone plucked a cluster, then stood. Holding her hand out, she squeezed, crushing the fruit until juice bled through her fingers, falling in decadent ruby drops to the earth.
“Dionysus,” she whispered. “Hear me.”
For a heartbeat, all was still.
Then, a warm breeze swept through the trees. Warm and sweet, it stirred her hair and filled the air with the scent of rich wine.
Suddenly, he was there.
Dionysus.
Dark curls spilled over his brow, half-tamed by a careless hand, framing a face both beautiful and terrible. His eyes were midnight-dark and bright, sparkling with mirth and promising pleasure and ruin alike. His lips tipped faintly, a mouth made for laughter and seduction.
He was tall, lithe, masculine grace and sensuality carved from sun-warmed skin. A leopard skin draped his shoulders, the fur brushing his naked chest. A himation of indigo was fastened low about his hips, an afterthought.
“Fair Persephone.” His voice was a slow pour of wine, warm and languorous. “An unexpected honor.”
The grove seemed to lean toward him, drawn by the quiet gravity that rolled off him in waves, like the warmest notes of a lyre. The grass beneath his bare feet trembled with life, whispering a welcome.
Persephone inclined her head. “My lord, I seek your help.”
A flicker passed through his eyes—interest, touched with surprise.“Help?” he echoed, curiosity winding through his voice. “What aid could I offer the Underworld’s queen?”
After a pause, she said softly, “You journeyed to the Underworld once, while you were still mortal.”
At once, something in him stilled. The amusement in his wine-dark eyes dimmed, pulling inward. There was no mistaking the ancient memory that settled heavily behind his gaze.
“I did,” he replied, quieter now. “Many ages ago. I sought to rescue my mother.”
“Semele,” Persephone said gently.
He nodded once. “Zeus’s beloved.”
“You reached the Underworld from the mortal world?”
“I did,” he murmured. “Though I was too late.”
