Page 96 of Where Darkness Bloomed
His chin settled atop her head.
“Achilles,” he murmured, casting the name into the pool.
The city dissolved in ripples. Slowly, a new form took shape—a bronze-clad warrior kneeling beside a linen-wrapped body. His palm rested on the shroud, head bowed in grief that hollowed every line of his face.
“Wait for me, brother,” the warrior whispered raggedly to the corpse.
“Hector,” Hades commanded.
The water did not change. Behind her, he grew still.
Persephone’s gaze searched the pool. “Why does it not change?”
“Because we are already looking at Hector, son of Priam. Commander of Troy.”
Her eyes dropped to the figure beneath Achilles’s hand. “He is...”
“Dead,” Hades confirmed, his voice like stone. His lips brushed her hair as he added, “I must leave you tonight.”
Tightness coiled in her chest, but she forced it down. “Where will you go?”
“Olympus.” A frown weighted his voice. “Zeus has called a war council.”
A prickle of fear danced across her skin. She turned to him. “War?”
He nodded. “The mortals of Troy and Greece have long been at war. Achilles”—he gestured to the pool—“fights for the Greeks under the high king, Agamemnon. Hector led the Trojans.”
In the water, Achilles still knelt over Hector’s lifeless body. His fingerswere fisted in the shroud, shoulders shaking. Bitter tears carved lines down his brutal face.
Persephone watched, her brow furrowed. “Why does Olympus care for their conflict?”
“It began with us.” His voice was grim, heavy. “Years ago, Thetis, the sea nymph, was wed to Peleus, a mortal king of Phthia. To prevent strife at their wedding, Eris, goddess of discord, was not invited. Angered by the slight, she sent a golden apple as a gift to the fairest goddess in attendance, causing a contest among them.”
Understanding lit Persephone’s eyes. “And they fought for it.”
He inclined his head. “Hera, Athena, and Aphrodite. Each offered bribes to the judge, Paris, a prince of Troy. They swore to grant him great wisdom, a seat of power, glory. But Aphrodite promised him Helen, the most beautiful among mortal women.”
At once, her mother’s words, sharp and cautious, came back to her. Of men and gods who claimed, who took without care for the cost.
“She was already married,” Persephone whispered.
“To Menelaus, king of Sparta,” he confirmed. “She was abducted by Paris as his prize. When Troy refused her return, the Greeks marched to reclaim her. The war has burned ever since, drawing in more kingdoms. But the destruction...”
His eyes drifted to the dead man again. “It grows too vast. Too costly.”
Persephone’s heart quickened. “But if so many go to war, many will die... will they not?”
“Countless already have. This realm bears witness to the mortals’ brutality.” Hades’s expression turned flinty. “But many gods have also chosen sides. If Zeus has called a council, worse is yet to come.”
She was silent. What he spoke of—it was staggering, unfamiliar. War. Ruin. Bloodshed. Savagery she had never known.
In Eleusis, life had followed the steady rhythm of the earth. There had been grief, yes—but it came softly, as a natural turning. She’d mourned beside fires, sung for the newly departed, watched old men drift into sleep surrounded by those who loved them. She had danced at harvest with girls just grown, braided flowers in their hair, held the hands of children in spring. Death had been another rite—something to be witnessed, sacred and calm.
But nothing like this.
Now her mind raced with images: women clutching infants as flamesdevoured their homes, children scattered, blood soaking the soil she had once coaxed into bloom.
Her hands trembled at her sides. “If the gods take sides, wouldn’t they move to protect the innocent? The women, the children?”
