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Persephone

Aethon won’t lookat me. His black eyes, wounded with the sting of betrayal, are fixed on the wall, the ceiling—anywhere but me.

My shoulders fall as I sigh, plopping down on a stool as a whisp of black catches my eye. I turn to see Hecate moving in her oddly motionless way across the floor of the stable. There is color in her skin now, although she is still notably pale.

Goosebumps rise over my skin as her eyes settle on me. Her gaze is always deeper than surface, probing beneath the skin.

I no longer cower under it, however.

Still, it’s no question Hecate sees more than expected. I wonder what she sees now when she looksintome.

“You’ve been keeping to yourself.” Hecate moves to Aethon, stroking down the long stretch of his muscular neck. When he leans into her touch, I have a hard time not letting my scoff slip loose.

I’ve been in here for the last hour trying to earn his forgiveness. He’s done nothing but snub me.

“I think I’m processing.”

“There’s a lot to process.” Her eyes of swirling grey probe mine. “How long have you been here?”

“A while.” She strokes Aethon again. Again, he presses into her touch. “I don’t think he’s ever going to forgive me.”

“He was worried about you.” Her voice is smooth. When she shifts to give her gaze to Aethon, her hair moves as though it is floating through water, not air. It’s uncanny, but the longer I am here, the more I’m growing accustomed to all the weird.

“I—I was pulled to Tartarus that night.” I’m not sure if I’m telling her or Aethon. Either way, I’m begging them both to understand. To forgive me. “It was deep inside me, the pull. I couldn’t deny it. And I was afraid that Hades would catch me before I could ease whatever it was that tugged at me.” I shake my head, fixing my gaze on my hands in my lap. “Hades kept warning me away from Tartarus, but it was more than curiosity. It was need that drove me. I can’t explain it—but the pull was bone deep. I couldn’t have ignored it. It would have torn me to shreds.”

There is silence, and then I hear Aethon shuffling closer. He dips his head, his nose bumping against my hands in my lap. I suck in a rattle of breath.

I think my heart weeps. A little sob breaks free, and I lean forward to press my lips to the soft spot between his black eyes.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him honestly. “I’m sorry I betrayed you like I did. I’m sorry I left you.”

Aethon bumps me with his nose, saying so much with that single touch. “Please forgive me?”

I get another bump, and Hecate floats closer. “He forgives you, Persephone.”

Pushing up to stand, I throw my arms around Aethon’s strong neck. Against his sleek black fur, I murmur, “Thank you.”

Outside, I hear the strength of powerful wings pushing through air. Hydra is soaring high in the night sky, a jewel of sangria glittering under starlight. Flying is her favorite thing to do now that she’s not bound by her cursed wounds to the healing waters of her sinkhole.

The sound of sharp wings cutting through the night fades into the distance, and my gaze finds Hecate’s. Her deep red lips curl in a smile I am sure she means to be friendly, but it is entirely too sharp to be any such thing.

I'm not confident she is accustomed to having friends. At least not friends who aren't like Hades. Who aren’t bursting with power and darkness.

I've seen Hades with the others. He's impossibly serious, even as he’s kind. He doesn't give to them the same joy he gives so freely to me.

Hecate stops close to me, her scent of smoke and whipped berries curling around me.

Her sharp red smile widens. “Do you wish to ride with me, Persephone?”

“Ride?” I ask, surprised. I don’t know why, but the last place I imagine Hecate is atop a horse.

Her head knocks just slightly to the side. “Now that Aethon has forgiven you, why not?”

Aethon stands taller, as though telling me he'd like to ride. Hecate’s smile turns into a laugh. It's a husky sound that fits the rest of her perfectly.

“You've been doing all your riding with Hydra since you returned from the sinkhole. If I was a betting goddess—” Her grey eyes narrow. “Which I'm not—but if I was, I would bet that he is jealous.”

Aethon stiffens.