Page 15

Chapter

Fourteen

P ersephone

Aethon won’t look at 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 looks into me.

“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.

To soothe him, I stroke his strong neck. Peering up into his glassy onyx eyes, I ask, “You're not jealous, are you, boy?”

A hot puff of air blows my hair out of my face. I bite back a chuckle. “Okay, maybe you are jealous.” He sighs a horsey sigh of pure drama. I fight the smirk that plays at my lips. “I’m sorry. I haven't replaced you; you know?”

Another hot puff, and this time I don’t bother restraining my laugh. My heavy heart feels just a little lighter.

I look to Hecate. “I’d love a ride. Will you ride Alastor?”

Hecate’s pale face pales. “Absolutely not. I'll ride Nycteus.”

“Oh…”

At my frown, Hecate explains, “Alastor is Hades’ horse. The only other soul he would ever allow on his back is you .”

My eyes flick to Alastor to see that Hecate is not at all wrong.

There is no reception in his eyes that tells either of us that he would welcome Hecate on his back. Me however…

I think I could convince him.

I won't, though. There’s something about his relationship with Hades that feels sacred. I don’t wish to come between them. I am perfectly happy with Aethon—unless I’m riding with Hades, of course.

I ride Aethon beside Hecate and Nycteus along the shore of the Marsh.

The water is harrowing, of that much I’m aware.

It’s not a lake any soul would dare swim.

Even the Gods who call the Underworld home don’t venture into the waters of the Marsh.

Apart from Charon, the waters of the Marsh are entirely avoided.

But there is no denying that even though they are treacherous, they are beautiful.

The Marsh is so still, the surface looks like inky green glass.

Surrounding the entirety of the Marsh is the inky blue surge of the River Styx.

In the center, reachable only by Charon’s black boat is a patch of land inhabited by him alone.

The midnight green grass surrounding the home with its bone white columns faces the direction of the sea.

It is partially concealed by the tall trees drenched in midnight blue that tower over the small abode.

And stretching into the still waters is a wooden dock in which Charon’s boat will rest.

The boat is not currently resting. It cuts through the waters with a lethal grace, carrying souls between the shallow walls of the boat as Charon stands, cloaked in reaper black at the bow.

The vision is a picture worthy of paint.

The shallow walls of the boat swooping elegantly into the high curled stempost that matches the sternpost. It reminds me of something plucked straight out of Viking lore as it sails in the direction opposite the sea in which we travel.

Aethon’s strong body carries my weight, settling me to the core.

There is a sweet stability to riding him.

Especially now that my memories are restored, and I can call upon the bond of the past. There had been many nights I’d taken to riding with him along the paths that curled throughout the Underworld.

He’d ridden hard, my heart galloping in time with the pounding of his hooves into the earth as I loosed the pain of my broken heart into the ether of the Underworld.

Riding had once, long ago, been therapy for me.

And I've been unsettled for weeks now. Since the sinkhole. Since the carvings in the stone. Since finding out I am pregnant.

I can’t escape the feeling that something is coming for me. Hunting me. A future I cannot hide from, no matter how I might try.

I feel like a sitting duck in dark water. I am helpless to swim away from what reaches up from the depths. I am helpless to flee the teeth that will cut into flesh and bone, dragging me beneath to a fate I will inevitably be forced to soon face.

But right now, for the first time since all that, I feel safe. I feel stable.

I pull in a deep breath that swells my lungs before releasing it in a long, audible sigh that draws Hecate’s attention. I don't miss the curl of her lips, small as that sharp twitch of her lips is.

She clucks her tongue and Nycteus slows his pace. Aethon follows suit and we’re soon strolling the shore of the Marsh at a pace that is leisurely and peaceful.

Hecate asks softly, “How have you been feeling?”

I don’t look at her. “Fine. Why?”

“I know human women often struggle with pregnancy.”

I arch a brow. “Have you had much experience with pregnant human women?”

Hecate shakes her head. “I can't say that I have.” Her eyes slide sideways to me. “But I can say that I am a very powerful witch. One of the first, in fact. But I cannot sense the life— the lives —that live in you.”

Her eyes study the frown that pinches between my brow. “Should you feel them?”

She nods soberly. “I should.”

My hand moves from where I’d been toying with Aethon’s deep black mane, something I recall from my ancient, new-to-me memories, that he adores—to cradle my belly. “What does it mean then, that you can't feel them?”

She lifts a shoulder. “I can't say for sure, but I think the Moirai have cloaked this pregnancy. I'm not the only one who will be incapable of sensing them, Persephone.”

The peace in my heart quickly vanishes to be replaced with something ugly and tense. “Okay…?”

“I've been thinking about the drawings on the walls of Hydra’s sinkhole that you spoke of,” Hecate tells me.

“I've been thinking much about the future you predicted while your soul lived in the deep of the Underworld. I believe there is a reason your daughters are now cloaked. A reason your pregnancy is cloaked.”

I don’t realize I’ve been holding my breath until silence sits between us. My lungs ache when I release it, gasping, “What do you think the reason could be?”

Hecate’s swirling grey eyes lock on mine. There is grave warning in the depths, warning I know I must heed.

“I think you should be careful who you entrust this secret to.” Shivers erupt across my skin.

Aethon whinnies, sensing my distress. “There will be those who would happily destroy them before they ever have a chance to be. If what you saw on the walls is correct, and I suspect it is, then you will be in grave danger very soon, my sweet friend.”

Aethon stiffens beneath me. Under Hecate, Nycteus’ muscles coil tightly beneath his sleek black hair.

“You think I am in danger?”

“I think you will soon be in danger. That you must be careful who you trust.”

“But…”

“I think you need to be prepared for this danger, Persephone.” Her eyes close slowly before reopening just as slowly.

As though she, too, has been bestowed a vision.

Tension seeps from her as she says, “I think you need to be prepared, for this danger you will soon face is not a danger that Hades, as much as he will try, will be able to protect you from.”