Page 28

Chapter

Twenty-Five

P ersephone

The Underworld is darkly exquisite. Nothing and no one can deny such a claim.

But Olympus is the other side of that darkly seductive coin. And it is exquisite in an entirely different way. Bright, light, and gilded gold.

Disappointingly, we have arrived in a room.

No— room is not the right word for this space. I've never seen anything quite like it. It is huge—Coliseum huge and castle grand. It is far grander a space than I’ve ever stood. Words escape the enormity of it.

I feel like a speck on the floor of white marble that gleams with veins of glittering gold.

High white marble walls arch into a single peak in the center from which a starburst is cut into the stone.

It is aligned perfectly to pull the golden sun that sits high in a blue cloudless sky into the room.

Chiseled into the white marble are scenes of cherub angels and tender hands, horse drawn carriages and soft gazes. Carved into the walls is a feeling of love that leaches into the room, permeating the very air.

This realm was carved of love, of that I am certain. There is a familiarity in me that I can’t ignore as ancient memories rise to the surface of my mind. I've been here before, but I've never felt for this space, this realm, what I feel now.

I don't want to love it, but there is something deep inside me, rooted into the pit of my belly that is bursting with love.

It bleeds into every part of me, for there is beauty in this realm that even the evil that hides, wearing a mask of love, slips through.

But evil was never meant to thrive here.

It was not invited, and the takeover has not been kind.

It has been hostile, and the price has been a world of pain.

The overtaking of this realm sprung wounds that bleeds into the living realm, infecting the souls meant to live there as it infected the Gods and Goddesses who sought a life here.

Chaos created this realm as she created all the others, and she outdid herself. Twisting vines of gilded gold shimmer in the rays of sunlight that peek through the starburst in the ceiling.

They dance like tiny fireflies glimmering across the white marble floor. Specks of dust high in the air hover golden, like fairy dust sprinkled on magic.

Everything in Olympus was crafted to radiate warmth.

But trapped beneath all the warmth and all the wonder is a love and a purity that should have never been contained by the evil it has been trapped by for centuries. The evil of a hungry and devious God. A false God.

For no true God wishes ill upon the people he crafts. No true God injects such pain in his subjects, as Zeus has injected in mankind.

Humanity has been deceived.

We have been tricked into worshiping a terrible God who feats on energy and thrives on pain. He is a harvester of hope.

My heart quickens with a need to decimate Zeus, the God who stands clothed in shimmering robes of gold that sweep the floor around his sandaled feet.

There is no denying he is breathtaking. I shouldn’t be surprised, really. He is, after all, Hades’ brother.

His hair is long and curled and stark white. His skin smooth, his eyes blue and flawless.

He radiates the perception of good and purity, but his heart is cracked and bleeding black.

Hatred oozes inside me, and I have to look away for fear he might see it.

Still, his image is burned behind my eyes.

There is no question as to why Zeus is worshiped as God. There is no confusion as to how his image is the one that paints the picture of the Heavenly Father in the minds of so many.

There is no question as to how he has deceived those who kneel to the practice of religion, time and again throughout history.

His image is entirely ethereal.

Where Hades’ God's Form is a thing of nightmares, a form I sense that he is ashamed of, that he hides—a form of torment he cages away lest someone might fear him, Zeus is a mask of wonder.

He wears his God’s Form proudly, and I think constantly .

Massive white feathered wings rise high above his head, standing— goodness ! The tip of his wings must stand around ten feet high. The feathered tips graze the floor at his feet.

I can only imagine the breadth they would span if he pushed them outward, stretched them far. It would be hard not to fall to my knees. To not succumb to a lifetime of biblical conditioning. To believe that I was in the presence of something truly wondrous, truly ethereal. Truly heavenly .

But I am not. Deep down in my heart of hearts, wrapped in the intuition the Moirai planted deep within my soul, I know .

I know that I am in the presence of nothing more than pretty falsity.

Zeus spreads his arms wide, as though to welcome me into the circle of a loving embrace. As if.

When I don’t move, don’t run to him, a smile I am sure he means to look genuine overcomes his handsome face. I see evil through the crack of it, and beside me, Ares stiffens.

“Daughter,” Zeus’ voice booms, echoing off the vaulted walls that surround us.

The word crawls over my skin, the title cooling my blood.

I am not his daughter .

I want to spit that fact at him. To drive the blade of it into his ego, but I force myself instead to smile softly and calmly. Placatingly. Like the little human he thinks I am.

He doesn't know that I know the truth behind their dirty lies.

He doesn't know that I know Demeter schemed with Uranus to create me. That together they abused Hyperion’s body and mind to steal the seed from which my soul was able to sprout.

That they gave the credit of all that I am to Zeus.

They don't know that the Underworld knows what they've done. They think they have the upper hand. They think they're winning .

“Come closer,” Zeus urges, that sickeningly sweet smile never wavering from his face. “Let me look at you.”

I only take one step, before I feel Leuce’s hand on my arm, staying me.

At my back, Hydra is no longer small. No longer drenched in the scent of Hecate’s magic.

She is a formidable beast, and even as Zeus pretends that he can't see her, that she is not here, that she is of no worry to him—the fact he won't look at her tells the truth of the discomfort that plagues him.

Demeter takes a single step forward at the sight of Leuce’s hand on my body. Her lip is curled, and she can't hide the disgust in her eyes. “Persephone, you are the daughter of a Goddess. You do not let a nymph touch you in such a way.”

Leuce’s hand spasms on my arm, and I lift my other hand to touch hers lovingly for all to see.

“This nymph is named Leuce. You will call her by her name. I am here as your guest, honoring an ancient deal between the Underworld and Olympus. Leuce is my friend, and my guard, and my guest . She goes where I go, and she has every right to touch me.”

Demeter’s jaw pops as her teeth snap together.

There is a vicious glare in Zeus’ eyes as they connect with Demeter, but it is gone as quick as it came.

His laughter is boisterous and entirely out of place.

“There is no need to be tense. Demeter has unpleasant history with the nymph, is all.”

“Leuce,” I correct him.

His jaw hardens, but he nods. “Yes, yes. Leuce.” Zeus clears his throat. “As I was saying, Demeter, your mother, has history?—”

“She tried to turn me into a tree,” Leuce interrupts him. By the ice that fractures the blue in his eyes, and the way Ares tenses, I don’t think that happens often.

Demeter’s fists curl into tight balls. “You welcomed yourself into my daughter's marriage bed, you whore.”

I pat Leuce’s hand twice before shrugging from her hold. The hypocrisy of Gods is astounding.

I step closer to Demeter. One step, two steps.

My heart is a thunderous roar in my chest. I lift my chin and tell the woman who birthed my soul, who crafted it and schemed to mold it into something she thought she could control eternally, “She never invited herself to my marriage bed. I did that all by myself.”

Demeter cringes away from me. Horror and disgust flash in her wheat-colored eyes. “You?—”

“Oh, yes. I am very close to Leuce and Minthe. I will remain close to them.” I smile sweetly, driving the blade of my point home in her hideous, scarred heart. “Forever.”

Zeus shuffles between the two of us. He laughs, but there's tension to it now that he can't hide. “Mothers and daughters.” He chuckles again. “Daughters are always testing mothers, aren't they, dear?”

For the first time, my eyes drift to the woman who stands in the corner of the room.

She is beautiful, draped in the same gold from which covers Zeus’ body.

Her hair is a shocking fall of white, braided thickly over one shoulder.

Weaved into the twist of it are threads of gold decorated in crystals that radiate all the colors of a peacock.

The delicate gold crown on her head twists into the shape of a lion’s face, the mane a flare of sharply cut peacock-colored crystals that burst in the cut of a lily.

The light spilling in through the ceiling catches the prisms of peacock colors, casting it like a halo over her white hair and toga.

Her eyes are a blue that rivals the cloudless sky, and her lips are stained a soft rose petal pink.

Her skin is not pale, but tinted with the golden hues of one that has lived an eternity under the sun, unweathered even as it is stained by the shine of its golden rays.

I don’t need to be introduced to the Goddess to know that she is Hera, Zeus’ wife and Ares’ mother.

Slowly, regally, she lifts her chin and nods once. “Yes, daughters have a way of challenging their mothers.”

It's hard not to scowl at the lot of them.

“Well, she tried to kill me not long ago.” My eyes cut to Demeter. “Didn't you, Demeter?”

“Don't be dramatic, Persephone.” Demeter rolls her eyes. “You have a power inside you, and I simply wanted to unlock it.”

My heart skips in my chest. The memory of Addison on the floor of the ancient ruins… “You killed my friend.”

She rolls her eyes again and folds her arms over her chest, but she's vibrating with emotion she can’t conceal. I can't say that I'm not happy I've poked at her sore spot.

Now that I found it, I want to dig my finger in it and twist.

Really, I don't know when I became so vicious. So angry and hateful. Maybe it's a collision of an ancient life and the revelations of this life I currently live.

I am about to speak again, to cut into the hateful Goddess when Hera speaks.

“Ares, why don’t you take our guest to her rooms?

Instruct her on the ways of our golden realm.

” She moves closer, her hands folded pleasantly at her belly.

“You have most assuredly come into yourself, Persephone. But there is a time and place to loose your tongue. Now,” she clucks hers, “is not that time.” She straightens her shoulders, hitting me with a smile that is so bright, it’s chilling.

“I look forward to seeing you at dinner. Until then, welcome to Olympus.”