Page 72 of Where Darkness Bloomed (Of Stars and Salt #1)

Hades stood in his throne room, waiting.

A moment later, Hermes materialized, his expression grim. “He comes.”

Hades gave a single nod. “Let him.”

The air grew heavy. A mighty crack of lightning struck the stone floor with earth-shattering force. Steam hissed in the air.

Zeus appeared, his eyes cold.

“Brother.” His voice rolled like a storm. “Where is your wife?”

Hades ignored the question. “What brings you?”

Zeus scoffed. “I forbade interference in Troy. Persephone defied me, guiding Apollo’s hand against Achilles.”

“Did his death change the city’s fate?” Hades asked, steadily holding his gaze. “Look to the riverbank—all of Troy lies there. Apollo acted too late.”

The folds of Zeus’s midnight himation crackled, the air sparking. His eyes lit with same storm-fed brilliance, and he growled, “It matters not. She disobeyed my decree, as did Apollo.”

“She is not yours to command.”

Zeus’s jaw clenched. “I am her sire.”

“And she is my wife,” Hades replied evenly. “My equal, a ruler to this realm at my side.”

Tense silence stretched between them.

“She was born of Olympus, subject to me,” Zeus said at last.

Hades tilted his head. “Yet she chose otherwise when she ate of the Underworld,” he said. “She is bound here by her own will, to me. The sovereign queen of this kingdom.”

Zeus swore under his breath and turned away. His gaze fell on the Stygian fountain, its dark waters rippling, the soft trickling echoing in the stillness .

“What did she eat?” he finally muttered.

“Pomegranate seeds.”

Zeus exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Fitting,” he said dryly. When he turned back, his eyes glittered with accusation. “And what of your neutrality? You do not take sides in mortal affairs.”

Hades paused. Then he spoke the truth.

“My loyalty is to her. Always to her.”

“Then bargain with me, brother.” The words carried a demand, a challenge. “I will overlook Persephone’s defiance... for a favor.”

“What favor?” he asked, eyeing Zeus shrewdly.

“Bring a mortal to the Underworld.”

Scorn flickered across Hades’s features. “Thanatos is guided by the Fates,” he said sharply. “You know this.”

“This task is not for Thanatos,” Zeus replied tersely. “I ask you.”

The quiet became weighted.

Hades studied him, eyes narrowing. “Who?”

“Helen of Troy.”

Dark fire ignited in Hades, crackling through his veins. At the edge of the hall, shadows stirred, twisting restlessly. “Has the world not bled enough for her?” he demanded, his voice cold, laced with fury. “My kingdom is overflowing with the dead slain in her name.”

“More will die if you refuse,” Zeus snapped. “Menelaus’s ship was blown of course by a storm. He has yet to return home, and Sparta is overrun with suitors seeking her hand. It balances on the edge of ruin.”

Hades loosed a savage curse that blistered the air, his temper fraying. “Then speak to Poseidon,” he gritted through clenched teeth. “Ships lost. Soldiers drowned. That is his wrath, not mine. Why come to me?”

“Because I would not have her destroyed,” Zeus barked. “I would have her protected.” He stepped closer. “Take Helen as you once took Persephone. Remove her from the mortal world and shelter her here.”

The air tightened like a bowstring.

Hades’s face turned to stone. “The Underworld already has its queen,” he replied, the words frigid as ice. “I will not—”

“No,” Zeus interrupted swiftly. “She has suffered enough at the hands of men and gods. Born of Leda, sired by me, a child of Olympus who has endured far more than most. Coveted. Stolen. Claimed as a prize since she was hardly more than a child.”

Rare regret lined his features. “Let her torment finally end. ”

His gaze drifted past Hades, toward the shadows still gathered in the corners of the hall. “This calamity began with our interference,” he murmured. “Let us end it.”

Hades was silent. The ice in his gaze thawed slightly, but did not vanish.

“If I bring her here,” he said at last, “how am I to judge her? When I am the one who cuts her life above short?”

“Wasn’t there another?” Zeus’s brow arched. “A life shaped by divine and mortal hands. Are they so different?” he asked. “How did you judge Achilles?”

“He waits by the river.”

Zeus bent his head, a rare moment of deference. “Then perhaps their fates may be reconciled.”

Another pause.

Hades crossed his arms, fingers tapping against his bicep as he considered. Then he asked, “What of Demeter?”

Weariness settled over Zeus. “Persephone returned to you, as I swore she would,” he replied gruffly. “By her own actions, she has bound herself to this kingdom. But if no compromise is found, I fear the mortals will suffer Demeter’s wrath again.”

Anger stirred again in Hades, rising like smoke from a dying fire. But he reined it, shaking his head.

“My wife is gentle-hearted,” he replied. “I will not watch her grieve the world again.”

Zeus’s brow lifted. “Then you’ll bargain with Demeter?”

“No.” His reply was swift. “My terms are final. Persephone will live in the Underworld for six months, then above for six months.” His gaze lifted to the throne where it sat on the dais. “During her absence, I will hold this realm in both of our names—just as she holds the living.”

Zeus nodded, though doubt lingered in his gaze. “A fair balance, if Demeter can be restrained from destroying the earth in her absence.”

“Persephone will temper her mother while she’s above. She will ensure there is harvest enough for them to endure.”

The shadows thickened, growing inky black. The chamber darkened, and Hades’s voice turned low, hard. “If Demeter dares protest, then she may descend to the Underworld and face me herself. But I will not offer more than this.”

Zeus’s mouth flattened. But he gave a single, curt nod. “So be it. ”

A searing flash of light split the chamber, warring with the shadows that reared in answer. Zeus was gone, vanishing into lightning.

Stillness settled over the throne room once more. Hades exhaled, his gaze still lingering over the solitary throne on the dais. Ancient, solemn, always waiting.

Soft footsteps stirred the silence, and his eyes shifted to the entrance.

Persephone stood in the archway—quiet warmth framed by dark marble. Her emerald eyes sought his.

Without a word, Hades extended his hand. She came to him, her fingers slipping into his.

Her face tilted up to his. “What weighs on you?”

His gaze wandered her—the beauty, the open softness and fierce light that mingled there. Stunning. The ages could pass him by as he stood there, drinking in the sight of her, and he would count it no loss.

“Zeus asks me to bring Helen of Troy to the Underworld,” he said, brow furrowing. “Her husband’s ship is lost, and suitors are tearing Sparta apart. I was thinking of her fate.”

Sorrow rose in Persephone’s eyes. Her gaze left him, her thoughts folding inward.

Releasing her hand, Hades framed her shoulders, his thumbs brushing lightly over her collarbones. “What would you have me do?”

She didn’t speak at once. Her gaze drifted, as if seeking the shape of justice in the quiet hall.

“Helen has suffered much,” she said finally. Words of quiet mourning. “Her life has been devoured by the desires of others. War. Betrayal. Burdens she never asked to bear.”

Hades said nothing. He watched her steadily, listening.

“Grant her what the world has never given her.” She looked up at him, eyes clear. “Let her rest.”

He was still for a long moment, holding the weight of her words in silence. Then, slowly, he nodded.

“So be it.”