For the Love of Hades (The Loves of Olympus) (14 page)

 But what they, she and Hades, might share… it would be wonderful between them. She must convince him that her heart was, and always would be, his. She needed time to show him what their love could be.

He watched her carefully.

She let her gaze wander over his features, adding, “Does time heal loneliness?”

His eyes widened, his jaw tightened. “Have you been lonely?”

“I have not been alone. I have you with me,” she smiled as she spoke. “And I am thankful to have you…” She blinked, embarrassed. “I mean… I suppose… I have kept you from your responsibilities too long.”

He said nothing, though his eyes bore into hers, burning intensely.

She sucked in a breath, speaking rapidly, “It is selfish of me to stay any longer, I know. But, I
would
stay. Let me stay here, Hades, please. My wound is healed, but I am not strong yet. I, too, will be well… in time. It is peaceful here.”

It was the truth. She’d felt such peace only when she was in the meadows or trees, alone with their presence and none other. Being here, with him, was so much more. Yes, she was peaceful, but she felt alive.

Because of him.

She knew he’d brought her here to keep her safe. That he’d had no choice in the matter. And perhaps Hermes’ visit indicated he
wanted
her gone. She searched his face, desperate for some sign from him.

She was not ready to give up, not yet. There were times when he yielded to her. In those moments of softness, she saw warmth in his gaze. She suspected it was more than just the desires of the flesh… And yet, if he would not give her his heart, would he give her his body?

She blinked, letting her eyes travel the line of his mouth. It was pressed tight, his lovely lips a hard line. Could she be happy with that? A joining of the flesh, but no more? She blinked, tearing her eyes from his mouth.

He murmured, “You are welcome here until you wish to leave.”

Then you will have to make me leave, for I would stay at your side, as we are now, forever.

Hades leaned against the arched doorframe, too pleased with the sight before him. Persephone slept, the even rise and fall of her chest offering him comfort. Her copper hair spilled over the kline’s pillows, blown gently by the evening breeze. He moved to her side, his fingers light upon her cheek. The absence of her, the touch of her skin and sound of her breath, plagued him nightly. And though he knew it was wrong, he could not stop himself from touching her now.

How soft her skin was. Was she too cool? He turned, heading for his chambers. He would bring some furs to warm her.

“My lord Hades,” Aeacus called out, his footsteps heavy in the otherwise silent room.

Hades raised his hand, pointing at Persephone. Aeacus nodded, pressing his lips together. He placed the scrolls upon the table and tapped them with his fingers.

“Much to report?” Hades asked softly, leading Aeacus into the hall and away from the balcony.

“None of interest,” Aeacus said. “The end of war brings a lull to your judges’ chambers.”

“Enjoy such idle times as you can. Man seems too eager to find their next conquest.”

Aeacus nodded, though his eyes returned to Persephone.

“Yes?” Hades asked, following Aeacus’ gaze.

“Is she well?”

“She seems to be.” Hades could not stop himself from lingering upon her face, relaxed in sleep.

“I have seen you walking together. Something she’d not been capable of when she first arrived here.”

Hades nodded. It was too soon to think of what she’d endured without rage and helplessness consuming him. But seeing her as she was, at ease, helped.

He turned, unrolling the scroll and spreading it flat upon the table. His eyes scanned the list.

“My lord Hades?” her voice was soft.

“Within,” he answered. He would not go to her, he would not further unman himself before Aeacus.

She joined them, smiling at Aeacus with warmth. As was her way.

“Good evening, Goddess.” Aeacus bowed low.

“Is it?” she asked, her brows rising.

To Hades’ eyes, she looked fragile, and lovely. He turned back to the scroll as she asked, “Have I slept the day away?”

“Sleep is best,” Aeacus offered, “when recovering from illness or injury. Or so my wife believed.”

He was aware of her every move. She moved closer to him, to his side. “Was she right?”

“I believe she was. Though I knew better than to praise her too regularly, for fear of increasing her self-importance.” Aeacus sighed, sounding amused. “But she was a good wife. A devoted mother.”

“And were you a noble husband?” Persephone asked. But Hades saw the panic on her face and the color on her cheeks. She did not wait for Aeacus’ answer, asking instead, “And these are your accounting?”

“Every soul’s story is recorded.” Aeacus paused. “Life’s deeds are weighed, each small thing tipping the scales one way or the other. So such records are necessary–”

“I believe you’ve called them tedious on more than one occasion,” Hades interrupted.

“Oh, they are that,” Aeacus assured him.

“But necessary,” Persephone prompted.

“You were blessed with Olympus’ favor,” Hades said.

Aeacus nodded.

“Tell me how, Aeacus,” Persephone urged. “Please. I’m very fond of stories. I would be delighted, and honored, to hear yours.”

Hades saw the indecision upon Aeacus’ face. When Aeacus glanced his way, Hades nodded his approval. “It is a good story, Aeacus. One worthy of being told.” He was aware of Persephone’s eyes upon him, but fixed his attention on the scroll once more. He’d been too unguarded in Aeacus’ presence. It was unfitting behavior for the one ruling the Underworld.

“It helps to be one of Zeus’ halflings,” Aeacus laughed.

Hades smiled. “It did not hurt.”

“He is… Zeus is your father?” Persephone asked, startled.

“Mine.” Aeacus nodded. “And many others.”

Hades glanced at Persephone. She looked surprised by this news. Perhaps Demeter had not revealed all of Olympus’ affairs to her young daughter. And yet, he knew Demeter had no qualms painting Poseidon a villain. For that, he was grateful.

“My mother was briefly favored by Zeus,” Aeacus began. “In that time, I was born. Hoping to see me safe from Hera’s fits of jealousy, I was placed on an island. Zeus named it after my mother…”

“Aegina?” Persephone asked.

Aeacus nodded. “And my father… Zeus, gave me people to govern. And companionship. It was a blessed time. I had a wise wife at my side and three able sons to help my rule. But they were restless boys, frequently given to pointless rivalries and competition. My youngest, Phocus, was the peacemaker.”

Hades watched her face. With each word, she grew more entranced by Aeacus’ tale. He moved to her side, knowing this story was not one of good fortune alone.

“He was not only a skilled negotiator, he was an athlete as well.” Aeacus shook his head. “And his brothers could not bear the sight of him. The more capable Phocus became, the more bitter his brothers grew. Until they could stand it no more.”

Persephone leaned forward, her eyes round. “But Aeacus, surely…”

“But they did, my lady,” he mumbled, the ancient hurt still evident. “They killed their brother without thought to the consequences.”

Persephone shook her head, “You… you… I’m so sorry.”

Aeacus’ smile was genuine. “It was long ago, Goddess. The pain is but a dim memory now.” He nodded at the scroll on the table. “A memory likely forgotten if not for the scrolls Hades keeps.”

“But that is not the end of your story,” Hades encouraged.

“I banished them,” Aeacus went on.

“Your other sons?” Persephone asked.

Aeacus nodded. “Peleus and Telamon. I could not ignore the heinous crime they’d committed. Whether or not they were my sons, they would face justice.”

She nodded. “A thing easier said than done.”

Hades bit back a smile. She was quick to grasp Aeacus’ strength. “And yet, Aeacus prized justice above all else. And when he died, I hoped he would aid me in the governing of this realm. He carries the keys to the Underworld.” He pointed to the brass circlet tied to Aeacus’ belt. “They unlock not just Tartarus’ gate, but the records room as well. We must preserve our past to–”

“Remember our mistakes,” Persephone finished for him. “If we forget, we learn nothing. And these scrolls?” She stood, moving to the table and studying the parchment. “They hold the stories of all who live here?”

“They do,” Hades affirmed.

“Such stories.” Her voice was soft.

“Some are too tragic to read,” Aeacus assured her.

She made a soft noise of agreement, then said, “But you do honor to them, to remember. For every story has merit, every life purpose, surely?”

Hades drew in a slow breath as her bright green eyes rested upon him. He nodded.

Aeacus cleared his throat, glancing first at him, then at Persephone. “I shall leave you.”

Persephone smiled at him. “Thank you for sharing your story with me, Aeacus. Hades, and those within his realm, are fortunate to have your loyalty.”

Aeacus bowed and then left.

Persephone watched Aeacus depart, her face thoughtful. “Has he been here long?”

Hades nodded. “He arrived after I’d begun work on the three levels of the Underworld.”

Her green eyes went round. “How many were here when you took charge?”

“One.” He paused, watching astonishment cross her face. “The titans had no interest in honoring the dead. Death was simply the end.”

She blinked, shaking her head. “So you… you created Tartarus–”

“That was here, Persephone. I created Asphodel and Elysium.”

She shuddered, rubbing her arms. “All were sent to Tartarus… No wonder death was so reviled. But now, death need not be feared.” She paused, looking thoughtful. “May I ask why three levels?”

How lovely she looked in the fading sunlight spilling into the room. Watching her, each graceful gesture, provided him endless fascination.

She regarded him now, waiting.

“Not all mortals live a truly honorable life. There are heroes, martyrs, noble leaders, and the like. Mortals are born with both good and evil within – they’re tempted daily. Too often mortal man succumbs to weakness. It is in their nature and, most of the time, not worthy of condemning them to Tartarus. Nor does it grant them an afterlife of abundance and pleasure, as Elysium offers. So Asphodel was created, for those in-between.”

She nodded, her gaze wandering to the parchment before her.

Hades sat at the other end of the table, his gaze returning to the top of her copper head, bent to study the open scroll.

She sat, her eyes never leaving the parchment. And as she read, her face changed and moved, reacting to the words before her. Such a face, such emotions. How would he manage when she left?

###

She hopped then ran a few steps to keep up with him. He glanced at her. She smiled brightly at him. His mouth twitched, but he did not smile.

“You need not run, Persephone,” he sighed, slowing his pace.

She shrugged. “I’ve missed running.”

She saw him smile then, though he was quick to erase it.

“What a glorious day.” Her every word revealed her happiness.

He nodded, his eyes wandering to her once more.

She let her hands trail, listening closely to the strange words. In time, she’d learn their language. It was not so different from that of the oldest trees. Yet some words made no sense to her; not yet.

They, however, had no trouble understanding her. She delighted in the abundance of the grass, the bloom of the bushes and ripening of Asphodel’s abundant wheat.

Every day they walked further, crossing the waving sea of Asphodel’s grasses. She was surprised they’d not reached any boundaries, but Hades’ realm seemed to stretch on and on, never ending. Her eyes searched the golden grass.

He skirted the shoreline, avoiding the rippling blue waters that separated Asphodel from Elysium, but she gazed across the water. Elysium lay, a green gem of an island in the distance. The sun seemed brighter there, bathing the land with the promise of warmth. Here, in Asphodel, there was always a hint of chill in the air.

“It looks a fertile land,” she murmured.

He turned to the water as he spoke, “It is always green, without being tended or worked. Fitting spoils for heroes and the like, is it not?”

“Can one enjoy an existence without
some
vocation?” She shook her head, glancing at him. “One would grow idle and bored, I think.”

Once more his mouth tightened, and he turned from her. She smiled, a slight sigh escaping her. Why did he still resist her? She knew he turned from her to hide his smiles.

Or perhaps her presence annoyed him? She did not like the doubt that flared within her Did he wish her gone? Was he enduring her presence?

She walked on, such thoughts more than unpleasant to her. She glanced back at him, wishing his features weren’t so fixed, that his control wasn’t so absolute.

His attention was elsewhere, so she followed his gaze. A black shadow, graceful and large, stood amongst the waving grasses. She narrowed her eyes, surprised to see one of Hades’ chargers grazing. “Oh.” She ran toward the horse.

“Be careful,” he called after her.

She laughed, slowing once the massive black head lifted. Coal eyes stared at her, but showed no signs of agitation. The beast flicked his ears twice then walked to her.

“It’s good to see you again,” she said. “I’d offer you an apple, if I had one. Alas, I fear you’ll gain nothing from me but a gentle touch.” She reached up, running her hand along the horse’s thickly muscled neck.

The horse stared down at her, his great nose blowing her hair as he investigated her thoroughly. She laughed.

Hades arrived, sighing loudly. “He’s normally a ferocious brute.”

She laughed again, stroking the animal’s powerful shoulders with both hands. “You sound disappointed. Do you want him to bite me?”

Hades shook his head, rubbing a hand over his face. “I do not. It had not occurred to me that he’d sit so easily under your touch, either.”

“Mighty Orphnaeus,” she murmured. “Your master is astounded that one might enjoy my companionship. Should I be offended?”

The horse lifted his head to regard Hades.

She looked too, her smile faltering at the grave expression he wore.

“You’re a most pleasant companion, Persephone.” His words were soft.

She blinked at him. “Am I?”

Orphnaeus moved behind her, pushing between her shoulders with his broad nose.

She giggled. “What is it?”

Hades moved forward, a frown on his face. “He wants you to ride.”

She glanced at him, surprised. “Can you understand him? Talk to him?”

“Not as you talk to your plants and trees, no. But we understand enough.”