“You would leave us?”
Mother’s voice cut through my skin, burrowing into a part of me no one else could touch. Not Adonis, not Hades, no one. I looked at her, and the agony I saw in place of Mother—
A lump formed in my throat. I hadn’t thought it possible for this to hurt anyone more than Hades, but it had never occurred to me that Mother might still care. She’d walked away from me. She’d never listened when I’d told her how miserable I was, and again and again and again she’d insisted things would get better. They never had though, not the way she wanted them to, and because of that, I was sure I’d lost her.
Maybe I hadn’t lost her before, but as I watched her shatter into infinite pieces, I knew I had now.
“If the council grants me my request, I would like nothing more than to see all of you as often as you’d be willing to visit me,” I said unsteadily. “I would still be eternal, just in another form, and it wouldn’t have to be goodbye unless you wanted it to be.”
Mother said nothing to that, and beside Zeus, Hera cleared her throat. “Do you love him more than Hades?” she said in her girlish voice.
I frowned. Did Hera not understand what had happened between me and Hades? Or was she just searching for affirmation? “Hades is my friend. He will always be my friend, but we never fit. We’ve tried for thousands of miserable years. I can’t love him the way he wants me to, and the way I’m forced to linger just out of his reach is torture for him. I don’t want to hurt him more than I already have, and the only way I trust myself to do that is to step down and leave him completely.”
The council members all turned to look at Hades, who remained stoic as ever in his throne. Hera pressed her lips together, and I could’ve sworn I saw a hint of a smile. Why? Because someone was finally as miserable as she was?
It didn’t matter. She could think whatever she wanted as long as she let me go. “This isn’t an easy decision for me, and I’m more terrified than I’ve ever been in my life,” I said. “But Adonis needs this. Whatever I’m feeling is nothing compared to ensuring his eternity. Please—I know this is unprecedented. I know it’ll throw everything into chaos for a while. But if you allow this, eventually the wounds will heal. If you do not, they’ll fester until Hades and I both shrivel into ash.”
“And you are all right with this, brother?” said Zeus.
“I am,” said Hades hollowly. “I have seen enough to know that she speaks the truth, and I wish nothing more for her than eternal happiness. I ask the same of you all, as well.”
A murmur rippled through the council, and Zeus raised his hand, silencing them. “Very well. We will take a vote. Given the weight of the matter at hand, I ask that we all be unanimous in our decision.” He cast his gaze around the circle, focusing on each of us individually. “Those who agree to grant Persephone’s request?”
I held my breath, and one by one, the members of the council nodded. Hera first, then Ares, then Hephaestus—Artemis, Apollo, Athena, Hestia, Poseidon, Dionysus, even Hermes. Even Hades.
And though her eyes shined with unshed tears, even Mother.
But despite the others’ consent, Aphrodite remained still. Seconds passed in silence, and finally Zeus said, “And you, my daughter?”
“No.” She clenched her jaw so tightly that the cords in her neck stood out. “I won’t agree. She barely knows Adonis—she stole him from me, and she’s betrayed Hades and the council’s wishes repeatedly. I don’t see any reason to reward her for it.”
I opened my mouth to retort, but Zeus raised a hand again, and I fell silent. “Are those your only objections, Aphrodite?”
“Do you really need more? Because I have them.”
In a gentle voice he only used with her, he murmured, “Is it possible you feel this way out of jealousy and grief? He did only die this evening.”
“He did,” she said, her voice shaking. “And the only reason he did is because she insisted I leave him. She couldn’t stand the thought that he might love me more.”
Fury coiled in the pit of my stomach, hot and unyielding. If that was the kind of game she was going to play, then forget silence. “I don’t care if he loves you more,” I said. “Don’t you get that? It has nothing to do with you, and it never did. He’s suffering. He’s torturing himself because of what we did to him, and I don’t care if he hates me. I love him too much to let him go through that, and I will do whatever I can to make sure he doesn’t have to, even if it means giving this up. Even if it means spending the rest of my existence alone.”
Aphrodite said nothing, and her entire being seemed to burn with vehemence. Rather than wearing her down, as I’d hoped, my words only seemed to reinforce her hatred. Terrific.
Zeus sighed. “Aphrodite, I will give you one more chance. Yay or nay?”
“Nay,” she said. “And it will be nay no matter how many times you ask or how often she begs. I will not allow her to win.”
I let out a frustrated noise in the back of my throat. Didn’t she get it? It wasn’t about winning. It was about Adonis and his well-being and making sure he didn’t spend eternity in the cold, being eaten alive by a bear. But she didn’t care—all Aphrodite could see was the fact that I would be with him and she wouldn’t.
I may have been selfish for hurting Hades the way I did, but in that moment, Aphrodite was more selfish than any of us. Because of pride or lust or envy or all three, she would stop Adonis from having the afterlife he deserved, and I hated her. I hated her more than I’d hated anyone, even myself.
Zeus straightened, a flicker of regret passing over his face, and he let out another weary sigh. “So be it. As you have made it clear you are incapable of ruling without bias, I am forced to overturn your vote.”
Both my mouth and Aphrodite’s dropped open simultaneously. “What?” she screeched. “Daddy, you can’t—”
“I can, and as you have given me no choice, I will,” he said. “Persephone, your request is granted. When you return to the surface, you will be mortal. Take a moment to say your goodbyes. Aphrodite, if you would follow me.”
She sputtered in protest, and as he made his way into one of the hallways, she stormed after him. Once she was gone and silence filled the throne room, I looked around at the members of my family, growing dizzy as reality set in.
I was going to be mortal. I was going to die.
And I would never come back here again.
But even as I thought it, I pictured Adonis’s face in the snow and the bear that loomed over him. Even if it didn’t work and he remained in his frozen hell forever, at least I would have the satisfaction of knowing I’d tried. I would find him no matter how long it took me to scour the Underworld. And even if all I could do was hold his hand as he suffered, then at least I would be there for him for eternity.
One by one, the members of the council said goodbye. My brothers and sisters hugged me, even Ares, and Hestia and Poseidon kissed my cheeks. Hera smiled as she embraced me, and as her lips brushed against the shell of my ear, she murmured, “You made the right decision. You deserve the future you want, and you would have never been happy with Hades.”
Something about the way she said it sent a shiver down my spine, reinforcing the wall that had stood between Hades and me since our wedding. That war was over now though, and neither Hades nor I had won. But at least we wouldn’t end up like Hera and Zeus.
Finally it was Hermes’s turn. He gave me a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes, and despite everything betwee
n us, he trapped me in a giant bear hug. “I’ll miss you,” he said. “Things won’t be the same without you.”
“You’ll know where to find me if you ever get bored,” I said, but even if he did make the trek, he was right—things would never be the same. “Take care. And do yourself a favor and stay away from Aphrodite, would you?”
He snorted, but a cloud passed over his face, as well. I didn’t understand what it meant—then again, maybe I wasn’t supposed to. We all had our demons, and Hermes would have the chance to face his when he was ready.
Once he let me go, I turned toward Mother, who stood stiffly beside her throne. Her eyes were trained on the floor, her hands clasped tightly together, and as I took a step toward her, she backed away. With that one movement, my heart broke completely.
“I hope you are happy,” she said in a strange, almost formal voice. “I will come see you when I can.”
“Thank you,” I whispered, though we both knew that if she did come, it wouldn’t be for a very long time. We’d both made mistakes, and it would take a lot more than this to fix the rift between us. But despite everything that had happened, I ached for the certainty that one day, things would be okay again. No matter how long it took.
Hermes slipped his arm into hers, and as he led her from the throne room, he glanced over his shoulder to give me one more smile. Mother didn’t look back.
I took a deep, shuddering breath. Hades and I were alone now, standing face-to-face, and I had no idea what to say. I should’ve apologized. I should’ve thanked him. I should’ve said a million things, but nothing came out.
“Are you ready?” he said quietly, and I nodded. He took my hand, and as I gazed around Olympus one last time, the sky-blue ceiling and sunset floor faded. This was it, the moment I’d been racing toward ever since Adonis had taken his last breath. But no matter how frightened I was of mortality, of what it would be like to need to breathe, of what it would be like to feel pain and the world around me as a mortal, a sense of calm washed over me, as well. I’d made the right decision. That was all I needed.
When we landed, a sharp pinch jolted through the bottom of my foot, and I opened my eyes. We stood in Mother’s cottage, and the moonlight seemed to light up every corner. I shifted my weight, and underneath my foot I found the source of that jabbing sensation: a pebble.
So this was what it was like to be mortal. I set my hand over my chest, feeling my heart beat, and I drew in each breath with care. Everything felt like it was more somehow—smoother, rougher, hotter, colder, all of it. It was as if I’d woken up from a deep sleep, and I was only now aware of the world around me.
“Are you all right?” said Hades, and I nodded.
“It’s just…odd.”
He smiled sadly. “I cannot imagine.”
We stood there side by side for a long moment, and all I did was breathe. In and out, in and out, memorizing the awareness of mortality. How was it possible to feel so alive every day and not burst?
But as much as I enjoyed it, it couldn’t last forever, and I didn’t want it to. I sat down on the edge of the bed and shoved my trembling hands between my knees. “I’m ready. How…?”
“Leave that to me,” he said quietly. “Make yourself comfortable.”
I lay down in the bed, my heart pounding so hard that it actually hurt. “I’m scared,” I whispered, and Hades took my hand. I’d never realized how soft and smooth his skin was.
“Do not be,” he said. “I promise everything will be all right.”
For once, I believed him. “Thank you,” I whispered. “I know I was never very good at showing it, but you’re my best friend. Even when things were rotten, you were always there no matter what I did to you. I’m so sorry for everything.”
“What’s done is done,” he said quietly. “All I have ever wanted was for you to be happy, and if this is the way…”
“It is.” I propped myself up on my elbow. “This is exactly what I want.”
He stared down at our joined hands, his expression forlorn, and he said nothing. He really had been so damn wonderful to me—maybe I hadn’t seen it at the time, but I did now. He deserved so much better than what I’d given him, and in that moment, I wanted nothing more than for him to find it. I was only sorry it’d taken me so long to realize it.
Before I could stop myself, I leaned in and touched my mouth to his. It was a gentle, tender kiss, the kind he’d given me the night we’d nearly slept together a second time. Now I was glad he’d stopped me. Between us, we had enough regrets without inviting more.
Warmth spread through me as I moved my lips against his, and all too soon, he pulled away. For several seconds, neither of us said anything, and my heartbeat resonated in my ears. How was I supposed to say goodbye when I’d spent my life thinking I would never have to?
“I will be there for you whenever you need me,” he whispered. “All you need to do is ask.”
A lump formed in my throat. “Thank you. Come visit me sometime, yeah?”
But even as he nodded, I knew he never would, and asking him was cruel. He deserved the chance to move on. We both did.
“Lie back,” he murmured, and I obeyed. His silver eyes met mine, and as the weight of sleep pressed down upon me, he gave me one final smile. I returned it.
“I love you,” I whispered, and he was silent. At last my eyelids grew heavy, and darkness closed in around me as eternity claimed me as her own. It was painless, peaceful, everything death should have been, and I went quietly. I went gladly.
The last thing I saw was him.
* * *
The sun in my afterlife wasn’t as warm or as bright as the real thing, but it was enough to wake me.
I shielded my eyes, squinting at my surroundings. I lay in the bed that I’d died in, but it was daylight now. Somewhere in the distance, birds chirped and a strong breeze rustled the trees, and the flowers hanging from the rafters of Mother’s cottage filled the room with the most incredible scent.
So this was what my afterlife would be.
My afterlife. Adonis. I scrambled to my feet and looked around the one-room home, but he wasn’t there. My heart sank. He had to be here. After everything that had happened, he deserved peace.
I pushed open the door and stepped into the artificial sun. It wasn’t the real thing—beyond the illusion of my afterlife, I was among the dead in the caverns of the Underworld, surrounded by the very rock I’d hated for eternity. The unbearable weight was gone though, along with the wall that had haunted me for eons. Apparently they’d died with my mortal body, leaving my soul free. Finally.
Inhaling deeply, I looked around my afterlife. Flowers bloomed in the garden, a rainbow of colors and as fresh and new as the spring, and the scent of a summer day wafted through the air. It was beautiful, but it couldn’t be perfect, not without—
A figure appeared on the path, shaded by the trees, and warmth filled every inch of me. As he stepped into the sunlight, I grinned and launched myself down the path.
Adonis.
He caught me in an embrace, his strong arms lifting me into the air, and he kissed me with the same love and passion and happiness that coursed through my body. Every doubt and regret I’d entertained in those few seconds without him vanished, and in that moment, I saw our eternity.
He was here. We were together.
And at long last, I was home.
* * * * *
God of Thieves
There’s a rumor goi
ng around that I stole my big brother’s cattle the day I was born. That hours into my life, I not only managed to wrangle fifty prized cows and hide them from Apollo, but I invented the lute, as well.
Hours into my life. Not days, not years, but hours.
Come on. I’m good, but I’m not that good.
So let’s set the record straight: I was seven when I invented the lute, and Apollo spent the next four years trying to steal it from me. But since he’s not me, he failed time and time again, and that’s when I stole his cattle to see if I could—when I was eleven.
Eleven years old, not eleven hours old. I guess it sounds better to say that a newborn did all those things, somehow making me more godlike or powerful, but I’ve never met a newborn who could sit up, let alone herd cattle.
It’d be pretty cool though, I have to admit.
But it did get one thing right: Apollo was pissed. And I did have to give him my favorite lute in return for not getting thrown off Olympus. So there’s that.
Ever since, it feels like I’ve been living that down. Every time I do something the council doesn’t like, Zeus rolls his eyes and brings it up again, while Apollo sits there smugly. I don’t know what they expect—I’m just doing my job, exactly like all the others. No need for them to act all high and mighty and ignore me.
But this time, I admit I deserved it. I sat in the otherwise empty throne room of Olympus, throwing a ball against the wall and catching it as it flew past me. Nothing much happened in the throne room without the council present, but it was never completely abandoned for this long, and I knew exactly why.
Me.
Ever since Persephone had given up her immortality and single-handedly thrown the council into chaos three decades ago, I’d been persona non grata. No one spoke to me. My suggestions during meetings were completely ignored. Even the minor gods and goddesses gave me the cold shoulder, as if being a pariah was contagious or something. For all I knew, it was. One touch and they’d never have a decent conversation again.