Captive in the Underworld

by Lianyu Tan

  The man turned and saw her. He had a thick black beard and deep-set eyes framed by brows so lush they reminded her of the caterpillars she’d find on stinging nettles. “Ah, the lady of the hour,” he said, rather sourly. “Sit! I haven’t got all day.”

  The boy fled with his scrolls in hand. Persephone’s maid also turned to go, but the man waved her over.

  “Wine and food, girl. And hurry! Teaching is thirsty business.” The man plopped down in the chair opposite Persephone with a table separating them. “Now, it’s been a long time since I’ve had to teach anyone. Might be a bit rusty.” He fished out a wax tablet from a drawer inside the table and scratched at it with his stylus. He showed it to Persephone. “Do you know your alphabet at all then, girl?”

  Persephone went still.

  The man seemed to recognize his mistake, for he chuckled in a self-deprecating way. “Please, pardon my manners. I mean nothing by it, mistress. I’ve been down here too long, is all.”

  “And what should I call you?” Persephone asked.

  “You don’t recognize me?” She wasn’t sure whether he was acting hurt or was genuinely disappointed by her ignorance. “Mayhap you’ll know the name. Stephanus, playwright, poet. Three-time winner of the Lenaia.”

  “Sorry,” Persephone said. “I don’t go to festivals.” Not from lack of wanting; Demeter hadn’t allowed it.

  “You’ve never been? Well, if it were up to me, we would start with some theater. There’s nothing more restorative than a well-earned laugh. But Queen Hades sets the score, and”—he looked down at his tablet—“she was very prescriptive.”

  The food and wine arrived. Stephanus talked as he ate, which Persephone found repulsive, but she did not wish to antagonize him by pointing it out. In truth, to find a mortal who wasn’t in awe of her was somewhat refreshing. Though she hoped for his sake that he improved his manners if and when he spoke to Hades.

  She spent the next several hours working through the alphabet and its associated sounds, dividing the vowels and consonants. She copied letters onto the wax tablet until her hand was sore.

  After some time, the food was gone and the wine had run dry. The servant girl sat quietly in the corner, her head nodding almost to her chest.

  “Here,” Persephone said, picking up the empty tray of food and the wine jug. “Allow me to find more refreshments.” She kept her eyes lowered, not wanting to seem too eager, but Stephanus merely grunted in response, not glancing up from the scroll he was perusing.

  She made her way to the closest kitchen, holding the wine jug at her side with the tray balanced against her hip. She was rounding a corner of the corridor when someone grabbed her, covering her mouth with one hand.

  “I’m a friend,” a man said. “Don’t be alarmed.”

  Persephone’s hands shook, but she managed to maintain her grip on the tray and jug. She felt the solid plane of the man’s muscles as a warmth against her back. A living man, in the underworld? Oh, Hades would not be pleased.

  She blinked slowly, and he released her.

  “You’re not dead,” she said, taking two steps back, clutching the serving tray and the wine jug to her chest.

  “My name is Ismaros,” the man said. “I’ve come to rescue you.”

  “Did my mother send you?”

  Ismaros’s brow crinkled. “She is sorely missing you.”

  He must have done well to evade detection thus far, but how long could it last? He was dressed in a servant’s garb, though it ill-suited him. Ismaros had the musculature of a blacksmith but the bearing of a king. If anyone looked at him too closely, surely they would suspect something was wrong.

  Still, what other choice did she have?

  “Did she send you?” Persephone repeated. She glanced aside to check if anyone was nearby, but the corridors were empty.

  “Yes, of course she sent me,” Ismaros said, sounding impatient. “Will you meet me at dawn tomorrow? That’s when the next wagon is due to the overworld, to retrieve more supplies for your table.”

  It made sense that they had some way of regularly replenishing their pantry with stores meant only for Persephone. She was even more grateful for Hades’ decree that she need not eat food from the underworld.

  “I’ll be ready,” she said. “Where?”

  “By the stables. We will journey some way by wagon. It... will not be pleasant.”

  “I’ll survive.”

  “We’ll need a way past Cerberus,” he said.

  “I’ve eluded him once before.”

  “That might be a problem. Whatever you did, the same trick will not work a second time.”

  Persephone frowned. “I’ll think of something.”

  He nodded. “Until we meet, do nothing to attract suspicion.”

  What did he think she was, a simpleton? “I could say the same for you. You don’t look like a servant.”

  Ismaros grimaced. “I’ll be careful.”

  They had already spoken for far too long. Persephone continued on her way to the kitchen. Finding it devoid of people, she helped herself to more wine and food before returning to Stephanus.

  She would not be taken back to Demeter. Once she reached the surface, she would find a way to dodge this Ismaros and instead seek out her father. Zeus could annul her marriage and grant her the true freedom she desired. And if he wanted something she could not give him in return, then... she would deal with it, later.

  She hastened back to the library, where she found Stephanus sound asleep, a scroll held loosely in his lap.

  Well, it was past noon already, and Hades did say she would have the afternoon to herself. Just as she was planning to creep away, Stephanus sat up with a start.

  “Oh!” he exclaimed. “It’s you. Where’s the wine?”

  She refilled his cup for him. “I believe lessons are over for the day, for it is past lunch,” she said.

  Stephanus hemmed and hawed at this, rubbing his beard. “Another tablet’s worth of lines and you may go.”

  Persephone groaned, but she sat down and set to work erasing her previous letters with the end of her stylus before rewriting the same material all over again, carving laboriously whilst imagining she was stabbing the old man in the gut with each stroke.

  “I’m done,” she said, showing her tablet to Stephanus.

  He looked at it. “Your slope is off. Let’s fix that tomorrow.”

  “I thought you were teaching me how to read; what does it matter how my slope lies?”

  Stephanus took a stylus and rapped her knuckles with it. “Do I lecture you when spring comes three weeks too late? Or question why we are cursed with more suicides in your season than at harvest time? No? Then we will proceed with this in my way.”

  Persephone cradled her hand to her chest, rubbing her knuckles. Any prior charitable thought she might have held for this man had evaporated. Luckily for his sake, she did not intend there to be a second lesson. “I see. May I go?”

  At his curt nod, she stood up and all but ran from the library. It was wonderful to be in the courtyard again, inhaling the fresh air after spending the whole morning indoors.

  There wasn’t much time left in the day. She needed some way to dissuade Hades from spending the night with her, so that she would be free to leave in the morning. A feigned sickness, perhaps, or...

  Hades wouldn’t be tricked by a claimed headache, but Persephone had no wish to damage herself in order to seem convincing. She needed something else. Something foolproof. And on top of that, a way to bypass Cerberus.

  It came to her as she was walking. She abruptly turned on her heel and headed toward the stables, counting her steps so that she would know them in the dark. Eustachys greeted her at the doorway.

  “Good day to you, Lady Persephone.”

  She looked at him. The man had seen her almost naked. What had mortified her only a few weeks ago seemed rather comical now. He glanced away, blushing. “Would you be needing a chariot, or...?”

  She walked around
the stable, looking at the horses. “Let’s see them.”

  “Of course.”

  He led her to a nearby cart house, which stored an array of chariots and wagons both large and small, plus tack. The loft of the cart house seemed to serve as his living quarters, containing a bed roll and a small shelf for personal belongings.

  She dithered over chariots. Hades’ gold one was nowhere to be seen; she must have taken it for the day. Some of the wagons did not look spacious enough to hide her. What would she do if she could not stow away in the morning? What if Ismaros was caught and their plan ruined? Would she get another chance?

  “Mistress?”

  She was overthinking this. No need to make it more complicated than necessary. “I’ve changed my mind. I’d prefer to go for a ride.” She glanced at the storage area for the tack and other cleaning supplies. “And I need some oil.”

  Eustachys blushed and stammered.

  “What?” Persephone snapped, more harshly than she’d intended.

  “O—of course.”

  A few moments later and she was trotting out of the stables on the dappled gray mare that Eustachys had called Nereia. She soon urged Nereia into a canter, then a gallop. They crossed the wide plains of the Elysian Fields together, only slowing when they reached the river Lethe.

  The path descended, ending at the foot of the river. The air blew cool and wet, rising as mist from the ground. Persephone dismounted and walked down to the river, slipping off her sandals to feel the damp grass beneath her feet.

  Nearby grew clumps of poppies, crimson and swaying in the breeze. She picked one and placed it in her hair, then gathered more in her arms. Nereia snorted but stayed still and patient as Persephone braided flowers into her mane.

  She ought to be careful. She remembered what had happened at the junction of the Styx and Acheron. But here she could see no ghostly faces in the river and heard only the gentle babble of the water as it polished its pebbly shallows.

  She sat on the grass and dipped in her toes. The mud was cool and soft beneath her heels. Tiny fish darted around her and nibbled at her feet.

  She had never thought the underworld to be beautiful, but this corner of it seemed like it might well be. Her reflection stared back at her. She looked calm. She looked almost... happy.

  Could she be happy here?

  She glanced behind her. Nereia contentedly munched at a patch of herbs. Persephone smiled to see it, and then she yawned, stretching her body like a cat. Her eyes seemed too heavy; she struggled to keep them open.

  The vial. She took out the small bottle of olive oil Eustachys had given her, his mind clearly leaping to vulgar things. She poured it out on the grass and went to the river, dipping the vial in the current until it was full. She capped it and tucked it in her cleavage, held in place by the pressure of her strophion. She fluffed the neckline of her chiton over the top, arranging the folds to hide any lumps.

  She glanced above her. The light would soon fade; perhaps she ought to have left a message before she’d ventured out. But Hades claimed to know all that transpired in her realm; Persephone was counting on it. Better to have said nothing—let her think this was a spur-of-the-moment decision.

  Persephone could not keep herself upright. Her bed of grass was so inviting, her limbs so heavy, that she could not help but close her eyes.

  The river Lethe sang to her its lullaby.

  Movement jostled Persephone awake. She opened her eyes to find the day had grown dark. She was seated on Alastor with Hades behind her, her arm wrapped around Persephone to keep her upright. Nereia followed in their wake, her mane devoid of poppies.

  Hades held a lantern in her other hand, but Alastor seemed to know the way. Around them, the shadows loomed tall and leering, the weathered branches of trees creeping out like hands along the path.

  “Where are we?” Persephone asked.

  “Almost home.” Hades’ body pressed against Persephone’s back, their skin separated only by thin layers of fabric. As always, Hades felt warmer than she’d remembered.

  “Was I... asleep?” Persephone’s hand drifted up and plucked a poppy from her hair. In the dark, its petals seemed the color of dried blood.

  “So deeply I could not wake you. There are safe ways to approach the river Lethe. I suggest you stay away from it until you master them.”

  Persephone shifted slightly and then exhaled as she felt the vial press against her skin beneath her strophion. She’d managed to accomplish what Ismaros had asked of her. “Of course,” she said. “I’m sorry for the trouble.”

  They traveled in silence for a time. It felt... comfortable. Alastor’s gait was gentle, and she relaxed against Hades’ shoulder.

  Would she miss Persephone, when she was gone?

  She needn’t think so highly of herself. After all, she couldn’t even read. Hades would be better suited by a clever wife, one who could assist her to rule.

  “How were your lessons?” Hades asked.

  Persephone jolted awake, her head cradled in the crook of Hades’ arm. She pinched herself. It would not do to miss her morning appointment with Ismaros. “He hit me,” she said, picturing Stephanus’s caterpillar-like eyebrows.

  “Did you do something to deserve it?”

  “No! Well, I don’t think so.”

  Hades shifted behind her. “Once you are done learning, you could have him tortured for eternity, if you would like.”

  She wasn’t serious. Was she? “He didn’t hit me that hard,” Persephone said. Not like you.

  “Jests aside, you will need to extract as much knowledge from him as you can. I have a stack of reading material for you three cubits high.”

  “That sounds tedious.”

  “It is. But if you are to be my consort in more than name, it will be one of your duties.”

  All the more reason for her to escape to the surface as quickly as she could. “Hades,” she began.

  “Yes?”

  “Is it true that there are more suicides in spring than at harvest time?”

  Hades was silent for a moment. “You will have to compare the records in the repository. Why?”

  “Something Stephanus said. About my season.”

  “Are you certain you do not wish to have him tortured?”

  “Hades!” Persephone lightly slapped Hades’ thigh. Hades might be jaded and cold enough to jest about something as cruel as an eternity of torment, but Persephone could never be that cynical. If she left now, she would never have to be.

  “We are here,” Hades said, making Persephone jump. Had she fallen asleep again?

  They were just outside the stables, and Eustachys awaited them. Hades helped her to dismount. She leaned heavily against Hades, her feet unsteady beneath her. She looked down and saw that Hades must have strapped her sandals on before taking her back home. Before taking her back to the palace.

  Persephone’s weakness was not feigned. She could scarcely keep her eyes open as Hades escorted her to her room.

  “Supper has been left for you. Are you feeling unwell?” Hades asked. She pressed the back of her hand against Persephone’s forehead.

  Persephone shook her head. “No, I’m just tired.” She smiled tremulously at Hades through her lashes. “Would you excuse me for tonight?” she asked, her heart in her throat.

  “I could send someone to watch over you—”

  “No!” Persephone silently cursed herself. “No,” she said again, more quietly. “Please. I’m tired, is all.”

  “Very well,” Hades said and kissed her. “Good night.”

  “Good night, Hades.”

  Persephone fled into her room and closed the door, pressing her back against it as she heard it slide into place. She was alone. Hades had left her alone for the first night since their marriage.

  14

  Above Your Station

  She couldn’t believe her luck. She wanted to giggle at the thought of it, but she pressed her lips together, swallowing her growing elation.
/>   What to pack? She didn’t want to take anything from here, save for the clothes on her back. Ismaros had promised to help her.

  Persephone sat down at the end of the bed. She reached up to her neck to find she was still wearing Hades’ gold chain. She ran it through her fingers, trying to find the clasp. She fumbled with it for some time but could not find the secret to unlock it. This was ridiculous. Hades had bestowed it upon her, which meant it could be opened. Eventually, she was forced to give up. She promised herself she would return it by messenger after her escape. She would not provide Hades the opportunity to call her a thief once more.

  Persephone ate the supper that had been left for her, then tugged on the pull cord by the bed. A knock came at her door some time later.

  “Come in,” Persephone said.

  A girl opened the door and stood nervously under the threshold. Persephone handed her the empty plates. “I’d like some broth,” she said.

  “Of course,” the girl said and promptly disappeared.

  She came back eventually with a steaming bowl, which Persephone directed her to leave on a table. Once she was gone, Persephone fanned the broth, impatiently waiting for it to cool. When the bowl was only warm to the touch, she emptied Lethe’s water into it, then stirred it before pouring the mixture into a waterskin.

  With her preparations complete, she doused all the lights in the room so that someone passing by would not see anything amiss. She sat back down on the bed and waited, pinching herself every so often to stop her eyelids from drifting shut. She didn’t dare sleep again, not after the river. Sleep could wait until she was safely above ground.

  A sliver of light shone from beneath the door connecting her room to Hades’. She pressed her ear against the door and thought she could hear the faint scratching of a reed pen.

  Did Hades ever stop working? Any other goddess would still be on her honeymoon.

  Persephone crept away from the door and paced the room in the dark. She passed the time by running through place names and flower names in her mind, imagining the sights and smells of the overworld until she could almost taste the crisp salt air from over the sea.