by Lianyu Tan
Hades returned and set down a pomegranate on the table between them. “Your grove has been faring well, despite your absence. But I sense that the land, too, misses you.”
Persephone looked at the fruit. Its skin was smooth and even, colored wine red. “If it’s been as long as you say, my trees must be tall now.”
“You could see for yourself, if you wished.” Hades took out her dagger and cut the pomegranate open, revealing its jewel-like interior. Each seed shone wetly, prettier than any ruby. Their facets caught the light, almost glowing.
Hades lowered herself to her knees before Persephone. “I have not always treated you with the courtesy you deserve. But if you choose to return to my home, to return to me, it will not be as my slave but as my queen.” Hades took a deep breath, her eyes never leaving Persephone’s. “I offer you my faith and my heart.”
Persephone smoothed the hem of her tunic over her knees, taking a moment to compose herself. “You have done me ill, it’s true. At first, I could not stand the sight of you. I had nightmares,” she said, her voice growing cold, “for months.” She held up a hand when it looked like Hades might speak. “But you came for me when no one else would. When others willfully turned away, because it was Demeter; because she was my mother and the keeper of the grain. You saved me. I’ll never forget that.”
“You saved me, too. When you took Demeter’s arrow in my stead.”
Persephone ran her fingertips over her scar. “I had to. I couldn’t stand by and watch you suffer.”
Hades bowed her head. “Why not?”
“Because...” Persephone trailed off. “You know why.” Her voice trembled. For Hades, that night had been half a mortal lifetime ago, but for Persephone, it might as well have happened yesterday. She remembered the heat from the fire, the scent of burning, the way the fumes stung her eyes. “I saw Demeter was going to take you away, forever, and I couldn’t—I couldn’t stand the thought of living in a world where you weren’t—where you no longer existed.”
“Oh, Persephone,” Hades whispered.
Persephone reached for the pomegranate, holding it in her lap. “In the overworld, I’ll always be in Demeter’s shadow. She will never let me forget that. Below... I’ve made a difference.” She briefly closed her eyes. She had changed things, made circumstances better for some—it was the truth and not conceit to say as much. “To the souls you care for and to the land itself. I don’t wish to leave you again—at least, not forever. But I belonged to the earth long before I ever met you. I must have the sun.”
“If I could capture a piece of it and bring it down with me, I would,” Hades said.
“I know.” Persephone counted out six shining seeds from the pomegranate, freeing them from the white pith, and held them on her palm, placing the rest of the fruit back on the table. “I’ll dwell with you for half the year—six months. For the other six, I’ll reside in the overworld. Will you accept?”
“I would have you by my side, always. But if I cannot...” Hades sighed. “Yes. I accept.”
Persephone placed the six seeds on her tongue, all at once.
Hades’ gaze never left her face. She watched, enraptured, as Persephone sucked the juice from her fingertips.
The seeds were honey sweet, cut through with an acidic tang. When Persephone swallowed, she could taste their bitter edge.
“Is it done?” she asked. She didn’t feel any different. Hungry, perhaps, longing for more of that tart sweetness.
“It is done,” Hades said and smiled, her expression uncharacteristically tremulous. “May I?”
In response, Persephone leaned down and kissed her, wrapping her arms around Hades’ neck. Hades kissed her back, and for the first time, it felt like coming home.
Epilogue
Summer ended, and Persephone returned to the underworld to sit by Hades’ side and to be her wife in all respects. When the land above had grown cold and bitter, she journeyed once more to Epirus to make a home worthy of a queen.
The cycles continued, each parting bittersweet, each reunion joyous and passionate. She trained herself not to pine for the other world after every transition, knowing she would return soon enough.
During one blisteringly cold winter, she lounged in Hades’ artificial solarium, nestled on a fur-lined kline. Daedalus and Perdix had entered a kind of arms race for architectural glory, each seeking to outdo the other in scope and prestige. The solarium had been Daedalus’s project, a glass-sided chamber built on the rooftop along the east wing. From here, one could see the rolling green hills of the Elysian Fields, whilst being warmed by the enchanted ‘sun’ that hung above. Whilst it boasted a few shelves lined with scrolls, Hades had agreed not to bring her work into the room.
The drakon’s ghost huddled at Persephone’s feet, its head on its forearms, its serrated tail curled around its body, yellow eyes shut in a state of semi-hibernation. In winter, it seemed to prefer the false sun to the warmth of the Phlegethon, and she’d not had the heart to dislodge it from the solarium.
Persephone leafed through her correspondence. Few gods bothered to write to her in the underworld, choosing instead to make their presence known during the warmer months. She worked her way through a pile of letters a hand’s width deep, throwing each one to the side once she had glanced at it.
From the kline opposite her, Hades set down the scroll she’d been reading and looked up. “May I ask why you are making such a mess?”
Persephone scrunched up the final letter and threw it against the wall. It bounced and slid close to the drakon’s face, but the creature did not stir. “They’re all from Mother. Well, her scribes, anyway. More than one. I don’t think she even bothered to sign these herself. All the handwriting is different.”
“A century has not yet passed.”
“She knows that, I’m sure.”
Hades leaned forward, resting her head on her palm. “What do you intend to do?”
Persephone was due to return to the overworld a few days hence. All her things were packed. She traveled light—her estate at Epirus was well-established, and her household knew her preferences. “If I don’t see her, she’ll keep harassing me, and it’ll be worse up there. She might even show up in person.” Demeter hadn’t thus far crossed that line, but her missives before hadn’t been quite so insistent, either. “What do you think I should do?” Persephone asked.
Hades shrugged. “I cannot say.”
“You must have an opinion.”
“In this case, it is irrelevant.”
Persephone looked around at the mess she’d made, at the letters fallen to the ground like dry leaves. Bitter, nasty leaves. If she’d had Hades’ abilities, she’d snap her fingers and turn them all to ash.
“What will you do?” Hades repeated.
Persephone rubbed at her temples. “If I go, she’ll see she can breach the rules I’ve set at any point. But if I don’t go, I’ll always be afraid during my time in the overworld. I’ll always dread that knock on my door.”
“Did you find a sorceress to renew the wards around the estate?” Hades asked.
Persephone sighed. “Not one whose skills pleased me. Sorcery is a dying art among mortals, it seems.”
“A pity.”
Persephone fingered the chain around her neck. She might never be free of it, not unless she asked the immortal Circe for aid. The thought did not bother her unduly much. “I should give her a chance. To apologize.” Demeter’s letters had hinted at such a possibility, but whether it was her mother’s words or her scribes’ presumptions, Persephone could not tell.
“If you must,” Hades said. “But prepare yourself for disappointment.”
Persephone smiled, the muscles in her cheeks feeling overly tight. “Always, where she’s concerned.”
The late winter air was mild by the underworld’s standards, and yet Demeter had led her near a crackling fire, trapped indoors with nowhere to run. Persephone held her clasped hands in her lap and tapped a finger against her w
rist, unable to keep still.
Demeter’s house had grown over the years, with rooms added and walls demolished so that her receiving room no longer matched the images of Persephone’s childhood. Still, some things were familiar—a large tapestry of a threshing floor on the wall, and the table in the center of their klinai.
Pleasantries had been exchanged and then some. Demeter looked much the same as ever, agelessly beautiful. She had changed something about her hair, her golden braids looped in intricate knots like the snakes of the Erinyes.
A servant came by to pour more wine. Persephone didn’t recognize his face.
“I expect you’ll be wanting to celebrate the Mysteries this year,” Demeter said.
“The what?” Persephone asked.
Demeter’s teeth glittered in her smile. “The Eleusinian Mysteries, dear. Have you not been reading your letters? The mortals like to celebrate your return to us with a festival.”
Persephone rubbed the spot on her arm where her flesh sometimes still ached. “Do you shoot an effigy of me at the finale, or is that part conveniently forgotten?”
Demeter scoffed. “That little thing. Are you still obsessed about it? Why, there’s not a mark on you.”
Not on her skin, not anymore, but her arm still ached during the heat of high summer. She’d never forgotten the look of anguish on Hades’ face, from a fear so deep it still remained lodged in her heart. “Your letters implied that you wanted to apologize,” Persephone said.
Demeter’s eyes widened. “Apologize? Whatever for?”
“Well—”
Demeter jabbed one ring-studded finger in her direction. “You ran off with your chthonic lover, a match I did not approve. Hades robbed me of your presence. And Zeus stole my parental rights. All of you should be apologizing to me.”
Persephone realized her hands were clawing into her thighs. She forced them to relax. “You shot a poisoned arrow at Hades. The same poison that killed the centaur Chiron.”
Demeter scoffed. “That again?”
“You stole decades from my life! Then and before. When I was a child,” Persephone said. She forced the words to leave her mouth. “You locked me in a cellar for years on end. What you did to me wasn’t right.”
Demeter shook her head. “You don’t know what it’s like to be a mother, dear.” She smiled slyly. “And now, I suppose you never will.”
Persephone was losing the thread of her sanity. “So it was fine then, everything you’ve ever done?”
“Everything I’ve done?” Demeter tilted her head slightly. “Everything I’ve done was to protect you from people like her.”
“Well, it didn’t work.”
“It’s not my fault you grew up to be a little slut.”
Persephone stood, pressing her knees together to stop them from shaking. “I see. In that case, I believe we should part. Thank you for your hospitality. Please don’t write to me again; I’ll ask the servants to burn any letters.” She took a deep breath, steadying herself. “Goodbye, Mother.”
“That’s it?” Demeter asked, the legs of her kline screeching across the floor as she stood. “After all the sacrifices I made for you, all the tears I shed—for you!”
Demeter spoke to her departing back. Persephone forced herself not to turn around, putting one foot in front of the other. She was done. No more listening to her mother’s fervent rantings, no more accepting her distorted vision of the truth.
Demeter followed her to the door, continuing to screech, but Persephone refused to listen. She kept on walking, the frozen ground crunching underfoot. A door slammed. Persephone glanced back but saw no one behind her. She shook with relief.
She wrapped her himation more closely around her shoulders, walking down to the stables where she’d left her horses. The groom nodded to her and helped hitch her chariot.
He seemed like a nice boy. Too nice for Demeter’s moods. “If you ever need a job, come to Epirus,” Persephone said.
He bowed his head. “Thank ye, mistress.”
Persephone left her mother’s estate for the last time, driving down the old, familiar roads. Tears stung her eyes, freezing on her cheeks. The ground was ready to thaw, but she wasn’t. Not yet.
The day was late by the time she returned to the underworld. She knocked on the door to Hades’ chamber and waited.
“Come in.”
Hades was seated at her dressing table, brushing out her hair. She glanced at Persephone’s reflection in her bronze mirror. “I take it Demeter gave you no satisfaction.”
Persephone closed the door behind her and shook her head. She couldn’t speak.
Hades rose and went to her, enfolding her in her arms. She was her sanctuary, her shield against the storm. Persephone clung to her and cried, digging her nails into Hades’ skin. Her wife did not seem to mind, stroking her hair until Persephone’s tears subsided.
“It’s over. I’ll never see her again,” Persephone said, sniffling.
“‘Never’ is a long time.”
“If she changes—but she won’t. It’s pointless to keep hoping she will.” Persephone wiped her eyes and gazed up at Hades. “Don’t be mad. I’ll leave again, in seven days. I just can’t bear to be on the same plane of existence as her right now.”
“You are welcome here, Persephone. Always.”
Persephone pressed her lips to Hades’ neck and buried her face against her skin, relishing the familiar scent of her. They both deserved a rest; why not.
Spring would simply have to come late this year.
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Breathless: An F/F Hades and Persephone short story
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Hades steals her breath away.
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A few weeks into their marriage, Persephone is still learning how to please Hades, dreaded goddess of the underworld. As her fear wars with desire, Persephone must learn how to satisfy her captor and steel her own heart in order to survive.
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More books by Lianyu Tan
Unnamed [Gentleman Jack x Big Love] fantasy dark lesbian romance trilogy – book 1 coming 2022
Breathless – a sexy Hades and Persephone short story, available exclusively to newsletter subscribers
Acknowledgments
A book is a labor of love, and this novel was no different.
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To my loving wife, I owe a debt of gratitude. Thank you for leading me to the gravity well of authordom, for nurturing my fragile writer’s ego and for believing in me, always. You have my heart.
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My utmost thanks to my beta readers, Anders and Juliana, for pushing me to do better. Hades has blossomed under your thoughtful input.
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Thank you to Wicked Words and Christa Cooke for your help in editing and wrangling my words into shape. I appreciate all of your insightful comments and kind feedback.
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Thank you fellow authors Rae D. Magdon and Lexa Luthor for your kind words of encouragement and advice. I appreciate your support, so generously given.
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And for everyone who’s followed me from my Sylvanna/Morrigan days, thank you for your trust in my work.
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Sule sal harthir.
About the Author
Princesses in towers. Heroines in chains. Tales of abduction, suffering and smoldering passions. Those stories have captured Lianyu’s imagination since forever.
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In her dark lesbian romance novels, fear can turn to love, monsters can find redemption, and beauty always succumbs to the beast.
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Lianyu was born in Malaysia, but now lives in Australia with her wife and two cats. She loves to hear from readers. You can reach her as follows:
Email: [email protected]
Website: https://lianyutan.com
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Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Neither the publisher nor the author endorses any behavior carried out by any character in this work of fiction.
