Destroyer of Light

by Rachel Alexander

  “There’s no ‘let’ for one such as you,” he said, and nudged the edge further down her arm, exposing more of her collarbone. She leaned into the brush of his fingers.

  “There is if I am unable to return here. And we both know that Olympus doesn’t hold me in quite the esteem that this world does.” She shifted closer to Aidon and he pulled the fibula away from her shoulder, setting it aside. “Is there any way to borrow the Key?”

  “No way which I am aware of,” he said reaching for the pin holding up the fabric of her other shoulder, the motions familiar, then remembered her desire to just hold each other. He looked at her and spoke low. “Is this alright?”

  She nodded.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes,” Persephone looked into his eyes. “I need to touch you.”

  “Is that all?”

  “For now I just— I want your skin on my skin.”

  This felt like the first time he’d lain with her, when they cautiously joined together in her bed at the other end of the palace, the oil lamps’ low lights barely flickering across their skin, hidden from one another. This time, they were well versed with each other. Just the same, Aidon moved slowly. He unhooked the other shoulder of her peplos, carefully untied her girdle, and brushed the fabric off her shoulders and waist until she was bared to him. Her hands moved down to his waist, unfastening his belt. He pulled out a fibula at one shoulder, shrugged off the other side of his tunic, then his loincloth, before gathering up her clothing with his and casually tossing it to the floor.

  Aidoneus gathered the sheet around them and held her close. The feel of her naked skin was torment enough without the sight of her soft curves flush against the angles of his body. He lay on his side and pulled her against him, stifling a groan when her stomach pressed his arousal between them, the tip seeping with want. The scent of roses and lilies and all things uniquely Persephone filled his senses. It would take very little effort on his part to pull her leg over his hips and slowly sink into her welcoming heat, and he imagined she would offer him no resistance. Instead, he bent forward and kissed her, then pulled her toward him, achingly slow, until they were face to face. She ran her left hand along his arm and up to his shoulder, her body wrapped and enfolded within his. Her right hand rested over his heart, feeling his pulse quicken the longer her lips stayed locked to his. He held her fingers beneath his free hand and pulled away to look at her.

  “Is this what you meant by holding each other?”

  “Yes,” she said against his neck. The feel of him against her soothed and inflamed all at once, and she felt the low throb between her legs start to ache, begging her to claim the hardness nestled against her thigh. But right now, she wanted only this feeling of security and sureness, new yet familiar. Persephone glanced at his hand over hers, over his heart, the rings glinting dark and sanguine in the hearth light. “How were you given the Key?”

  He inhaled and tensed. “Nyx… burned it into me, so to speak. It originally belonged to her and Erebus.”

  “Did it hurt?”

  “Unbelievably so. It knocked me senseless, and I stayed unconscious for a long time after. But the Key is a part of me. These,” he said, holding up the rings, “are symbols. When I take them off, the Key remains within me, but its power becomes more distant. So merely pulling the rings off my fingers and placing them on yours would do nothing.”

  She sighed and looked down. “How will I go, then? How will I come back?”

  Hades pursed his lips. There must be a way to do this. He recalled the day on Aitne at the end of the war, when he was so certain he would draw the lot for rulership over all. The Key had fueled his hubris. Now it was the very last thing he had that she didn’t. Everything else he’d given her— or had taken from him. This was the last piece— his ability to move freely from one realm to the next— and the prideful, fearful part of him clung to that desperately. Once Aidoneus realized that, he knew what must be done, but didn’t know how to go about it. “I need to give you the Key.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, perplexed. Aidon held Persephone closer, trying to think his way through their dilemma. Her skin moulded against his, perfectly fitting them together. Almost perfectly, he thought ruefully. He could feel and hear her heart beating against him, her chest rising and falling in time with his. If Nyx was willing to give him the Key, it meant that the Queen of the Underworld was to one day have it. “She never told me—”

  You’ll know what to do.

  What do you mean?

  That you’ll know what to do.

  She felt his whole body tense when he stopped mid-sentence. “Aidon?”

  He looked into her eyes, feeling as if a fog had been lifted. Aidoneus wasn’t supposed to give Persephone the Key…

  Why not just be King and Queen to each other, Aidoneus, and to Tartarus with what anyone else says?

  …he was supposed to share it with her.

  “Persephone,” he said, weaving his fingers into her hair. He stared into her eyes. “I need you to trust me…”

  He’d said the same to her on their descent to the Underworld, when he’d revealed himself to her. Trust, she thought. Give yourself over at last. “Yes,” she said, nodding her head, ready, prepared.

  “Just let go,” he said, closing his eyes. The words were meant for him as much as for her. He grasped her left hand within his and leaned his forehead to hers, much like when he had eased the torment she’d suffered in the Pit. She felt him reach carefully into her consciousness, trying to pour himself into her. He opened his eyes, hers following his lead and staring up at him.

  Persephone drew in each breath in time with his, conscious of each inhale and exhale only when his eyes locked to hers. Aidoneus rolled her onto her back and followed over her, clasping her hand tightly within his, resting his bodyweight on his right elbow. She moved with him out of instinct, as though this were a dance, the edges of their consciousness blurring. As he lay astride her, cradled by her, he stared into her. Through her. He lowered himself, their hands linked between them, each against the other’s heart.

  Warmth pervaded her and she felt a strain between them, as though they were at the edge, about to push through, so close, so close… She looked up at him and felt the rise and fall of his chest with hers, felt her heartbeat increase its tempo, catching up to his. Her eyes met his and she quaked. His presence in her mind was palpable. She met him equally— thought for thought, soul and soul intertwining. He blinked as though something had dawned on him, and she understood, the same realization sweeping through her. This isn't about sharing the Key, she thought. It is already shared. He and I are one. Almost. She nodded at him and urged his hips forward with her free hand.

  His flesh joined hers, and they were drawn inward, together into one space, one moment— oneness. She felt the glorious stretch to accept him and gasped once he finally sheathed himself within her. Her voice sang out and his teeth gritted, each momentarily overwhelmed by the intensity, and then concentrated again. Sensations, thoughts and will coalesced, wrapped around each other, winding, melting. They gazed directly into each other, through each other, unflinching. Their breathing slowed together and she felt his heart beating against the back of her hand, and hers against his, falling in time with his.

  Blinding fire seared between them at every point they were joined, cycling through and around them in bursts of heat and trails of light at the edges of their vision. Persephone felt her left hand burning as though it had been thrust into coals. She winced, but held steady, enduring it.

  From a distance, she heard whispers. Theos… Pater… Sotir… Anax…

  “Aidon?” she broke her gaze and looked down at her hand clasped within his. Red stones burned on his fingers.

  And upon hers.

  Thea! Sti Thea!… She’s here!… Annessa! Annessa kai Anax!… Pater kai Metra, hear me… Theo kai Thea…

  The shades in Asphodel. She gasped in shock. They were speaking to her.
Goddess. Queen. Savior. Mother.

  “Oh gods,” she said, “I can hear—”

  It’s alright, my love, my sweet wife… I’m here; I’ve got you.

  She startled and looked up at him with a sharp inhale. “Your voice!”

  He shuddered. A deep part of him knew, but it shook him nonetheless. “You’re able to hear…”

  Your thoughts, she finished as he held his breath.

  He could hear her as well. Persephone saw his mouth part in awe. She spoke within his mind as he had within hers. Then his eyes closed in pleasure, realizing where he still was. She moaned when he surged forward.

  Then hear this, my Persephone, he said, focused and intent. I am yours. I am yours alone and I love you. Don’t ever doubt that. Not ever. I was as dead as this kingdom before you came to me. I am alive with you. He withdrew and sank into her again. Within you.

  She brought her hands around him and clawed at his back. Aidon… You showed me everything… I had nothing, I was nothing, I was a scared little girl…

  To me, you were always a woman, Persephone. My queen. Always. He cupped her face with one hand and kissed her. I only showed you what was yours. What has always been yours.

  They stilled, clinging to each other, feeling their lovemaking within and through each other, the sensations and movements too much. She sensed each thing he shared with her. Persephone listened. His breath was ragged against her left ear and she could feel his body straining between the instinct to move within her and the enveloping bliss that gripped him when he did so. She could feel those sensations warring within him, she realized. Her hands moved soothingly over his back and she squeezed around him. He groaned, his fingers clenching her skin.

  She listened, letting her perception broaden. Theos… Annessa… Anax… Pater… Sotir… Metra…

  The voices of Asphodel. And deeper than that, welling up in fear and anger, the voices of Tartarus.

  Annessa, you freed that nymph bitch! Free me! I do not deserve to be here… The chains are weakening… Anax, she deserved it!… They have upset the balance further… The end nears for them and we will be free… Briareos can do nothing…

  Persephone felt Hades’s jaw clenching, knowing that he heard them too. The damned. The Titans. She’d had enough of their presence in her thoughts, in their moment together, and cast them away like darkness running from torchlight.

  Be silent. Now! You will intrude on us no more…

  Their voices stopped.

  Aidoneus looked at her with wide eyes. “What did you do?”

  “I…” she licked her dry lips. “I told them to be silent.”

  “I know you did, but…” he said, confusion melting into admiration. “Persephone, this is the first time they’ve ever truly been quiet.”

  Her breath came out unevenly around her words. “It’s… it’s still for you now? That is what you were hearing day and night for aeons?”

  “Yes. But you…” He gathered her up in his arms, sitting back and raising her with him, her body sinking down upon his. My love, you don’t understand… I could quell them before, but now…

  “Aidon, we—ah!” She clung to his shoulders as he pushed deep into her.

  For the first time, for the first time since I arrived, they are quieted. More importantly, Persephone, he is silent. Completely.

  You cannot hear Kronos’s voice?

  No, sweet one, you freed me… My love, my light, my sweet wife… my queen…

  She gripped his back, her fingers tracing the long scar, and held onto him as he drove into her, joining with her again and again. On the edges of perception, they heard the voices of Asphodel.

  Sto Theo, sti Thea! Aristi, Aristi! Chthonios kai Chthonia…

  They were calling out to them. Chanting. Celebrating. They knew she could hear them— that the Queen could hear her subjects at last. Ululated trills arose from the voices; the celebratory cries of women, echoing through all of Asphodel, millions of voices in a rising tide.

  Aidoneus glanced to the open door, out to the balcony. He heard them too, and turned to his wife, spurred on by the joyful noises outside. Persephone didn’t spare him her voice either, each plunge eliciting a sweet cry from deep in her throat.

  Do you hear them? He kissed her roughly. It’s the old way… the ancient way, he said. When they wanted the priestesses’ mating to bless the fields. Their collective ancestral memories… This is for us. For this… he said, clasping her left hand.

  The thought drove her wild, a primal heat gripping her as he rose within her, pushing, thrusting, her legs winding around his back. She leaned away, watching sweat bead on his skin. She needed him to touch her. Unprompted, Aidon traced the sheen between her breasts, down her stomach and over her navel, ending in the thatch of hair that hid the center of her desire. She rode him, the voices pushing her on. She was immersed in the sensations of fingers and lips, tongue and phallus, working together on her and within her.

  His hands… oh Gods, his hands… moving all over her in concert with hers on him, sliding over slick skin, holding each other, their movements echoed, reverberating. Every part of her that she wanted him to touch, he touched. It was as though he could sense her every desire— no, he could, she realized, completely. He gripped her waist tighter, knowing what she needed, and pushed her against him. Her head was thrown back, and she grew lightheaded from the pressure of him against that spot deep within. She shook. The fingers of his other hand circled, strumming at her front in perfectly balanced gentleness and roughness, manipulating, teasing and caressing just as her own hands would move and respond. Her sensations were his. His were hers.

  She felt something building within him, powerfully singular, focused and strong. His peak is approaching, she thought briefly. Oh gods, I can feel it… She could feel her own climax growing closer. His was so similar to hers but lacked the anticipatory strain, the contracting waves she felt rolling inside. Persephone knew from his untempered voice that Aidon could feel her spasms starting in earnest. She felt her pleasure sharpen powerfully, tinged for the first time by his approach, burning white hot. Fire rose from their joined cores, through their hearts, their throats, their minds overtaken by the sensation building higher and higher. She wondered, they wondered together, if this was what it always felt like for their mate.

  And then everything shattered— gone in a radiant burst as brilliant as the birth of the cosmos. Mingled with the rapturous song torn in unison from their throats, they could hear the women’s voices ululating as though it were a wedding, a death, a rebirth, an anointing—

  The coronation of a Queen.

  Persephone collapsed against his shoulder, almost sliding off of him against frictionless perspiration, his skin burning, his muscles taut and holding her to him. Aidon’s fingertips had left a radial of quickly fading bruises on her hips. His arms came up and glided over her back to support her. They heard the joyful noises of their kingdom die down and fade back into whispers.

  Thea… Metra… Pater… Anax… Annessa… Theos…

  She wondered if he had heard that strange celebratory cry every time he was with her. If, in their occasional haste, when he hadn’t time to remove his rings…

  “No,” Aidoneus finally breathed, hoarsely answering her very thoughts. “That’s never happened before. Just the usual whispers, if that. At least, I’m almost certain. I’m usually… distracted,” he chortled.

  “The rite you and Hecate speak of…” she struggled to speak, still overwhelmed, her tongue thick in her mouth. “Was that it?”

  “I don’t think so,” he said between labored breaths. Aidon allowed the maelstrom of his thoughts to collect again. “No, it wasn’t. The hieros gamos is performed deliberately, steeped in ceremony. There was none such tonight.”

  She carefully lifted herself from him, and they each felt a momentary pang of longing as he slipped from her. They both needed to breathe, needed to collapse beside one another.

  We’re gods. We need no ceremony. To wh
om would we swear ourselves?

  Persephone remembered him saying those words a month ago. “Ceremony…”

  “I want that for us,” he whispered. “I want to wed you in the sight of all.”

  “Gods have none to swear by…”

  “I don’t care. We’ll swear by the Fates. We’ll swear by the cosmos itself. And I want more than that— so much more…” He swept her hair away from her face. “I want to perform the Rite with you, Persephone. I want to bind us as one…”

  “On the full moon?” She said, gleaning from his thoughts what little he knew of it. “That’s nearly here. Tomorrow. We’ll never learn it in time. And I still must go…”

  “Not tomorrow. The very next one we’re together…”

  “I am no one’s acolyte, and never was. I know nothing. To fulfill my role—” She reached for him in the dark, the fire playing against his skin.

  “I will guide you. As your consort, I will learn… and I will guide you. It is one of the last things Hecate has left to teach me. I will go to her while you are in the world above. I want to seal myself to you.”

  Persephone ran a hand over his forehead, playing with one of his wayward curls, feeling affection and a hint of impatience course through him. She didn’t need to hear him ask, and she gave no answer. Persephone reached for Aidoneus as he moved over her, then within her. She wanted the same thing he sought— to spend the rest of the night exploring this new connection, this newfound pleasure, for as long as their intertwining bodies would allow.

  5.

  The day before the full moon, the Telesterion opened its doors to all the people of Eleusis. Those who had patiently waited for their womenfolk to bring back food each day could now bask in the warmth and sustenance provided by the Corn Mother.

  The gardens outside yielded enough, but the steady flow of new arrivals had not wavered, and the stores were wearing thin. Demeter contemplated the idea of extending fertility to Athens’ fields, enough to feed the people traveling in on the sea road. She clenched her jaw. The patroness of that city had betrayed her: Athena had all but handed Kore over to the Lord of the Dead to curry favor with her father. It would do the supposed Goddess of Wisdom no good. Demeter knew from bitter experience that Zeus cared nothing for his offspring. Athens would go hungry. Its temples would stand empty. Let its people come to her instead.