“How can I answer that?”
He looked around at the delicately ridged columns, polished smooth and gleaming by the water that built them and ate them, at the intricately branched formations of crystal that grew from the walls and glowed with power—white and pink and blue and pale green.
“To me it is more beautiful, more desirable, than any other place. I love it—both dark and bright, the silence, the purity of sound when there is a sound”—he put fingers to a small cut in his shoulder that had sent a trickle of blood, now dry, down his arm—“even the unexpected knife of crystal that flays my skin. The sun and the wind I enjoy, but they are too changeable, too restless. After these many years in the unchanging caves, the constant movement of light and shadow, the constant whine and whisper, make me uneasy. But I cannot speak for you.”
“That is not what I meant,” Persephone said. “Will I like your people? Will I find friends?”
“If you are asking me sidelong whether you will find yourself the target of hatred by a bevy of beauties who have been supplanted in my affections, I will tell you again there are none such. I have taken my pleasure with several women in the past year or two, but all of them live by that trade.”
“No, you vain man,” she said, smiling slightly.
“That is not what I meant either. I meant exactly what I asked.”
“A queen cannot afford to have many friends. It will be best to choose carefully among those you learn you can trust. To open yourself to all—
“I have sense enough not to do that. I suppose what I want to know is whether I will be welcome or only tolerated as a hated necessity.”
Hades smiled. “In that sense I am sure you will find Plutos palatable. You will be welcomed with open hearts, deep respect, and high hopes. It will be harder to ward off those who wish to be your friends than to discover those who find you acceptable.”
“I have never had to do that,” Persephone said. “My mother often warded away even those I would have liked to know, and I never understood why. Do you think my judgment was at fault?”
“Oh, no. You will not catch me in the snare of criticizing your judgment. I think it very likely your mother was overprotective. On the other hand, I suspect you have too tender a heart—and you are young. You should be on guard against letting your heart be too easily touched. However, I will not pick and choose your companions. I will only tell you of a few men and women you must learn to accept because they live and work in my palace and are dear to me. Even so, you need not feel those folk must be your friends.”
* * * *
Over the next three days, between times when Persephone worked on perfecting control of her Gift, Hades told her much about Plutos and its people and how he ruled them. Those who were his chief helpers were Koios, his steward, who had made plain to him that a priestess would be necessary if the people of Plutos were not to starve; Sisyphus, who was in charge of the mines that provided ores for smelting into metals and black rock for burning; Arachne, who oversaw the womenservants of the palace and had woven the cloth for the gowns Persephone had found so lovely; and four or five others whose names did not stick in Persephone’s mind.
Those three she remembered because she had heard of them before. All had been considered criminals, Koios by Kronos and Sisyphus and Arachne by other powerful mages favored of Zeus. They were now dead.
Chapter 9
Persephone did not mention to Hades that those whom he named as his servants were dead. She knew he would only laugh and speak again that puzzle—that they were dead in the outer world but alive in Plutos—but it made her uneasy. Thus, despite Hades’s assurances and the improvement in her spirits and appearance provided by the supplies, Persephone found herself fearful and shy when he told her they were near the home caves. She put a determined smile on her face, but perhaps he felt the hand she had slipped into his tremble or sensed her quickened breathing.
“I will take you to the palace first,” he said. “You can rest and make yourself ready. Then you need only stand beside me, as you are accustomed to standing beside your mother in ceremonies. I will show you to my people and tell them of the treasure I have brought to Plutos. You need not speak. You will then be able to meet singly with those you wish to meet, in my presence if you like, or alone.”
“Thank you,” Persephone said. “I am sure I will soon grow accustomed.”
They turned aside from the tunnel they were following into a narrower way. Eventually Hades carried her through a thick dividing wall into a chamber of such exquisite beauty that for a moment she forgot her fears entirely. In another moment her fears were supplanted by renewed wonder when she realized that this was no natural beauty. The room had been carved into solid rock, and gems had been set into the walls to make pictures. Here was a hunting party in a blue-light cave, there a party of men by a river. She looked away with some effort. Chandeliers of bronze hung from the ceiling, each arm cupping a glowing crystal the size of a man’s fist.
“This is my bedchamber—our bedchamber,” Hades said.
“I will never be able to sleep in here.”
“You do not like it?” Hades tone was carefully neutral.
Persephone laughed. “Oh, Hades, how can you ask such a silly question? Who could not like—love—such work? I will not be able to sleep because I will be too busy looking at the pictures.”
“Ah, that need not trouble you. I think I can distract you. Or we could release the spell and lie in the dark.”
He led her past the huge bed that gleamed like gold to a curtain-hung doorway; smiling, he lifted the curtain. Persephone stepped in and gasped in surprise. There was a woman facing her, also looking shocked. She stepped back hurriedly, treading on Hades’s toes. He yelped and hopped back out of the room, lifting his foot to rub it.
“How dare you!” she gasped, turning on him. “You told me there was no woman in your household.” And then, more furiously, when he began to whoop with laughter, “How dare you laugh at me.”
“It is not easy,” he said, still grinning. “As I have said before, you are no wraith and I think you have squashed my toes.”
“I wish I had squashed something else!” Persephone hissed.
“Oh no, you do not,” Hades got out between gasps. “You would be very sorry because I am totally innocent.”
“She is not your woman?”
“Yes, indeed she is, but—” He caught Persephone’s hand, which she had raised to strike him. “I am innocent, I say,” he repeated, still chuckling. “Go in and look the woman in the face. Then if you still wish to be rid of her, I will arrange it.”
“I will arrange it myself,” Persephone snarled, and flung back the curtain.
To her astonishment, the woman was still in exactly the same place. It was not reasonable for her to stand there, neither to come forward to listen nor to retreat, considering the conversation between herself and Hades. Then she saw that the woman’s color was not natural. A strange gray tinge covered her face, arms, and gown. She must be one of the dead, Persephone thought, and felt shocked by Hades’s laughter. And then she saw behind the woman the curtain she had just passed, and then Hades, who had lifted it. A mirror!
First she laughed and then she gasped. Her mother had a small, unusually flat round of silver, polished so fine she could see her face. However, Demeter had seldom allowed Persephone to look in it because it needed such careful handling. A brush with a fingertip soon created a dark blemish that required long, careful polishing to restore the brightness without creating distortion. Persephone had sometimes used the reflection in a quiet pond or a dark bowl filled with water, but she had never seen her whole self and seldom seen her face upright instead of bent forward.
“Am I forgiven?” Hades asked.
Persephone smiled. “Of what is it made?”
“Rock, but I am not sure what kind. We tried this and that. I melted the surface until it ran all together and then we polished it smooth. It is a little darker than I wanted,
but the best I could find to have ready for you. I did not adorn the chamber. I thought you should choose what you liked for your private room. And you will have the temple too, of course.”
“I will have my own apartment in the temple?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Why?” The question snapped with suspicion.
Hades smiled and shook his head. “Not because I wish ever to be rid of you, Persephone. But I do not know what mysteries you practice. If there are rituals congress with a man would profane— Persephone laughed. “There are rituals that must be performed in the absence of men, yes, but My Lady watches over the quickening of life, and congress between male and female is necessary, not profane.”
“I will do all in my power to aid Her,” Hades said and kissed her. “You can give the chambers in the temple to your chief acolyte.”
Not until I know her well, Persephone thought, curving her lips into a meaningless smile, which soon became truly warm and approving. It had occurred to Persephone that she need not fear her position might be usurped. She would be not only high priestess but queen.
Meanwhile, Hades had led her through another doorway in the bedchamber into a very long, narrow room crowded with tables, upon which were many tools and heaps of bright gems and what looked like dull pebbles. She realized that this must be Hades’s workroom, where dull pebbles became precious stones, and began to ask questions, which he promised to answer another time, since he wished to show her the whole of the private apartment in the palace.
A third door led to a bathing room, with a sunken tub of bright-veined marble. Removing one stone in the wall above it released a stream of warm water, which filled the tub if another stone were dropped into a hole in the bottom. A waist-high basin of the same marble and a similar arrangement of fitted stones provided a place to wash face and hands if one did not wish to bathe. Beyond the washing room was a much smaller chamber with a privy stool. In the small space, the sound of running water—doubtless a stream below the stool—was apparent.
The last door—a real door of wood with a thick metal bar to keep it locked—led out into a square corridor that opened into three audience chambers: one was quite large and as gorgeous as Hades’s bedroom, but in place of the bed was a long polished stone table and many chairs, the one at the far end a magnificent, gilded throne, while that at the near end, if not quite as high, was even more magnificently gilded and set with gems; the second room, also strikingly adorned, was only suitable for a few people to sit comfortably and talk; the third was a lived-in room furnished with thick-cushioned couches, sagging leather chairs, and a small round table at one side.
“This is where you live,” Persephone said, looking around and sinking into a chair.
“Yes, where my friends come to talk at ease.”
Persephone smiled. “How like you, Hades, to make the greatest mark of your affection an invitation to a shabby room.”
“If you wish it to be furnished anew, you need only give the order.”
She laughed at him. “I would not change a stick—oh, yes, I will have to ask you to add one straight chair so that I can sit at my embroidery… Oh, that was left behind.”
“You need only say what you want, and you will have it. If you were doing some special piece, I can retrieve it for you if you can tell me exactly where it is.”
If he were caught, her mother would discover where she was. She shook her head and put out her hand to him. “You are too indulgent to me. I will gladly start anew. It was a veil for the Goddess and it would be very wrong to steal that, even to adorn Her in a different place.”
He took the hand she had held out, but before he could answer there was, distantly, the sound of a door opening, a soft thud, a dragging scrape, another thud. Hades bent down and said softly, “That is Koios. If you wish, I will go out and tell him to wait in one of the other rooms.” He hesitated and then said, clearly reluctantly, “If you prefer, I will tell him not to come into this chamber without invitation.”
“No, let him come,” Persephone said, although she had to force out the words. She felt sick and guilty, although what had happened to Koios had happened before she was born. Still, Olympus had been the home of his people before Kronos drove them out, and the sound of the stick and the dragging leg made a vivid picture of what Hades had said about Koios being crippled by Kronos. She lifted frightened eyes to Hades. “He will hate me if you forbid him what I am sure has always been precious to him.”
“He will not hate you, but…it would hurt him, and he has been too much hurt already.”
Persephone found a smile and Hades kissed her swiftly, murmuring thanks before he straightened and went to the door. She heard a grating voice, one that sounded as broken as the body, utter a cry of surprise and then an anxious question.
“She is here,” Hades said, “and we are both unhurt. I am sorry we are late and worried you, but my lady is no meek slave. She did not take lightly being abducted without first asking her permission.”
“An abduction presupposes lack of permission,” the gravelly voice stated with great earnestness. “It was unreasonable for her to expect you to apply for permission.”
Quite without volition, Persephone giggled. She had not the smallest doubt that Koios intended to be funny. That was just the straight-faced kind of jest Hades favored.
“Perhaps,” Hades replied dryly, “but not unreasonable for her to be angry. Owing to her determination not to yield tamely to having her will crossed, we had to take a roundabout path.”
“As long as you are both here and safe, all is well,” Koios said. “But now I will go back to my chambers. It would be better, I think, if you came to me in the future, or sent for me when you are alone so that the sight of me will not offend the queen.”
“No friend so dear and so loyal to Hades can offend me,” Persephone said from the doorway.
Her voice was steady and her face calm, but that was because the first shock of seeing Koios had been absorbed while the men were still talking. She did not think she would ever get over the terrible wrenching pity she felt when she stepped softly to the doorway and looked out, but she hoped she did not show it. He must have been broader and taller than Hades before he was broken to bits. Now one leg was short and too thick; the other, more like its natural length, was oddly twisted and trailed behind. His arms were bent unnaturally too, and his head leaned almost to his shoulder, the nose smashed flat and one ear missing.
He shrank into himself and swung his crutch as if to turn away, but Hades put a hand on his shoulder and said, “This is our priestess and my queen, Persephone.”
“A dazzling brightness you will be in Plutos, Queen Persephone,” Koios said. Then he took a deep breath and added, “And if you are still angry at being brought here, the blame should fall on me. I am the one who convinced King Hades that Plutos must have its own crops and flocks.”
“If I wished to lay blame,” Persephone replied, smiling, “it would be upon Zeus, who despite his claims, has no right to dispose of me like a parcel of goods. However, your king is a most persuasive person. I am no longer angry. Come in and join us. I was just saying to Hades that I would like to have a straight chair and a frame for embroidery here. Do I apply to you for such things?”
“The queen gives an order,” Koios said, starting forward by placing his crutch, then lifting the leg he could stand on and swinging it forward, dragging the other behind. “The queen does not apply to anyone.”
Persephone turned and stepped into the room, but then she turned to face him again so he would be sure she was not afraid to watch his painful progress. In turning, her eyes met Hades’s and she saw such gratitude and relief that she was repaid many times for controlling her revulsion. She felt strong and sure of herself, no longer frightened of meeting the “dead” of Plutos. If Koios had died in Olympus, which she thought not impossible from the injuries he had suffered, he was nonetheless truly alive here. The thump of the stick that supported him, the scra
pe of his dragging leg, were proof of his solidity. There was nothing of the cold, thin shade about him.
She smiled at him when he had dropped into the nearest chair. “Do you want the dazzling queen to put her big foot in her mouth?” she asked. “In Plutos, strange things are precious, like bread, and others, precious in Olympus, like gold and jewels, are near worthless. I suppose what I was really asking was whether you or another would warn me if I was making an unreasonable demand before I gave an order.”
“You can have anything you want,” Hades said. “It is my purpose to make you happy here.”
“Yes, and if what I desire is important to me, I might insist, even if it cost high, but—” Persephone turned toward Koios and made an exasperated gesture. “Hades is far too indulgent. I do not wish to make enemies or wake envy by asking for what is difficult to obtain out of ignorance when the thing itself is of little importance to me.”
“That is reasonable—and generous—my queen,” Koios said. “And I will be glad to warn you, and to obtain even what I warn you against if you still desire it, but you will have your servants and your acolytes—”
“But I will not know which among them to trust at first.”
“No one will try to hurt you here,” Hades said.
She smiled at him. “Not apurpose…perhaps. But people will lie for many reasons: because they think they would be pleasing me, because they fear to tell an unpleasant truth. I know I can trust Koios because—forgive me, I do not mean to hurt you, Koios, but I know you cannot aspire to Hades’s place, nor could any selfish act give you more power than you already hold through his affection. Thus, I am sure your first interest is Hades’s welfare, and you will not let me damage that.”
Koios stared at her for a moment then twisted himself around to look at Hades and broke into a gargling laugh. “The queen is already wiser than the king, who has too great a trust in the goodness of men…and women.”
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