Her mother gave her a sharp look.

“Hades and I spoke of nothing of consequence,” Persephone said. “Plants,” she added. She resisted the impulse to rub at her throat.

“Don’t harass her with your inane prattle in the future,” Demeter said. “Don’t you know she hasn’t been seen above ground for at least seventy summers? She must have much more pressing things to do. Whatever would a silly little girl like you have to say to the Queen of the Underworld?”

Persephone bit her tongue. She hadn’t asked to be caught with Hades; in fact, she’d had no intention—none!—of conversing with her at all, if one could even call their interaction a conversation. She’d squandered the day, and now Gaia only knew when she’d next be able to speak with Athena or Artemis.

“And what of our agreement?” Demeter asked.

“I kept my head. I hardly had a drop,” Persephone said.

Demeter sniffed. “And the other?”

“No promises.” They had left so early, what did Demeter suppose she had done with the scant time available?

“Even a kind smile is an invitation, to some,” Demeter said. “And what happened to your himation?”

Persephone rubbed her bare shoulder, shivering as she remembered Aphrodite’s knowing smile. “I—danced a little. I must have dropped it. I’m sorry.” She had also left behind her gift from Hephaestus. She hesitated, opening her mouth, but stopped herself before she could commit the sin of asking to turn around to fetch it.

Demeter rolled her eyes skyward but remained silent the rest of the chariot ride home. Once their driver had brought them to the back of the house and departed, she turned to Persephone. “You’ll not try to bother her again, will you, dear?”

“Hades?” Persephone asked.

Demeter twirled a lock of hair around her finger. “It’s just I would so hate for her to take offense at your prattling. She can be vindictive, you know.”

The warning was unnecessary. Persephone touched her fingertips to her neck, echoes of their conversation repeating over and over in her mind. Did Demeter teach you no manners? “I won’t bother her,” she said. It was an easy promise to make.

Demeter smiled and placed an arm around her shoulders. “Come, the hour is late.”

Persephone obediently followed her mother up the steps to the house. Though she could not quite forget her brief audience with the Queen of the Underworld, they spoke no more of Hades that evening, nor any evening thereafter.

2

NONE ARE WORTHY

Seasons passed, and Persephone’s chance meeting with Hades became a distant memory. She did not think of her overly much except in spring, when all her flowers were in bloom, including the star-shaped white asphodel. There was something imperfect about their scent, mismatching what she remembered wafting from the heat of Hades’ skin—they were too warm, too bright, too… immaculate.