Xenia flicked the water from her hands. “You and I would know, and then our queen would know. I’m sorry, mistress. I cannot.”

Persephone slumped against the tree and blew a stray hair from across her face. “Fine, then. If I’m to suffer, I don’t wish to be bored. Tell me a story.”

“What would you like to hear?”

“Something true. Tell me about your children. You did have children, didn’t you?”

Xenia’s face broke into a smile. “Oh, yes. Four children and twenty-one grandchildren. I stopped counting after that.”

“How many more generations?” Persephone asked.

Xenia blushed. “I’ve been dead for almost two centuries.”

Persephone blinked. She supposed the afterlife was a kind of immortality in its own way, where time held less meaning. “Do you still see them?”

Xenia nodded. “I visit from time to time, on my day of leave.”

Even death could not save one from familial duties. “You must miss them the rest of the time, then? What did you do to deserve the punishment of serving me?”

“Punishment?” Xenia stood a little straighter. “I had to compete with hundreds of other women, some of far nobler birth than I, for this position.”

“Why?”

Xenia allowed the silence to stretch on for so long that Persephone thought perhaps she’d misheard. But eventually, Xenia said in a low voice, “Forgive me for saying so, but you cannot afford to be this naive. The underworld has never been and never will be a democracy. The Host of Many is its mistress, and you have her confidence.”

Persephone wasn’t sure if she would forgive Xenia. “I’ve never changed her mind.”

“Perhaps not yet. But in time, she will listen to you.”

Persephone could not imagine that ever happening, but then again, Hades had seemed moved by her plight—and though she’d lingered over Persephone’s suffering that morning, she’d also walked away, despite whatever else she might have desired. “In time? Do you mean a year, or a century?”

“Change can come faster than that. She may seem harsh, but it is only her duty. Perhaps you could help her see another way.”

And perhaps Zeus would become celibate.

They turned to lighter topics after that, stories of Xenia’s youth, of her experience as a young mother. Persephone realized she’d never spent this long in conversation with a mortal before. Their lives were as full as the gods’, fleeting though they might be.

Xenia fed her more ambrosia from time to time and smeared ointment over Persephone’s cracked lips. But no matter how hard Persephone pleaded, she would not free her.

“The night grows upon us. I must leave you,” Xenia said.

Persephone had become accustomed to hearing her voice during the intervening hours. “Will someone else come?”

“I’ve not been informed. I’m sorry.”

“What should I do?”