Xenia hesitated. In the gathering twilight, her shadow loomed long across the ground. “Queen Hades does not lie,” she said. “If she believes you can free herself, you should do everything in your power to make the attempt.”

“Hades doesn’t mean for me to succeed.”

“She must,” Xenia said.

Persephone glanced at her and scoffed. How would she know?

Xenia chewed on her lip, looking as if she wished to say more. “I’m sorry, mistress. I wish you good fortune.”

She stepped into the chariot, then she, too, was gone.

Persephone was left alone with her thoughts, and she did not much like them. “I don’t know what you want me to do,” she said to herself. She desperately needed to scratch her nose again, and now there was no one to ask.

She wished Xenia had left her a light. With the night came the dark, awakening her ancestral fears. The winds raised the hem of her chiton, and she shivered.

She could not sleep like this. Her body ached too much, her arms screaming at her for release, the balls of her feet throbbing as if she were standing on a bed of needles. There was no comfort here, no softness. Too late, she wished for her warm bed in Hades’ palace, the caress of her furs, the clean rasp of the sheets.

Something scuttled near her feet, unseen in the dark. She rose up on the tips of her toes and screamed, kicking out blindly.

Nothing was there. Her heart thudded in her chest. She rested her forehead against the tree and moaned, wishing herself to be anywhere but here.

If she could free herself, this would end. She could not rely on Hades’ mercy. But what could she do?

She ran her fingers along the branches of the tree, as far as she could manage without moving her wrists. The willow had been planted here long ago and no longer remembered the touch of the sun. Its signature was alien, its being impenetrable.

Persephone banged her forehead against its trunk in frustration. The rough bark cut her skin, and a trickle of golden ichor slid down her face. She grimaced at the pain lancing through her head.

She wriggled her feet, kicking off the sandals that Xenia had so thoughtfully picked out for her earlier that day. With her soles bare, she buried her toes in the ground.

It was loamy here, with a low level of phosphorus. Perhaps the tree was too much to start with. She closed her eyes and searched for any sign of activity in the ground. Grass grew nearby. She struggled for long minutes to find its signature as the night sky seemed to grow even darker. Her pain interrupted her concentration; she had to bring herself back to the dirt more than once, corralling her thoughts until she could focus.