Something brushed her cheek, and Persephone opened her eyes, letting out a strangled cry. It was only a vine, moving toward the far columns of the pavilion.

“There,” Hades said. “Have they stopped?”

Persephone turned her mind inward, then nodded, too worn for speech.

“I am proud of you,” Hades said.

Persephone stood up too fast and swayed on her feet. Hades caught her, setting her down on a bench and then sitting beside her. Persephone was too tired to mind the proximity, their hips almost touching.

Hades was her lodestone, both attracting and repelling. When Persephone had left the hilltop, her head filled with ghosts, her first impulse had been to run to her. But now that she was here, Persephone could not stand the thought of breathing the same air.

They sat in silence for some time, broken by the gentle babble of the stream as it passed them by. Something else tugged at her thoughts. She turned to look at Hades. “You’ve not said that before.”

Hades met her gaze. “Praise where praise is due.”

Persephone glanced away. Words so lightly given meant nothing. But still, her cheeks flushed. “You have a strange way of showing it.”

“Our ways are not kind. But life and death are not kind.”

Hades was not kind. “Did you know what would happen when you tied me up there?” Persephone asked.

“Not exactly. I had my suspicions.”

Persephone had gathered that much. “What if I hadn’t managed to break free? What then?”

“Xenia would have come to help you, eventually.”

“Eventually?” Persephone’s voice shook. “How long did you plan to leave me there?”

Hades pressed her lips together. “I trusted you to find your own way.”

“I could’ve been there for days!”

“No,” Hades said firmly. “No matter what you think, no matter what Demeter might have said, you are destined for great things. Your gifts are unique and can be wielded like a sword—for good or ill. You need only learn to control them.”

Persephone wanted to believe her but couldn’t. The way Hades spoke about her, like she was some kind of—like she was a goddess, not a fool getting in everyone’s way. That description suited Athena, Artemis... not her.

She pressed a hand to her chest. Her wrists still bore marks, but they were already fading. “I touched—I killed—” Her throat closed over with tears. She had thought she’d cried them all out, and yet here they were, still more to fall.

Hades looked toward the rise of the hill. “Not exactly. A shade cannot die twice.”

“But then I—what—destroyed its soul?” Persephone asked, horrified.

“Do trees have souls?”

“Don’t you know?”

Hades narrowed her eyes. “What would you have me say? You broke something, yes. But what you found was worth the price.”