Persephone gasped and pressed her fingertips to her lips in horror. Behind her, the scribe trembled on his knees, his forehead touching the ground.

Hades seemed to notice him for the first time. “You,” she said. “Come with me. I must send several missives tonight.”

The scribe scrambled to his feet, his head bobbing in agreement.

“What can I do to help?” Persephone asked.

Hades’ mouth twisted, the corners down-turned. “Talk to the dead. Confirm their story.”

“Of course,” Persephone said, grateful to have something to do. “There will be some other reason for this,” she added.

“We shall see.”

20

NOT WANTED

The reasons were all the same, just as Hades had anticipated. Crops were failing, grain withering on the stem. Famished cattle collapsing in the fields, the flies thick over their bodies. Last year’s stores were long gone, and the price of food had jumped to astronomical heights.

There was nothing else to explain it, save that Demeter had abandoned her worshipers, heedless of their prayers and sacrifices. Persephone could not believe it. Her mother had never seemed so cruel as to look upon a starving child and deny them succor.

The following day, she sought out Hades in her study. It was a large, airy room connected to the library with high, small windows to permit natural light. The walls were lined with scrolls, but there was also ample space to relax on padded klinai.

Hades was not alone.

“Hermes!” Persephone cried upon seeing the golden-haired god. She ran to him and embraced him, clinging to his neck, her feet leaving the floor.

“Sweet sister,” he said, laughing and returning her embrace.

His hair smelled like meadow grass, grown beneath Helios’s watchful gaze. It brought tears to Persephone’s eyes, and she blinked them away.

“Has Hades been keeping you well?” Hermes asked, taking a step back and looking her over.

Hades was right there in the room, leaning against a table, her arms crossed. Her chiton of Tyrian purple seemed rumpled as though she’d slept in it, or perhaps not slept at all.

“Yes, I am quite well,” Persephone said. “What news do you bring of my mother?”

Hermes sighed. He glanced at Hades from beneath his long lashes. “Perhaps now is not the time—”

“More humans die every day,” Hades said, sounding almost bored. “A season ago was the time, but as we cannot have that, then today must suffice.”

“Yes. Well. Demeter sends her regards—”

Hades scoffed, rolling her eyes skyward.

“—and demands the safe return of her daughter. She has regretfully informed Zeus that she will not resume her duties until Persephone is under her care,” Hermes said.

“Can she do that?” Persephone asked. “Give up everything, just like that?”

“If your father cannot command her to be sensible, then I suppose yes,” Hades said, examining her nails.