“Not her fault!” Hades slammed her fist on the table, making Persephone jump. “It is the duty of the parent to prepare their child for the brutality of the world we find ourselves in. And you are not a poor student. If you would take anything from your time here, remember that the world of knowledge lies at your feet. And you are more than capable of grasping it.”

Persephone fiddled with the fraying edge of her chiton. “She’s always busy,” she said in a faint whisper.

Hades looked down at her, studying her expression. “She frightens you, that is plain to see.”

Persephone blanched.

Hades paced across the rug, then back again, restless. “I always thought—Zeus claimed—I was wrong, it seems,” she said, her face sour. She stopped pacing, hands clasped behind her back, and looked again at Persephone. “You were not wanted, is that so? But a goddess of fertility can hardly deny the seed forced upon her.”

Persephone squeezed her hands tight in her lap and looked down at them, willing herself not to cry.

“Yes,” Hades said to herself with more confidence. “That would explain her indifference. But it is wrong to blame a child for the sins of the father.”

“I wasn’t an easy child—”

“Stop making excuses for her!”

Persephone flinched.

Hades looked at her and sighed, rubbing her hand across her face. “Forgive my tone,” she said, more quietly. “It is not your fault—neither your upbringing, nor the situation we find ourselves in. The latter fault lies with me. I should not have underestimated Demeter.” She briefly pressed her knuckles against her lips before speaking again. “She has ever been a selfish one. Perhaps you know that.”

“She takes pains that others won’t see,” Persephone said quietly, fighting against every survival instinct that warned her not to speak ill of Demeter.

“Yes. I believe she hates me because I remember a time when she was imperfect.” Hades clasped her hands behind her back again, her gaze distant. “At the height of the Titanomachy, it seemed certain that we—the gods—would lose.”

It had been before Persephone’s time, but every child knew about the War of the Titans. “What did she do?”

“I caught her preparing to broker a deal with the Titans that would save her own skin but doom the rest of the gods. If Zeus had found out, she would have been cast down—chained in Tartarus, or worse.”

“You kept her secret.”

“I chose to believe that she was sorry. That she repented. I never warned the others of her erstwhile treachery.” Hades sighed. “We all make mistakes, after all.” She stared pensively into the distance. “If she saw you. If you... returned to her. Would she relent?”

Persephone didn’t know whether to hope, the strain of her yearning an ache in her chest. “It would mean she’d won. She likes that. She would be magnanimous in victory.”