“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Persephone said with more conviction than she felt. “What should we do? Perhaps if she knew I was safe, she would relent. We could send a token—”

“These deaths demand more than a token,” Hades said. She went to the door and pulled out her dagger, sending chips of wood flying. She looked down at the blade, turning it over and over between her fingers. “Go. Pack your things.”

“You—you’d truly send me back?” Persephone whispered.

Hades looked up at her. “All your wishes have come true,” she said dryly. The dagger sketched a short arc in the air as she gestured. “I shall ask Hermes to deliver you to Zeus, so that he might mediate your return. He sanctioned our union and is obliged to respect it, else be seen as an oath-breaker. You should not meet with Demeter unaccompanied.”

Persephone stared at her, open-mouthed. This was what she’d wanted. What she’d begged of Hades, what she’d dreamed of for so long.

So why did it feel like the ground was collapsing beneath her feet?

She ran up to Hades and embraced her, burying her face into Hades’ neck. Hades remained still, not moving to touch Persephone of her own accord.

Persephone drew back, her hands on Hades’ shoulders. “Thank you,” she whispered, tears in her eyes, then turned and fled before Hades could change her mind, before Persephone could let her own doubts overwhelm her.

Home. She was going home.

21

AS MY WIFE

There was not much for Persephone to pack, in truth. She visited her grove, touching the trunk of each tree as she passed by. It seemed odd to think that this could be the last time she walked this path, felt this electric hum in the air, the ringing in her ears from the song of the green ghosts all around her. It had never been this intense in the overworld, not when she’d had to share some of her duties with Demeter and all the other minor gods and goddesses of the land.

When she came to the end of the grove, she turned back and plucked a single fruit from the nearest tree. She took it with her to the palace and set it aside with her other belongings.

She folded some spare clothes in a pile, then placed on it her wax tablet and stylus, a few skin creams and grooming implements, and the pomegranate she’d saved from her grove. She wrapped all of her things into a neat bundle and tied them off with a belt, before sitting beside it on the bed and looking around herself.

There were some things she would miss. And she would always be grateful to Hades for introducing her to the written word—and for granting Persephone her own land and the right to pronounce judgment. She’d learned more in the last year than she’d had in the previous century above ground.