Persephone gave her a sanitized version of events, careful not to cast aspersion on either Demeter or Hades. At times Demeter interjected to comment on what she saw as Persephone’s stupidity, or to exclaim how dreadful the underworld must be. At those moments, Persephone repeated her gratitude toward Demeter for saving her, but it seemed like no matter how fervent her thanks, they were never enough.

She had never talked this much about herself in her mother’s presence before, and the conversation seemed to drag on for hours until the sun was low in the sky. Demeter wanted to know everything about Hades, much of which Persephone was unwilling or unable to tell her.

“Is she still using that helm?” Demeter asked.

“Which helm?”

Demeter waved a hand. “Before your time. Did she cry over her human souls? The children used to bother her, if I recall rightly.”

Demeter’s tone made it seem like the prospect of Hades suffering excited her. Persephone was discomfited by the way Demeter watched her over the rim of her chalice, her eyes too bright and cunning.

“I don’t think so,” Persephone said.

“A pity. Perhaps all those years underground have muddled her brain. Why else would she think to steal my only daughter, my pride and love?”

“It’s done now, Mother,” Persephone said. “She sent me back.”

“Not without some prodding on my part.”

“Is that what you call the murder of thousands of innocents?”

Demeter laughed bitterly. “Innocents? Is that what you think? Don’t be so naive.”

Persephone could feel herself shrinking, made small by her mother’s words. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Some of them were infants.”

“The Asphodel Fields will be kinder to them than any city made by man.” Demeter stood and walked over to the table where Persephone had set down her meager belongings. “Now, let’s see what you brought.”

Persephone’s face flushed and she leapt to her feet. “Those are my things.”

Demeter untied the bundle and ran her hand through the folded clothes and trinkets. As she shook out a chiton, Persephone’s pomegranate fell out and rolled along the floor.

“What is this?” Demeter snatched it up. “You dare bring this filth into my house?”

“It’s... merely a souvenir. I planted that tree from seed,” Persephone said, wanting to reach for it but not daring to.

Demeter narrowed her eyes. “Have you eaten the food of the underworld? Tasted its drink?”

“No.”

Demeter’s face softened a little before she turned on her heel, striding away. Persephone raced after her, following her into the kitchen.

Kallon was cleaning fish, a skinny filleting knife in his hand. He dropped it onto his cutting board as soon as he saw them, trying simultaneously to wipe his hands on his apron and to bow at the same time.

Demeter ignored him and flung the pomegranate onto the cooking fire.