Demeter would never change. A year apart had given Persephone hope, so quickly dashed. She had endured her mother’s moods for centuries, knowing nothing else, and had been prepared to live with them for centuries more, but now...

Great Mother Gaia, lend me your strength, your patience.

She crawled into the bed, huddling in a tight ball under the blankets. One hand grasped the frame—it was pine, the dowels made of oak, as familiar to her as her own name. Closing her eyes, she let the dreaming earth carry her into slumber, willing this torment to be over by the time she woke.

24

DEMETER

The shop was small and dimly lit. It took Demeter’s eyes a moment to adjust after the blazing glare of the midday sun.

“May I offer some wine? Or ambrosia, if you’d prefer?”

Demeter waved the attendant away. She was not here for pleasantries. She cast her eye on the dozens of swords racked against the walls, at the variety of spears, bows, and polearms on display. The shop stank of oiled leather and metal.

“The game you seek must be quite special, for you to travel all this way,” the attendant said. He was a man of small stature, clean-shaven and wiry.

“Quite.” Demeter dismissed the rest of his wares with a glance. “I was told you could help me.”

“Of course.” The man spoke to his servant in rapid-fire Phoenician. The servant set a ‘closed’ sign outside the shop and shut the door, blocking the slight breeze that had brushed Demeter’s shoulders. The heat of the room settled upon her like a shroud.

“Please, come this way,” the man said.

Demeter followed him farther into the building and down several flights of steps. She held her skirts in her hand to stop them from trailing behind her. The man held only a rushlight to show him the way, its flame weak and wavering.

The steps leveled out, and the man fished a key from his belt and opened a door before waving Demeter inside.

She found herself in a cellar littered with objects like the site of a battlefield, sans the bodies. There seemed to be no order to the chaos, with shields stacked haphazardly over suits of armor, halberds and pikes propped up against the walls. She was forced to tread carefully to avoid stepping on trinkets. The air held the acrid taste of preservation charms and some other enchantments—protection against theft, possibly, although at first glance it seemed like nothing of value could be stored here.

“I’ve seen drakon hoards that were better organized,” Demeter said.