Persephone flinched as though she’d been struck. “You said you would have my marriage annulled.”

Demeter shrugged. “I’ve sent my messengers, but you know how busy your father is. He’ll be pleased when he sees this matter resolve itself.”

Persephone went very still. “What is the gift?”

Demeter smiled. “It’s a special treatment for my arrows. I had my doubts, but Artemis truly came through for me this time.”

“You can’t mean to attack one of our own.”

Demeter scowled. “And why not? She attacked me first, her and your father both, scheming behind my back to take you from me!” She calmed herself with a deep breath. “It will be self-defense.”

“And you mean to go to the underworld to give her this gift?” Persephone asked, not even trying to hide her disbelief.

Poor, sweet, simple child. “Of course not.”

“Then—?”

“She’ll be coming here,” Demeter said.

“Here?” Persephone echoed, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. She glanced at the door as if expecting Hades to walk in at any moment.

“I sent back your borrowed finery, along with an invitation. It’s time she came here to atone for what she’s done.” Demeter sniffed. “I expect she’ll be making the arrangements as we speak.”

Persephone clutched the blankets to her chest, as if they could shield her. “She can’t come to the overworld,” she said, in part to convince herself. “Not without permission.”

Demeter airily waved her hand. “I’m sure she will find some way to bend the rules; she always does,” she said, her eyes narrowed. She hooked her fingers under Persephone’s necklace, yanking her forward. “And you, my dear, will be the perfect daughter when she comes, won’t you?”

Persephone grabbed Demeter’s wrist and pried it away from her. “Don’t touch me.”

Demeter smacked her. “Never forget where you came from. Never forget who gave you life.”

“This is not living!” Persephone said, pressing her palm to her cheek.

Demeter looked at her and thought about how much more pleasing she would be as a poplar. Her children of the earth were never so disappointing. “You’ve always been ungrateful.”

Persephone let her hand drop. “It’s true. I have neglected my duty to you, as a daughter. But then that fault is mine, isn’t it? It’s mine. Not Hades’.”

She’d changed. Her sweet and stupid girl, grown thorny like a weed. The underworld had ruined her, planted ideas of rebellion in her mind which had lain fallow for so long.

“Your punishment will come, be not concerned about that.” Demeter stood. She had wasted too much time here.

Persephone remained on the bed, her hands clasped in her lap. “Mother,” she said softly, mumbling as she so often had in the time before the underworld.

“Yes?”

“You cannot... You would not truly harm Hades, will you? There must be three. Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades. The underworld needs its ruler—”