“It shall have a ruler,” Demeter snapped. “That is no concern of yours.”

Persephone stared at her with her dirt-brown eyes, set in her too-pale face. “I was named queen-consort of the underworld. Its ruler is my concern.”

Oh, the airs! Demeter could not believe what she was hearing. “You may cling to that fantasy as much as you like.” She snatched the torch from its sconce. “Good night.”

When she shut the cell door, she slammed it with more force than was strictly necessary. The drakon glanced briefly in her direction, its forked tongue flicking, but otherwise paid her no heed as Demeter stormed out of the cellar.

A year of solitude would not be enough to teach Persephone humility. She could see now that it would be an uphill battle.

Well... enough of that. There was still the matter of Hades and the annulment. Demeter held all the cards; the gods could do nothing to stop her, not when she’d discovered the extent of her hold over them. Not even Zeus could stand against her now.

Demeter smiled in relief to herself. Yes, a few more decades and she would have back her sweet, pliant Persephone. No more talk of the underworld, no more pining for power beyond her station; that would be forgotten, like a bad dream. Demeter could scarcely wait.

25

THE DRAKON

Her mother had gone mad, Persephone was sure of it.

A weapon? Or some kind of poison? What was she thinking?

Demeter could not harm another goddess, surely. And yet she’d seemed so certain...

Persephone paced back and forth in her cell, staring at the marks on the door. She hadn’t made an imprint this time around, though she had the means to do so—a rusty nail, pried from the boards of the chest. Perhaps it was hubris, but she hadn’t yet felt the need. She wouldn’t be here long. Someone would think it odd for her to be absent from daily life, now that she was an adult, and shower Demeter with difficult questions. Wouldn’t they?

She wondered if Zeus’s true-born daughters were treated as such, whether Hera locked up her children for years on end.

Probably not. They probably weren’t as wicked as Persephone—

No. She had to stop thinking like that. In all the plays and poems she’d read in Hades’ domain, the children were never locked up like this, save by a villain, or an evil step-parent. That meant it wasn’t right.

But what were those tales except mere stories and allegories? Maybe Demeter was right and she was in the wrong. Maybe—

She reached the end of the cell, the tip of her sandal stubbing the wall. This could not be right.

She went to the door, pressing her ear against it. “Hello? Can anyone hear me?”

No response.