She went back upstairs to her bedroom and climbed into bed, staring at the lonely flower in its makeshift vase. So Hades hadn’t found her bothersome and insolent after all—or perhaps she had but hadn’t cared.

Persephone shivered and rested her chin on her hands, closing her eyes as she inhaled the asphodel’s faint fragrance. This time, it matched her memory—icy, green, with a faint trace of smoke like a freshly snuffed candle.

She ought not to leap to conclusions. She couldn’t think so highly of herself; Demeter may have been wrong about some things, but she was right in saying that a girl like Persephone could hold no interest for the Queen of the Underworld.

Hades had to think her rude; she’d never once sent back a word of thanks.

She was still pondering whether she dared to acknowledge Hades’ gift when the door of her room flew open, swinging back against the wall with a bang.

Persephone sat up at once, shuffling to the side of the bed to try to block the asphodel from view. “Whatever is the matter?”

“Ignorant children like you are so naive about what it takes to survive in this world,” Demeter said, as if they’d never ended their previous conversation. She stood in the doorway, blocking the only exit. “I’ve bled so that you could live a charmed life, free from struggle and sorrow—the kind of childhood I never had.”

“I’ve always been grateful for what you’ve done for me—”

“Grateful!” Demeter sneered. “Is that what you call cavorting behind my back? Consorting with cripples?”

Persephone bristled. “That is unkind of you, Mother, and besides, Hephaestus and I never—”

Demeter pushed her aside and leaned over the bed, snatching the asphodel from its cup. She stood up, holding it as water dripped down her wrist, staring at it as though it were a pig’s leavings or something equally foul. “What is this weed doing here? In my house?”

Persephone said nothing, which was not the correct response, as Demeter threw the flower in her face. It landed wetly on her cheek, then fell to the floor.

“I won’t have such filth in here,” Demeter said.

“It was a gift,” Persephone said. “For me. You had no right to throw it away!”

She’d gone too far. Demeter’s eyes widened. “No right? No right!” She raised her hands to the heavens, as if imploring the gods of the sky to hear her. “My hearth and home, and this ungrateful child tells me I have no right!”

Persephone picked up the bloom from the floor and stood, moving toward the door.

“And where do you think you’re going?”

She held up the asphodel like a talisman. “You said you didn’t want this here, so I’m taking it out of your house—”