Demeter sniggered. “How sweet. It sickens me.”

Persephone watched Demeter’s hands. “Let us pass, Mother. Zeus blessed our union.”

Demeter narrowed her eyes. “And that should mean what, exactly? Did he carry you for nine months? Did he nurse you at his breast, watch over you as you slept?”

“You gave me life, and I will always be grateful for that.” Persephone held out her palms placatingly as she took a step toward Demeter. “But I must make my own choices now.”

“You would truly choose her?” Demeter asked in disbelief.

Persephone took her gaze off Demeter for a split second to glance at Hades. “Yes. I would.”

When she turned back, Demeter had an arrow nocked. Its metal head gleamed with an oily liquid. “So be it,” she said.

“Persephone—” Hades said.

Persephone didn’t think but simply threw herself in front of Hades. She felt a whoosh of air and heard a thump in the scrub behind her. Then she was falling, her limbs paralyzed, her face upturned toward the sky. She heard shouting, as if from a great distance away, or as though she were underwater.

Her arm burned like it was devouring itself from within. Someone was screaming. She wished, distantly, that they would stop.

“You there!” Hades’ voice. “Find Hermes, tell him to fetch Asclepius—hurry!”

Apollo’s son? She had no need for a healer. She just needed to sleep.

Hades’ face hovered above her, her forehead creased with worry. Persephone longed to reach out and touch her cheek, to reassure her. “Sleep, dearest,” Hades murmured. “The way you used to. That would be best. It will slow the poison.”

Poison. Yes, Demeter had said something about tipping her arrows. But this could not be so; it felt as though her flesh were melting. Surely her mother would never have done something so cruel.

The pain spread from her arm, through her shoulder and down across her chest. The screams abruptly stopped as her lungs felt like they were being squeezed dry of air.

Oh. She had been the one screaming.

Hades took her hand, the one on her uninjured side, and pressed her palm against the dirt. “Return to Gaia, my precious flower,” she said. “Just for a while. You have my assent.”

Persephone drew a long, shuddering breath, and her fingers clenched in the dirt, digging deep to find the smallest speck of moisture under the surface. She closed her eyes, and darkness engulfed her. No fear, no pain, no memories. Just her and the dreaming heart of the earth.

28

WAKING