Persephone tore her attention away from the swans and glanced at her visitor, not recognizing her from the previous night. She was a mortal woman appearing to be of middling age, dark hair pinned in curls against her head. She did not look like a fool, and so Persephone did not bother dignifying her inane comment with a response.

“Would you care for my assistance in dressing? I’m sorry for hurrying you, but our queen has a strict schedule for you today.” On the bed, the servant had laid out a himation, a chiton, a belt, and a pair of jeweled sandals.

Persephone’s fingers tightened around the bedclothes. “Is she letting me go?”

“I’m afraid I don’t keep our queen’s counsel.”

Persephone breathed out a long sigh and drew the sheets back. “I’ll dress myself.”

In the end, she needed the servant’s assistance—the mechanism of the fibulae and belt were unknown to her, and so the servant fussed around her like a mother hen until she was fully clothed.

“What is your name?” Persephone asked.

“Xenia, mistress.” She braided Persephone’s hair, weaving in golden chains adorned with sapphires.

Persephone smoothed down the skirts of her new chiton and said nothing. The azure fabric was woven of such fine thread that even skilled Athena would have wept to lay her hands upon it. It was a garment ill-suited for running barefoot over open fields, where it would be shredded by gorse, or for kneeling over a dusty hearth to bake bread.

“If you ever need anything, the cord over here will ring in the kitchens, and someone will come.” Xenia gestured, pointing out a long cord hanging from the ceiling near the bed.

It sounded like a better arrangement than shouting, which was Demeter’s method of summoning help. Persephone doubted she would be here long enough to need it. “What does Hades want of me?” she asked.

Xenia’s hands stilled. “I couldn’t say. But there’s no need to be fearful.”

Persephone sniffed. Only a fool would be unafraid of the Queen of the Underworld.

With Persephone’s hair finished, Xenia turned her attention to her feet. She loosened the straps of the sandals and knelt.

“Oh, no. I prefer to walk barefoot,” Persephone said.

Xenia’s lower lip quivered, and she clutched the sandals to her chest.

“What is it?”

“Begging your pardon, mistress, but our queen might be angry if you’re not fully dressed.”

Persephone flexed her newly scrubbed feet. Her skin still stung from the excessive treatments lavished upon them, and she had to admit that the palace tiles were too cold to walk upon barefoot.

“If I must, then.”

Xenia nodded and placed the sandals upon her feet. Persephone winced as the straps dug into her ankles.