As much as she longed to run and make her way out of the palace, she couldn’t just leave. She quietly pulled the door shut once more, leaving a small gap in case it locked automatically, and grabbed a himation from her storage chest, wrapping it around her shoulders. She went to the dressing table and picked up a jeweled torc, placing it around her neck. There could be servants she might have to bribe, though she wasn’t certain whether mortals still cared for riches in the underworld.

Something else caught her eye. On the dressing table was a dagger and a ceremonial belt with a sheath. She took both, strapping the belt around her waist and sheathing the dagger. The blade was useless for everyday wear, the hilt encrusted with jewels, but it still seemed sharp enough to cut or to threaten someone.

She had scarcely even raised her voice in anger at another person before now; what made her think that she could use a weapon?

Persephone tried to ignore the worm of doubt inside her and pushed open the door. It creaked upon opening, but once again, there was no one outside.

Something wasn’t right. The door had been locked before. Someone must have opened it—but to what end? Had Xenia’s conscience gotten the better of her? Persephone couldn’t believe that.

Regardless of whether this was a trap, she had to take the opportunity. Persephone walked quickly through the empty corridors, heading to the kitchen. There was only one servant boy stoking the embers of the fireplace, so she pressed herself against the wall and waited until she heard him walking to the other side of the kitchen. When his back was turned, she ducked into the cold cellar and grabbed a link of sausages hanging from the ceiling. She draped them around her neck like a pungent scarf and headed back out past the kitchen when the servant was not looking.

To her growing unease, she saw no one else between the kitchens and the side entrance. Even the stables were empty, save for the horses greeting her with soft whickers.

“Hey, boy,” she said, greeting a gelding she vaguely remembered Hades calling Alastor. She fitted him with a bridle and blanket and leapt onto his back.

Alastor obliged her by trotting out of the stables into the brisk night air. She wished she had brought a torch. Overhead, pale light akin to that of a full moon rained down upon them, but still she feared that Alastor might lose his footing and throw her. He seemed quite content to venture out in the near darkness, however, increasing speed as they hit the open road.

The nagging feeling that something was wrong never left her. Where were Hades’ guards, her other servants?