Try as she might, she couldn’t let go of Hades. She needed to feel something real, someone alive beside her. The trees here wouldn’t speak to her, the grass wouldn’t answer, and so there was nothing left but to seek comfort from the one person she should despise the most.

She rested her head against Hades’ shoulder, listening to the steady beat of her heart. She was alive. Hades was alive. The warmth radiating from her body was proof enough.

Tears ran down Persephone’s face until she was weeping in a breathless fit and the circle of Hades’ arms turned from a comfort to an unbearable cage. She pushed against Hades’ shoulders, trying to wriggle free, but Hades only tightened her grip in response.

“Hush. You are safe,” Hades said.

That was laughable. How could she ever be safe in the underworld?

Another, more disturbing thought occurred, and she stilled, examining it from every angle. There could be no mistake.

Hades, sensing her shift in mood, brushed a sodden lock of hair back from Persephone’s face. “What is it?”

Persephone flicked her head to one side, as if to throw off the memory of Hades’ touch. “You knew.” She coughed and tried again. “You knew where I was going and what would find me.”

The empty hallways. The unguarded stables. Hades must have planned for it, must have suspected what she would do before Persephone herself had thought of leaving.

“Of course,” Hades said, as though she were insulted by the mere suggestion that something could happen in her realm without her knowledge.

Persephone took a deep breath. She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream. But most of all, she wanted the sun to soothe her frozen limbs. “I almost drowned!” she said, her waterlogged throat making her voice hoarse.

Hades gave her a pitying look. “I have seen more drowned souls than you could dream of. You were nowhere close to joining their ranks. I would know,” she added with a touch of peevishness.

Persephone still wore her jeweled dagger, nestled at her hip and currently poking into her side. She shifted her weight, as though trying to get more comfortable, and drew the blade, thrusting up.

Hades moved, taking hold of Persephone’s wrist, her grip tight enough to bruise. “What are you trying to do, Kore?”

The tip of the blade had grazed the underside of Hades’ arm, and a bead of ichor welled up on her skin, the golden liquid almost black in the low light. Persephone’s fingers shook at the sight of it.

Hades plucked the blade from her nerveless grasp and released Persephone’s wrist. She wiped the blade clean on the grass, then offered it to Persephone hilt first. “Try again. Mayhaps your luck will find you.”

Persephone looked down at the knife, then back at Hades. A small smile played upon Hades’ lips, though her eyes were cold as the morning dew.