Hades considered her in silence. After a moment, she made a sharp gesture with her hand. “Let me warn you now: if you wish to forgo conventions, you had best avoid getting caught.”

Persephone rose to her feet, stilling the impulse to brush the dust from her chiton. “You won’t tell her, will you?”

“That remains to be seen.” Hades jerked her head toward the next courtyard. “Walk with me.”

She couldn’t disobey a direct order, no matter what Demeter might’ve said. Persephone hurried to match Hades’ long strides. “Have you been well?” she asked. “I hear you’ve not been seen for some time.”

“Well enough. And you, Kore. Are you keeping safe?” Hades asked.

Persephone blushed, wondering what Hades thought she had to fear. “Yes, thank you.”

Hades led them up several flights of steps to a wide balcony at the back of the palace, overlooking the ocean. There was only one path down from the balcony, the walkway coiling in clear view below them. Someone ascending would be seen long before they reached the top. The pathways were heavily planted, overgrown with ivy that sprawled across the railing and steps. Hades leaned over the balustrade and closed her eyes, the breeze tousling her hair and billowing out her skirts.

The sun glittered over the ocean’s waves. A few gulls danced close to the shoreline, tiny specks of white swooping down over the water to fetch their prey.

It was pretty enough, but that alone did not explain Hades’ pensive expression. The silence stretched on as Hades studiously ignored her, seemingly forgetting Persephone’s existence for all the mind she paid her. Persephone could not leave without a clear dismissal, and so she waited, caught in a formless limbo where she began to doubt her own memory of whether, in fact, Hades had requested her presence at all.

The silence grew overlong. Perhaps Persephone’s frustration at being ignored gave her courage, for she could not blame her next words on the ambrosia. “May I... may I ask you a question?” she asked, stumbling a little over her words.

Hades turned her head, as if seeing her for the first time. “Out with it.”

“Do plants grow in the underworld?”

Hades stared at her as though she were addle-brained. “Yes. Is that all?”

Persephone blushed. “I meant—are they growing then, truly? Or is it simply their souls taking on a different form? I mean, do plants have souls? I’ve always thought that trees would, of course, but as for annuals—”

Hades cut her off. “I would rather not discuss matters associated with my function.”

“But when Zeus—” Persephone bit her lip, horrified at her mistake. Of course Zeus could ask Hades whatever questions he deemed fit; she would not dare compare herself with her father in the same breath. Except she’d done just that.

“This is why we do not eavesdrop on our elders,” Hades said, her eyes slitted.