The man turned and saw her. He had a thick black beard and deep-set eyes framed by brows so lush they reminded her of the caterpillars she’d find on stinging nettles. “Ah, the lady of the hour,” he said, rather sourly. “Sit! I haven’t got all day.”

The boy fled with his scrolls in hand. Persephone’s maid also turned to go, but the man waved her over.

“Wine and food, girl. And hurry! Teaching is thirsty business.” The man plopped down in the chair opposite Persephone with a table separating them. “Now, it’s been a long time since I’ve had to teach anyone. Might be a bit rusty.” He fished out a wax tablet from a drawer inside the table and scratched at it with his stylus. He showed it to Persephone. “Do you know your alphabet at all then, girl?”

Persephone went still.

The man seemed to recognize his mistake, for he chuckled in a self-deprecating way. “Please, pardon my manners. I mean nothing by it, mistress. I’ve been down here too long, is all.”

“And what should I call you?” Persephone asked.

“You don’t recognize me?” She wasn’t sure whether he was acting hurt or was genuinely disappointed by her ignorance. “Mayhap you’ll know the name. Stephanus, playwright, poet. Three-time winner of the Lenaia.”

“Sorry,” Persephone said. “I don’t go to festivals.” Not from lack of wanting; Demeter hadn’t allowed it.

“You’ve never been? Well, if it were up to me, we would start with some theater. There’s nothing more restorative than a well-earned laugh. But Queen Hades sets the score, and”—he looked down at his tablet—“she was very prescriptive.”

The food and wine arrived. Stephanus talked as he ate, which Persephone found repulsive, but she did not wish to antagonize him by pointing it out. In truth, to find a mortal who wasn’t in awe of her was somewhat refreshing. Though she hoped for his sake that he improved his manners if and when he spoke to Hades.

She spent the next several hours working through the alphabet and its associated sounds, dividing the vowels and consonants. She copied letters onto the wax tablet until her hand was sore.

After some time, the food was gone and the wine had run dry. The servant girl sat quietly in the corner, her head nodding almost to her chest.

“Here,” Persephone said, picking up the empty tray of food and the wine jug. “Allow me to find more refreshments.” She kept her eyes lowered, not wanting to seem too eager, but Stephanus merely grunted in response, not glancing up from the scroll he was perusing.

She made her way to the closest kitchen, holding the wine jug at her side with the tray balanced against her hip. She was rounding a corner of the corridor when someone grabbed her, covering her mouth with one hand.