The vial. She took out the small bottle of olive oil Eustachys had given her, his mind clearly leaping to vulgar things. She poured it out on the grass and went to the river, dipping the vial in the current until it was full. She capped it and tucked it in her cleavage, held in place by the pressure of her strophion. She fluffed the neckline of her chiton over the top, arranging the folds to hide any lumps.

She glanced above her. The light would soon fade; perhaps she ought to have left a message before she’d ventured out. But Hades claimed to know all that transpired in her realm; Persephone was counting on it. Better to have said nothing—let her think this was a spur-of-the-moment decision.

Persephone could not keep herself upright. Her bed of grass was so inviting, her limbs so heavy, that she could not help but close her eyes.

The river Lethe sang to her its lullaby.

Movement jostled Persephone awake. She opened her eyes to find the day had grown dark. She was seated on Alastor with Hades behind her, her arm wrapped around Persephone to keep her upright. Nereia followed in their wake, her mane devoid of poppies.

Hades held a lantern in her other hand, but Alastor seemed to know the way. Around them, the shadows loomed tall and leering, the weathered branches of trees creeping out like hands along the path.

“Where are we?” Persephone asked.

“Almost home.” Hades’ body pressed against Persephone’s back, their skin separated only by thin layers of fabric. As always, Hades felt warmer than she’d remembered.

“Was I... asleep?” Persephone’s hand drifted up and plucked a poppy from her hair. In the dark, its petals seemed the color of dried blood.

“So deeply I could not wake you. There are safe ways to approach the river Lethe. I suggest you stay away from it until you master them.”

Persephone shifted slightly and then exhaled as she felt the vial press against her skin beneath her strophion. She’d managed to accomplish what Ismaros had asked of her. “Of course,” she said. “I’m sorry for the trouble.”

They traveled in silence for a time. It felt... comfortable. Alastor’s gait was gentle, and she relaxed against Hades’ shoulder.

Would she miss Persephone, when she was gone?

She needn’t think so highly of herself. After all, she couldn’t even read. Hades would be better suited by a clever wife, one who could assist her to rule.

“How were your lessons?” Hades asked.

Persephone jolted awake, her head cradled in the crook of Hades’ arm. She pinched herself. It would not do to miss her morning appointment with Ismaros. “He hit me,” she said, picturing Stephanus’s caterpillar-like eyebrows.

“Did you do something to deserve it?”

“No! Well, I don’t think so.”