Persephone sat down at the end of the bed. She reached up to her neck to find she was still wearing Hades’ gold chain. She ran it through her fingers, trying to find the clasp. She fumbled with it for some time but could not find the secret to unlock it. This was ridiculous. Hades had bestowed it upon her, which meant it could be opened. Eventually, she was forced to give up. She promised herself she would return it by messenger after her escape. She would not provide Hades the opportunity to call her a thief once more.

Persephone ate the supper that had been left for her, then tugged on the pull cord by the bed. A knock came at her door some time later.

“Come in,” Persephone said.

A girl opened the door and stood nervously under the threshold. Persephone handed her the empty plates. “I’d like some broth,” she said.

“Of course,” the girl said and promptly disappeared.

She came back eventually with a steaming bowl, which Persephone directed her to leave on a table. Once she was gone, Persephone fanned the broth, impatiently waiting for it to cool. When the bowl was only warm to the touch, she emptied Lethe’s water into it, then stirred it before pouring the mixture into a waterskin.

With her preparations complete, she doused all the lights in the room so that someone passing by would not see anything amiss. She sat back down on the bed and waited, pinching herself every so often to stop her eyelids from drifting shut. She didn’t dare sleep again, not after the river. Sleep could wait until she was safely above ground.

A sliver of light shone from beneath the door connecting her room to Hades’. She pressed her ear against the door and thought she could hear the faint scratching of a reed pen.

Did Hades ever stop working? Any other goddess would still be on her honeymoon.

Persephone crept away from the door and paced the room in the dark. She passed the time by running through place names and flower names in her mind, imagining the sights and smells of the overworld until she could almost taste the crisp salt air from over the sea.

The dawn could not come quickly enough, but at last, pale bands of light crept across the floor. She opened the window shutters and tossed her sandals outside. She swung herself over the ledge, landing softly on her feet, her waterskin and the empty bowl tucked under one arm. Turning, she shut the window once more so nothing would look suspicious from the outside.

There were a few servants around but none close by. She put on her sandals, draped her epiblema over her hair, and kept her eyes lowered, walking quickly toward the stables.

The horses turned their heads as she entered, their eyes deep and liquid in the gray morning light. A hand touched her shoulder, and she almost screamed.