Their wild pace did nothing for Persephone’s stomach, as she was jostled from every side in her tiny prison. She bit her lip and reminded herself it would all be worth it; they had to maintain their lead. A part of her could not fail to pity Cerberus and rue her hand in the betrayal. With luck, the hound had not suffered.

They maintained a frantic pace for some time, but eventually the wagon began to slow and then ground to a stop. Persephone hugged herself tighter. There was no need to panic.

She heard Ismaros talking, though she could not make out the words, and another man answering. Charon? But no, they would not be using that crossing.

Persephone pushed up on the lid of the chest, raising it by a finger’s width. Ismaros had covered it again with a cloth, and through the fabric she could see only vague shadows.

“You promised to wait by the dock,” Ismaros said.

“What can I say, Theseus? I could not allow you to assume all the danger. And the glory,” said the other man.

What glory? And why had he used that other name—Theseus?

She heard the wagon boards creak. It had to be the other man, stepping aboard. Ismaros—Theseus—had not told her of an accomplice. She did not much like being surprised.

“Pirithous, don’t,” Theseus said.

The cloth was drawn from the chest, and the lid swung open. Persephone shielded her eyes from the morning light, covering her face with her hands.

“I apologize for the indignity, but you should be safe to rise now. I saw none on my journey here.” A man hovered over her, clean-shaven with bright brown eyes set in a weathered face. Pirithous, she assumed. Behind him was the gray-brown, cavernous sky of the underworld, glowing with its approximation of daylight. Its emptiness seemed to mock her, being both of Gaia's earth and something completely other. She’d hoped, however foolishly, that she’d be met with pale blue vistas the next she raised her eyes to the aether.

She took Pirithous’s offered hand and climbed out of the box, glancing around herself. She felt rather than saw the dark blight of Tartarus in the near distance. “We are not safe here.”

Theseus snapped the reins, and the wagon began to move once more. “We must keep our pace.”

“You lied about your name,” Persephone said. She sat on the box that had once housed her, epiblema pulled tight around her shoulders, looking behind them for signs of pursuit. “What else have you lied about?”

Theseus glanced briefly at her over his shoulder. “I apologize for the small deception. It was necessary to secure your co-operation.”

A shiver ran down Persephone’s spine, and her fingers tightened in the wool of her epiblema. She opened her mouth to speak, but Pirithous interrupted her.

“You have your mother’s eyes,” Pirithous said.