Girl, Goddess, Queen, page 4
‘I required an audience.’
‘I can think of other ways to request one.’
‘It worked, didn’t it?’ I ask. ‘I couldn’t risk you ignoring me. I was desperate.’
‘Evidently, if you’re here at all,’ he says. ‘So do hurry up and tell me why that might be.’
I consider my options. I could plead, drop to my knees and beg him. Would that stroke his ego enough? Or would he see an opportunity to exploit? I could demand it, but would he react with dangerous anger? So many hundreds of paths open before me. I thought myself silver-tongued, able to navigate Cyane and the nymphs and my mother, always knowing what they want to hear even if I don’t always say it. Especially when I don’t always say it. Knowing what is wanted makes saying the opposite all the more enticing. But not now, not when I’m talking for my life.
Honesty, then. Until he reveals more of himself to me.
‘You’ve met my mother. You know the wards that bound the island.’
At this, the corners of his lips twitch. ‘Yes, no uninvited person may walk the land of Sicily.’ He examines the sceptre he holds. The sharp metallic tip catches the light and I wonder if this is a threat, as subtly as he can make one. ‘I assume she expected people to search for loopholes, though I doubt she thought her own daughter would be among those who did.’
I cast what I hope is a withering look. ‘She assumed much.’
Hades laughs. It is a short, quick laugh but one that reassures me I am, at worst, not far from the right path of conversation. The darkness emanating from him shrinks ever so slightly.
‘You are the daughter of Demeter then? The infamous Kore of the flowers?’
‘I never did like that name much,’ I say dryly and Hades smiles once more.
‘Yes, I heard all about that little encounter at your amphidromia.’
My whirring thoughts pause. I hesitate, not sure how to voice my question but realizing whichever answer comes will help my case.
‘You heard? You were not there?’ I ask.
‘Of course not,’ Hades says. ‘I was busy learning how to decapitate Titans.’
‘But the war was over. That’s why we were divvying up their domains.’
‘Sure,’ he says with heavy condescension, like I’m wrong but he doesn’t have the energy to correct me. ‘I must say Hermes could barely stop laughing when he told me – how tense and worried dear Zeus had become at the thought of his eight-year-old daughter upstaging him at the ceremony. How pleased he had been with himself to put her in her place.’
‘That’s Father.’ My smile tastes bitter but he seems bitter too – that’s it, then, that’s how I present this to him.
‘Quite. Well, I suppose in the extenuating circumstances of your situation I can forgive your insult.’
‘That’s gracious of you.’ He won’t kill me. At least not right now. I exhale with relief, however slight. This whole encounter was a roll of the dice: that angering this man would not be the end, that he would bring me here, that he would listen to me, that he would agree. ‘And, on that note, I have an opportunity for you.’
‘An opportunity?’ he repeats sceptically.
‘Yes.’
‘I am quite content in this world of mine. I want nothing more. What could you possibly offer?’
I laugh as derisively as I can. ‘Contentment? When was that ever enough for anyone?’
‘Do not presume to know me,’ he says, anger edging back into his words. Smoke clings to him, traces tendrils along his skin like a live beast. Whatever false sense of comfort his ease had given me vanishes. Foolish, really, not to be on edge around a god – and a mistake I won’t make again.
‘Hades, do you know where my mother is right now?’
‘Should I?’
‘On Olympus, at my father’s decree, arranging my marriage,’ I say, trying to tear the emotion out of the words. I’ve been injecting my sentences with fake feelings for years, so I think I do a passable job.
‘So congratulations are in order?’ Hades asks. His voice is dry and sarcastic but beneath it all I sense he is genuinely confused. I don’t think he has the slightest idea why I am here.
‘I don’t want to get married.’
Hades blinks. ‘I see.’
‘Do you? Let me be clear: I do not want to marry at all, certainly not to some man I have never met who will claim me as his own,’ I say. Come on, I think. Don’t let every story I’ve heard of you be false. By all accounts he is so different from the Olympians.
I can still remember when Mother’s stories stopped being about his worthlessness – she couldn’t believe Zeus had gifted Hell to a child who wouldn’t even pick up a sword – and started being about his haughtiness. ‘He thinks he’s better than us, refuses a position on the council, ignores our summons – for what? To hide in that miserable little realm of his? The insult of it, that the dead might be better company than the Olympians.’ I can feel now the echo of what I felt then: the first spark of hope I’d known in years. Because, yes, wouldn’t that be better? The Underworld better than the Olympians? I guess the idea stuck.
Slowly, Hades begins to nod. ‘I do understand but if you think I can talk sense into Zeus –’
‘Oh Fates no, that would be impossible,’ I say. ‘I know he is set. I know my mother will never defy him. And I know there is nowhere on Earth I can hide from her.’
‘Indeed.’
‘And Father has the sky so that rules out various other places.’
Hades nods once more.
He still doesn’t get it. By the Heavens, have I not made myself clear? I had hoped to make him think this was his idea, but perhaps not.
‘I want to stay here,’ I say bluntly.
‘Here?’ he asks, looking around the palace. ‘This is no place for a mortal.’
I would roll my eyes if I didn’t think it would undermine every single argument I have.
‘I’m no mortal.’
‘This is no place for the goddess of flowers,’ he corrects, though the tone of his voice tells me he doesn’t see much of a difference.
Fine.
‘You weren’t at my naming ceremony,’ I say. ‘You weren’t at anyone’s.’
‘I do not see how that relates.’
‘You’re not invited to ceremonies or festivals or celebrations.’
Hades glowers. ‘If there is a point you are trying to make, I suggest you get to it.’
‘This is the point,’ I say. ‘I stay here where no one else can find me. In return, you get the knowledge that my presence here is infuriating every Olympian who ever wronged you.’
Hades smiles patronizingly. ‘You think I want revenge.’
I shrug, like my entire existence does not depend on his answer. ‘Maybe, maybe not. But you do not need revenge for spite to be a viable option.’
‘So I give up my solitude by harbouring a goddess in order to spite the Olympians?’
‘Precisely.’
‘No.’
My mouth is dry. ‘Why not?’
He throws his head back as he chuckles, like this is so very funny. ‘I don’t need to explain my decisions to you.’ With that he rises. He’s tall, and on the throne’s plinth he towers above me. His black robes cling to him in ways they never did while he was sitting and my eyes fall again to the sword at his hip. ‘Now, if that’s all –’
‘No, that is not all,’ I snarl, my anger bursting from me before I can even attempt to get it under control. ‘You know exactly what horrors you’re condemning me to. You at least owe me an explanation.’
‘I’m condemning you to nothing,’ he snaps back, the crawling darkness clouding his eyes until the white vanishes altogether. The haze creeps closer to his skin, contracting like it might burst forth, an explosion of deathly power. His attempts to intimidate me only infuriate me more and perhaps he recognizes this because he blinks and the darkness vanishes, as does the full force of his anger. ‘Your father has done that. I am merely refusing to interfere with the will of the king of the gods. Quite simply, you are not worth angering the Olympians.’
‘You don’t wish to anger the Olympians?’
‘And have them retaliate in an endless cycle?’ There’s a condescending tone to his voice and his features are contorted with derision. If he pays any attention to my curling fists and burning eyes, it is only to let my hurt spur his indifferent cruelty on. ‘No, I do not wish to anger the Olympians. I wish for them to leave me alone.’
‘It seems like they’re already doing that,’ I say, unable to keep all the bitterness from my words and honestly not sure that I’m trying to.
I prefer his anger to his disinterest, to his treating this refusal like a trifling matter and not the end of my world.
But he seems bored now. He examines his sceptre again. At least look me in the eye, you coward.
‘Indeed, and, as I said, I am perfectly content.’
‘Well, what a thrilling way to spend your immortal life.’
‘You’re not going to change my mind with an argument.’
‘Perhaps not,’ I acknowledge. ‘But I don’t need to change your mind.’
Hades frowns.
‘Please remember that I did ask nicely.’
‘You didn’t actually ask –’
‘I invoke xenia in the name of Hestia,’ I say. It seems impossible that there could be a breeze down here but I feel it nonetheless. The hearth behind me crackles louder, Hestia’s power filling the room. My hair lifts, my gown flows behind me, and the words fly to my tongue before I can think them, like Hestia herself has offered the incantation. ‘I am far from home and under your roof, and I request safety. I request hospitality and a place at your hearth.’
Before I can finish my sentence Hades is in front of me, a foot away, and that dark cloud surrounds us. His face is twisted with a kind of fury I’ve never seen before, like I’ve wronged him in the worst possible way.
‘Is this really how you want to do this, goddess of flowers?’ he asks, voice low, and I’m not sure if he means it to be threatening but it is. His jaw is tight. His hand shakes round his sceptre. The torches flicker until the smoke blocks them from view and the ground tremors beneath us. I step forward, closing the little space between us and staring right up at him, as challenging as I can be, twisting my delicate features into a sneer. This feels incredible. Power. Gods, so many years regretting asking for it and I was right all along. This is what I want.
‘I tried another way,’ I say. ‘So, are you going to show me to my room now?’
His nostrils flare with every sharp breath he takes. I have trapped him and he knows it. Forsaking xenia would lead to a curse no immortal would risk, even if the alternative is the wrath of Olympus. But now I fear he may be just as likely to spite me with his answer as Zeus.
‘Mark my words, you will regret this,’ he says.
I think of the smarmy men begging my mother for my hand in marriage. I think of regret, and I smile. ‘I don’t see how.’
‘Flowers don’t last long in the Underworld; I doubt you will either.’
Hades snaps his fingers and the wind swirls, pushing me a step back.
‘You may have your safety,’ Hades says. ‘You shall have shelter and I’ll even dismiss the court. I will tell no soul of your whereabouts. But I make no claims on the spirits of this realm, so if safety means that much to you I’d suggest you keep your head down. If you step from this palace you do so at your own risk. And I suggest you avoid me for the duration of your time here. I do not take kindly to being extorted.’
With that he turns. The wind roots me to the spot until he has swept from the halls.
And Mother likes to call me dramatic.
THE SECOND THE DOORS SLAM shut behind Hades, those strange winds stop holding me in place and start pushing me towards the same doors that just closed, huge wooden arches that I remember opening before me at my amphidromia to reveal a room full of gods. They swing open for me, and from the marble hallway I hear voices. The court. Which Hades is dismissing. Fates, I didn’t even think of that. How long have I been planning this and I didn’t once think about the other inhabitants of the Underworld? I’ve been so focused on whether or not Hades is a threat that I didn’t even think of the rest of his realm.
I’m dragged in the opposite direction. I stumble down twisting corridors, the wind only stopping when I’m standing in front of another door – a much smaller one. It doesn’t open itself but, the moment I try to step away, the wind pushes me firmly back towards it.
‘What are you?’ I ask the empty hall. ‘An aurae?’
I can’t imagine there are wind nymphs in the Underworld but whatever it is doesn’t reply so I relent and open the door. It’s a bedroom – my bedroom, I suppose. I wonder if this too is a replica of a room on Olympus. It’s not large but compared to my tiny room in my ramshackle cottage it feels enormous. The bed itself could fit three bodies; two wardrobes stand with doors open, revealing empty insides; and a small table is tucked in the corner, two chairs drawn up to it. Everything is white: pale wood, cold sheets, marble walls and hazy curtains. It smells stagnant and dusty. I don’t imagine Hell gets many guests.
I catch sight of myself in the mirror of the vanity table tucked beneath the curtained window. Only a few locks of my hair remain in Mother’s tight pins and the escaped strands are already knotting round them.
I run my fingers along the door, searching for a latch, and breathe a sigh of relief when I find a sliding bolt. It won’t keep Hades out in his own realm but it is reassuring nonetheless.
When the door is secure I collapse against it and let myself feel, just for a moment, the weight of what I have done. When it threatens to overwhelm me I push it all back and cross to the window.
Twitching the curtain open, I see nothing but darkness. It’s night, then. I should sleep, start fresh in the morning, let my hurt wash away overnight. But I can’t. If I want to survive here, then I have work to do.
By morning, my hands are raw from the pokes of the needle. I couldn’t exactly pack a bag so I’ve made clothes from bedsheets I hope Hades won’t miss. Unfortunately, they’re all white. Any plans I had to distance myself from my virginal curse of a name are scuppered by dressing like its embodiment. Still, the dresses contain pouches and pockets to hold food in case I need to run quickly – and huge slashes so I can reach for my sickle if it’s needed. I hope it isn’t. There are goddesses that are good with weapons, but I’ve never done anything more than wave a stick at an imaginary enemy – hardly Athena born on to a battlefield fully armed.
The wind blows the door open and carries with it a bowl of hot, soapy water that I wash my face and hands with. The door is left ajar, which I take as an invitation.
When I step out a shadow is thrown down the hall and it takes me a moment to recognize it as my own; in the torchlight it is darker, longer and more grotesque than I’ve ever seen it. I glance at the walls, the impressive heights and intricate designs. It’s like living in a mausoleum.
I wind along hallways, past rows of shut doors. Whenever I encounter a fork, only one way is lit. I’m being led somewhere. Instantly, I want to go in the opposite direction, to see what I’m not supposed to, but I might as well find out what I’m being guided towards. The torches linger on a stairway and at its base I find an arch. Irises and gardenia are inscribed into its sides and I trace them, wondering whether they were Hades’ choice or part of an Olympian decoration. It seems strange for Father to decorate his palace with the very thing he insults me with, the domain he bestowed on me, but then perhaps not. Flowers are for decoration, pretty things to stare at and nothing more. I wonder if that’s how he’s pitching my hand in marriage.
‘Well, don’t just stand in the hallway.’ Hades’ voice shoots down my spine and my hand flies from the wall. My eyes flash around the room while my hand skips to my sickle, and I force myself to calm down. I am safe. From direct attack at least.
I pocket the fear instead, let it inspire the right performance. I think of every time my mother’s words have rooted me to the spot and every time I have bitten my tongue, shown her a smile instead of baring my teeth. What am I, if not an expert at maintaining a facade?
I turn into the room. It’s long and narrow, lit by candles in a chandelier and the crackling flames of a fireplace, warmer light than the torches in the rest of the palace. A mahogany table fills the space, long enough for forty and set for two. Hades sits at the end and it’s difficult to look at anything that’s not him. Last I saw him he was hissing in my face. Now he does not even deign to look up from the parchment he reads, not even while he reaches for a grape. His aura lingers but it’s dimmer, clinging close to his skin like a shroud of darkness.
I stand in the doorway, watching as he picks at the food. Hesitantly, I take a step into the room. I am not exactly faking my uncertainty but I’m definitely exaggerating it and at my movement Hades’ hand flicks from the empty plate beside him to the fireplace.
‘Hospitality. Hearth. I’d say help yourself but isn’t that exactly what you’re already doing?’
A retort rolls to my tongue but I simply nod my head. ‘Thank you,’ I say, which isn’t a lie. I am grateful. I just may have been more so if he had been a willing participant in all this.
It appears that’s the right thing to say because Hades finally looks up. He looks younger without the heaviness of the smoke and the menacing torchlight. I forget, sometimes, that Hades and Hestia were frozen in time for so long that I was born mere months after they finally broke free.
All I know of most gods are stories – and Hades has so few. Born in the middle of a war, just like I was. And then nothing until the war ended, when, still a child, he was awarded Hell, made king of the Underworld. Resurfacing a handful of years later, a little older, he stood on a battlefield in Thermopylae, hands spread and palms wide, not a sword in sight as waves of undead crested the hill behind him, rushing to attack the Titan forces. There were no more uprisings. Then he disappeared to the realm named after himself, only the occasional whisper surfacing – tales of gloom and shadows, monsters and violent rivers. But nothing that would strike true horror into the heart of a girl, not like the stories of the gods of Olympus and Oceanus.
