Destroyer of Light (40 page)

“Again, I apologize for not meeting you on Olympus three days ago. I was helping Hades procure… this. And bringing Hephaest— nevermind.”

She barely heard Hermes. Persephone stood shocked silent when a familiar chorus began in her mind.
Soteira… She had returned!… Metra… Annessa… She came back! She came back!… The Queen has returned! Thea! Aristi! Aristi Chthonia!

Through the Key of Hades, the noise of the rejoicing shades was almost deafening, but only the Queen and her King could hear them. Where was Aidoneus?

Husband?
She reached out to him, her voice hesitant. There was no reply, just an impatient, delighted energy emanating from the opposite shore.  Persephone closed her eyes and felt him, could feel his heart pick up rhythm at the sound of her voice in his mind. She could feel him shifting from foot to foot, tampering down the urge to swim across the Styx to meet her. She smiled, and could feel him smiling back.

A long boat parted the flickering lights, drifting toward them silently before the prow scraped loudly against the shore. Persephone’s shoulders relaxed and she smiled. “Charon.”

He bowed low to her. “Aristi Chthonia. Do you have any idea how glad I am to see you, my queen?”

She reached for his hand and stepped into the boat. He curtly nodded at Hermes, who dipped his head in respectful acknowledgement. Charon then reached for Minthe and froze, cocking his head to the side and peering at her when their fingers touched.

“Aren’t you the daughter of the one who never came back?”

“I… M-my mother was from here, yes.”

“Ah. Minthe.” He gave her hand a tense squeeze. “It is good… though unexpected… to have you returned to us.”

The Boatman pushed off the shore, the craft drifting toward the palace. Persephone leaned over the side and saw small ebony floats holding clay oil lamps, softly bumping into one another in the wake of Charon’s oar. They were drifting through a sea of dancing lights, glowing in the thin haze cast out over the bottomless reaches of the river. She sat in awe. She melted. How had Aidon managed all this? He must have planned her homecoming for months. Persephone relaxed back into her seat and changed her saffron peplos to a dark burgundy. She felt the tension of the past week leave her body, as though a millstone slung about her neck had dropped into the river. Persephone was home. She could speak with him about her concerns later. Her mother had surely misled her. Aidoneus would confirm that.

“My queen,” Charon said, “Did you ever hear the tale about the nymph that used to tend the great poplar tree?” Minthe snapped her head in his direction and was met by Charon’s burning gaze.

“I have not.”

“Remind me to tell you that tale one day,” he said, eyeing the naiad. “Soon.”

The tree he spoke of overhung the palace gate, glittering gold in the multitude of lights. The opposite shore came into focus through the misty air. An assembly was gathered to greet her. Thanatos and Hypnos stood side by side, crowned with white poplar leaves. The God of Death looked somber— a great weight about him. Their mother hovered above the ground behind them, the darkness of Erebus twined around her. A young Hecate smiled at her, her waves of deep red hair laced with beads of selenite, her dress white. Behind them, Lampades nymphs dressed in red and crowned with asphodel wreaths and anklets carried torches sparking with white magnes, dancing and laughing. Translucent shades appeared and disappeared like trails of smoke, smiling and crowding each other. They peered around the river reeds and tall stalks of asphodel, eager for a glimpse of their queen, the youngest shades giggling and toddling about.

In the midst of all of them, Aidoneus stood motionless, a gentle smile playing on his face, his hair pulled back loosely and a crown of golden poplar set on his head. His himation was a deep burgundy, perfectly matching her dress, and as the boat drew closer she saw an open pomegranate cradled against his chest. His demeanor was calm and staid, but she could see the lights reflecting in his eyes. Her heart pounded. Persephone was distantly aware of the boat scraping against the rocks below, barely felt Charon’s long fingers lifting her trembling hand, helping her stand up and disembark. She felt weightless, her gaze never leaving his, her feet light on the ground when she stepped clear of the boat. Everyone standing at the Styx dropped to one knee, the Lampades’s many torches lowering, their heads bowed for the Queen’s return. Everyone except him, whose eyes were locked with hers. He slowly extended his hand, beckoning her forward.

The voices of Asphodel quieted and for a moment it was just the two of them. She floated, her body pulled toward Aidoneus, his eyes drawing her closer. She took his hand.

“Welcome home, my queen.”

Aidon broke into a broad smile, his visage blurred as tears filled her eyes. His arms wrapped around her, lifting her onto her toes, and their lips met. Persephone closed her eyes and she heard cheers and applause, the shouts and clapping barely registering as she fitted against his chest.

He kissed away a happy tear that had trailed from her eye and spoke low in her ear. “I missed you so much, sweet one.”

“Aidoneus…” She held him and sniffled, her voice cracking when she spoke his name.

He quirked an eyebrow. “Is something the matter?”

She swallowed. “Just a bit… overwhelmed. I wasn’t expecting—” She looked around and laughed, wiping the tear away from her other eye. “How did you do all this?”

“I had some help from Hermes.” He smiled, his eyes sparkling. “Come… there is much I wish to show you.”

As they turned toward the palace, Charon beckoned his brothers to his boat. “I need you to keep a close eye on someone.”

“Who?” Hypnos asked. “The Queen’s new handmaid?”

“If she is anything like her mother, yes.”

Thanatos smirked. “Even if she were, nothing will come of it.”

“That’s my hope, little winged one,” Charon said, grasping Death’s shoulder. “But when has my intuition ever led us astray?”

***

Hades and Persephone led the procession through the gates of the palace, toward the lilting notes of tambourines, pipes and lyre strings. Hermes followed at their heels, chattering about developments in the world above. “They piled up pomegranates around a cave entrance in Illyria, too. And you heard about the new temple in Ephyra, I take it?”

“The Nekromanteion,” Aidon muttered. “I heard.”

“You wouldn’t believe the number of offerings they laid in the Plutonion,” Persephone said, holding his arm as they crossed the courtyard.

“I might,” he said, stopping at the doors to the great hall. Askalaphos and Menoetes stood on either side, their heads crowned with poplar leaves. Menoetes held his head high, intent on looking as dignified as possible. Askalaphos leaned against the wall and grinned widely at the Queen. With great effort, they pushed open the heavy doors, and Persephone gaped, taken aback. The hall was warmly lit, filled from wall to wall with offerings from the world above, amphorae and pithos of kykeon and oil. Their path was a soft carpet of white asphodel flowers, purple myrtle blossoms, deep green poplar and laurel leaves.

At Hecate’s behest, the torch bearing Lampades danced inside and scattered among the waiting Stygian nymphs, the Erinyes, Morpheus, and other children of the world below. Each guest wore a crown of asphodel or poplar. As the queen entered, the music stopped and Aidon’s guests bowed. When she passed, they joined the procession and filed into the throne room, where great tables were piled high with olives and dates, innumerable pomegranates, and great baskets of figs. Persephone was shocked to see an enormous plate of ambrosia— one that could have only come from Olympus— in the center of the table.

“That was a wedding gift for both of you from Hera, of all goddesses. I delivered it here three days ago,” Hermes said, inclining his head toward Persephone. “There’s a temple to both of you in almost every village, it seems, all of them overflowing with offerings. And in the countryside, wherever there was a cave or a spring, I would see handmade idols of a god and goddess with pomegranates and asphodel piled high next to them. You two keep on like this and you’ll make the Olympians jealous!”

Hermes tittered, but his words made Persephone cringe, remembering her dealings with the Olympians.

“This is your doing, sweet one.” Aidoneus turned to his stunned wife and smiled. “Without your words and deeds, this would never have happened.”

She laughed joyously and wiped a tear from her eye. Her efforts in Eleusis hadn’t been in vain. For months she’d struggled to replace the mortals’ fears of the world below with hope for peace and rebirth. Many had recoiled from her message, but those who did not had carried her tales with them when they left Eleusis.

Persephone and Aidoneus made their way up the dais. Stygian nymphs embraced Minthe, smiling and wiping away tears as they greeted their long-lost cousin. For the first time since they had arrived, Persephone saw the naiad smile. The Queen sat back on the light filigree of iron asphodel her husband had wrought into a throne. Aidoneus sat beside her on his throne of ebony and held her hand.

A fiery-haired man with a lamed leg, whom Persephone recognized only from description, shuffled toward the dais with a large wooden box. Hephaestus quickly dipped his head in a bow, then smiled up at the rulers of the Underworld. “Queen Persephone,” the God of Fire and the Forge started. “I have known your husband and his generosity for aeons. All the materials I have ever used for my labors originated within the earth, his domain. It is with great joy that I created and now present his gift to you.”

He opened the lid of the box to reveal a golden diadem, crafted into a thousand tiny poplar and laurel leaves wound about each other and etched with veins. The assembled crowd gasped collectively, and whispers rippled through the chamber. On the strong yet delicate crown sat six large rubies, each haloed with garnets, glimmering like moonlit pomegranate seeds. Around them sat an array of diamonds set in the shape of small asphodel flowers, the petals’ veins defined by rows of tiny fire opals. The diadem gleamed on its bed of black linen and Persephone covered her open mouth with her hand. Aidoneus walked to Hephaestus and quietly thanked him, then ascended the stairs of the dais and stood behind his wife’s throne. He waited until all were silent, then drew a long breath before speaking softly.

“When I was given this realm, it came with the promise of someday having a queen, a daughter of the Olympians, to rule beside me. It took me some time to adjust—” He was interrupted by muffled snickering and sarcastic mutters from the sons of Nyx. Aidoneus smiled at them, then continued. “But after long years of war, I came to appreciate the peacefulness of this world. I grew to love its beauty, its many riches. I learned to care for its inhabitants and for the souls of the mortals. I thank you, Hephaestus, for making this gift for my wife… a crown befitting the Queen of Asphodel and Tartarus, and the Goddess of Life and Death.”

Aidoneus set the jeweled crown softly on his wife’s head.

“But there isn’t a jewel in this crown, or in this kingdom, that compares to her beauty. The peace this realm brings me pales in comparison to the calm and happiness she brings me, and I will never love anything in this cosmos more than I love her.”

He resumed his seat beside her. A tear fell down her cheek and he brushed it away with his thumb. “Welcome home, wife.”

Persephone threaded her hands into the hair at his temples and pulled his face toward hers, kissing him firmly. The room broke into applause, accompanied by a whistle from Hermes.

Aidoneus turned to the gathered crowd. “And I expect all to attend our wedding ceremony!” The crowd cheered, and Persephone froze. Wedding ceremony? They’d discussed one briefly before she’d left, but hadn’t planned anything so… momentous. And there was so much she needed to ask him first.  “But for now, feast! All of you! E-except those from the world above.” A few laughed, and Hermes and Hephaestus exchanged looks of warning. Music and conversation filled the room. The Lampades resumed their dance, crimson handkerchiefs linking their hands in a wide circle.

Persephone swallowed. “Aidon…”

“Yes, my love?”

“I need to speak to you, privately.”

“Of course.” He smiled at her, then leaned in close to her ear. “I’ve been waiting for three months to speak to you in private.”

He nipped at her earlobe and she shivered, then pulled back.

“What’s wrong?” His face fell.

“Before we…” Persephone stared at him for a long moment, listening to the revelry surrounding them. Her mouth lifted into a forced smile. “Nothing. It’s not important.”

“Are you sure?”

“It can wait.” She kissed him again. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he said. He looked away and she felt him stir with emotion. When his eyes met hers again, they had those same flecks of gold she had seen when she first confessed her true feelings for him. “It feels as though it were longer and… I can hardly believe I have you here again beside me.”

“Aidon,” she smiled and her eyes were refreshed with more tears. Discussing children could wait. He had worked so hard, so long to plan this grand welcome for her. He had missed her, profoundly, as surely as she had missed him, and it showed in every glimmer of light that greeted her, every careful preparation he’d made, the weight of the diadem on her head. Though the splinter of doubt stuck within her, in this moment she would celebrate their reunion. She smiled broadly. “Can you believe it? The pomegranate worked! I’m actually here… we’re still married…”