The Dark Wife (25 page)

Oh, I could not bear it, and I let out a wail, and I beat my hands against the marble. Hades gripped my wrists, drew me closer to her, and I felt my heart break into a thousand pieces, shattering inside of my breast.

I knew Zeus, and I knew what he was capable of. If I refused, he would come here, for both of us.

He would kill Hades.

I had to leave.

“Persephone,” she whispered.
“My beautiful Persephone.
Forgive me… I tried—I don’t know what to do.”

And we sat together on the floor, heads bowed together, touching, touching, we had to be touching, had to be close. This was all we had left, this moment, this day,
this
night. It was all we had, and once it was be gone, I would be gone, too.

“Hades,” I whispered, “there’s something I have to tell you—ask you.”

She sat back, eyes dark and shining. And it was already broken, but I felt my heart break again, again and again and again, until it made me sick, until I wanted to cry out from it. I swallowed, pressed my hands to my eyes, and opened them again. She was still there, still gazing at me.

“Hades,” I whispered, taking her hands, pressing them together between mine. They were so warm, so soft,
so
real. “My beloved Hades, goddess of the Underworld, queen of the kingdom of the dead…” I tried to smile, but my mouth had gone slack. “Hades, would you please marry me?”

Her lips parted, and she sat for a long moment, speechless, as my pulse raced, pounded, waiting. But then she gathered me up and kissed me once, twice, three times, and said with fervor, “Yes, Persephone. I will marry you.”

In that moment, in that precious, tiny, infinite moment, there was joy. I held it to me like a gem, held it close to my heart, tucked away, kept safe.

She would marry me.

“
Tonight
—
marry
me tonight,” I whispered, kissing her.

“Yes,” she said.

I went to my room to find the pomegranate. The long, low bed where I slept, the white marble walls—this had been my home. But I would not be sleeping here tonight. I wouldn’t see this room again. I pressed my hand against the place where Hades had lain beside me, and I said a quick goodbye, my first goodbye, and I didn’t look back when I left, pomegranate clutched to my heart.

I searched for Hades.

She was not in the throne room, and she was not in her chamber. I wandered through the hallway until I came to the front steps of the palace. Hades sat on the steps, staring up at the vast, immeasurable ceiling of the Underworld, at the blackness that covered us both.

“I stayed at Olympus while I was gone,” she said, as I sat down beside her. Her eyes were fixed on the darkness. “The stars are the one thing that I miss about the earth. They’re so constant, steady,
bright
. I’ve always loved the stars. You remind me of them, Persephone,” she added quietly.

“I do?” I pillowed my head on her shoulder. She drew me close, her arm about me, holding me, caressing me.

“Yes…” she whispered, swallowed,
fingered
the hem of my tunic nervously. “You see, I have been content with the darkness. But then you came, with your fire. And you reminded me about the stars, shining in the dark, never wavering.”

“Oh, I have wavered…” I argued, but she shook her head.

“You have been brave. You have done your best. In this, in all of this, you have done your best. How many can say that? You have made such a difference here.” She smiled to herself. “Pallas met me at the Styx, walked back with me, and she told me that you opened the sun room to the dead. I don’t know why I never thought of such things. In the time you’ve been here, you’ve changed…everything. I’m no longer needed in the Elysian Fields because you opened the door, and the dead themselves began to help one another.” She swallowed again and looked at me fully. “I was blind. You opened my eyes.”

I stared at her, blinking back tears. “Hades…how can we do this? How can we possibly do this?
I can’t…not
without you…I can’t lose…” The tears were so dangerously close to falling, falling, ruining everything, these moments that were our
last, that
I was determined to spend joyfully. She shook her head, wiped the wet streaks from my face with a feather touch.

“You have been so brave, Persephone. You have done what no one else can do. You will be brave, still. You have enough courage to see this through—for both of us.”

“I don’t want to see it through. I can’t do it, Hades. I can’t go up there. How can I? Why must I?” The heat of my words shook me to my core. I didn’t have to go up—
why
did I have to go up? Why did the fate of the mortals, of the world, depend upon me? I didn’t want that responsibility. I didn’t want to care. Why couldn’t I stay? Everyone died eventually, anyway, and the Underworld was dark but safe, and far from the gods and their tricks and games.

And perhaps Zeus would forget. Perhaps he wouldn’t come for us.

In that moment, selfishness consumed me, and I descended into the belly of the beast, resolute. No, I would not return to the earth. I would stay here and continue to make choices that guided my own destiny.
Mine and no one else’s.
I owed nothing and no one, and I would do what I wished.

But even as I thought it, even as I tried to force it to make sense, I knew I wouldn’t, couldn’t follow through. Zeus had threatened the lives of every being on the planet. Would he really do it, twist my mother to his will so that she froze them all to death?

Yes, he would.

I leaned back against Hades’ shoulder. She gazed at me silently.

“I loved the stars, too,” I said then, and it felt like a prayer. “The North Star would be there.” I pointed upward. “It is there, still shining—just…far away.”

“Yes,” Hades murmured. She sighed. “I can come to visit you, Persephone. And, perhaps, you can visit me, too. And this won’t be forever, surely. Surely, you can convince Zeus, talk some sense into him, over time…” Her voice faded, and she added weakly, “Surely.”

“Yes,” I agreed, doubtful.

“Persephone…Hades?” Pallas appeared on the steps behind us. I rose, wiping at my eyes, offering my hand to Hades, who took it, rose, too. Pallas
smiled,
a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, and spread her arms wide to the both of us. “It’s time,” she said, “if you’re ready.”

Everything was happening fast, too fast. I had never envisioned myself in this moment.  I had never imagined I would find myself here, at the beginning of goodbyes. But,
no, no, no, Persephone
, I thought to myself, furious, as we followed Pallas through the passageways. If I kept my head in the moment, if I was only here and only now, that would be all that mattered, all that could touch me. Not tomorrow, not all of the heartache and pain that had come before, and would surely follow after—no, nothing but this moment would be real. I breathed in, and I breathed out, and as Hades threaded her fingers through mine, clasped my hand, squeezed—once, twice—I breathed in and I breathed out again, and I vowed with all of my heart that I would stay here, now, and let each moment come and go as it would. It was all I could do; these moments were all I would have, all any of us had, and I needed to begin by treasuring them with the honor they deserved.
Here.
Now.

Pallas had prepared the sun room for the ceremony, our ritual. Now, as we entered it, I saw two deep, marble basins on the floor on either side of the entrance, each of them filled with clear, bright water—from the pool in
Gaea’s
grotto, I guessed.

Solemnly, Pallas gestured to us and to the basins. Hades let go of my hand, and I felt a shock, felt the cold creep over my fingers where she’d been and was now gone, but I steeled myself, closing my eyes, breathing in and out. I was nervous as I stood before my basin, and I looked over my shoulder at Hades.

She drew her hair around and over her right shoulder; it cascaded down her side, over her breast. Slowly, eyes closed, she shrugged out of her garments, left them in a small pile, stepped down and into the water, naked. She was so beautiful, the curves of her, the swells and gentle crests of her sacred body. Pallas turned and looked to me, nodding.

My hands shook as I, too, shrugged out of my tunic, careful to keep the pomegranate in the palm of my hand. I stepped into the basin, and I shivered at the cold.

Hades knelt down, splashed the water on her face, over her head, over her skin, and I tried to mimic her motions, realizing the intent of this rite—it was
a cleanse
, a purification, to make us new and worthy of one another, and of our promises, our vows. I trembled, and I felt changed when I stepped back onto the marble of the palace floor, naked, newborn.

Pallas handed me a red dress; to Hades, she offered a black one. We donned these clothes and stood, gazing at one another.
Black and red, Hades and Persephone.

“We begin,” said Pallas in a soft whisper. Hades and I clasped hands, standing before her.

We passed a long moment in silence, gazing at one another, my heart stilled, quieted. My eyes drank her in: her long, straight nose, her soft lips, her dark, liquid eyes. I memorized her, every inch of her. The way that her neck curved down and in to the two bones, fragile as birds, that met in the hollow I had pressed my lips against, tasted. I memorized the gentle gaze that she reserved just for me, and I memorized the way that she looked at me—now—her eyes flashing, when she wanted me, desired me with all her heart.

“We stand in a room built of love,” said Pallas. I clung to her words—they were real, they were now, they would keep away the future. “We stand,” she continued, holding out her hands to us, “at the threshold of a transformation. Hades, Persephone, have you come here to marry one another, to profess to each other, and the world itself, that you love with a true love, with a pure love?”

“Yes,” said Hades, in a voice so soft, so low, that it made me shiver.

“Yes,” I whispered, and I cleared my throat and said again, firmly, “Yes.”

“All you need to begin something is the courage enough to begin it,” said Pallas simply. “Persephone, do you promise before yourself, before your goddess, that you will love her always?”

“I promise.” My voice caught, and my eyes were gathering tears, but I shook my head, swallowed. I could not begin to cry, not now. I willed the tears back, stared into Hades’ eyes—they were so dark, so full,
so
hungry.

“Hades, do you promise, before yourself, before your goddess, that you will love her always?”

“I promise,” said Hades, her whisper washing over me like rain.

“As a symbol of your love, and a sealing of your promise, Persephone, what have you brought with you?”

I took my hands out of Hades’, drew my fingers quickly over my damp face, and picked up the pomegranate.

“Partake of it together as an embodiment of your bond,” Pallas said, and—with a soft smile on her lips—she bowed deeply to the both of us, turned, and left the room, drawing the two great doors closed behind her.

We were alone in the sun room, the created star sparkling above us. And in the corner, there was a wide, long, low bed—Hades’ bed.

Pallas was full of wonders. She had thought of everything.

Hades sat down on the bed, gesturing for me to do the same. I was suddenly shy, the light from the sun illuminating every flaw I saw in myself, every weakness. I looked upon Hades, saw the strength and the beauty and unblemished character of her, the woman I had fallen in love with so deeply, and I wondered, silently, if I was enough for her.

“Come here,” she whispered, and, drawing me down upon her, she reached up with her mouth, seeking mine. She kissed me, her hands pressing against my back, holding me in this embrace, comforting me, letting me forget. She kissed my cheek, my neck, as I shivered, as I whispered her name, trembling.

We lay together, side by side, and I held up the pomegranate. On a gem-encrusted table beside the bed, there was a knife, and Hades offered it to me. I sliced into the fruit. The red juice ran down my fingers, down my hands and arms, as I tore it open, and—never once taking my eyes from hers—offered her half. She took it, smiling, mischievous, and held it out to me.