That Fatal Kiss (24 page)

“Where is it?” he asked dutifully. In the moment it took for him to turn around and look for the belt she didn’t actually need, Persephone willed the gown in place on her body. She battled with a clasp to secure it by the time he turned back.

He made a face at her. “Not very sporting of you, my dear.” Then he laughed as she dropped the pin for the third time and swore.

Persephone glared at him. “You might put yourself to good use rather than just standing there, laughing at me.”

Hades was before her in an instant, swooping down to pick up the pin and gathering the folds of her gown up on one shoulder. “But it affords me such pleasure,” he said, clipping the folds together before twirling her around so that he could arrange the other shoulder.

“Then mock me, if you must,” Persephone said, swatting at him when he stole a peek down her neckline. “You aging degenerate.”

“Madam, you wound me,” Hades stated crisply, giving the newly pinned cloth a final tweak. He turned her around once more and shoved her so that she was forced to sit down on their bed.

“Have a care, Hades!” she admonished without heat. A smile broadened her lips as the Lord of the Underworld played Lady’s maid. He solemnly took her foot and placed a sandal upon it, lacing it quickly. “You’ve done this before, have you?” Persephone asked, and then squealed as he tied the lace too tightly. “Gently, you brute!”

“Really, Persephone, you might address me with the respect due to your King,” he pointed out, taking her other foot in hand.

“Yes, I might. But what joy would there be in that?”

“Very little, I should think,” Hades acknowledged, rising to his feet and grasping both of her hands to pull her up. He stared down at her for a moment and then noted, in a warm and hushed tone, “You’re really quite lovely, you know.”

Feeling her belly wobble, Persephone cast her eyes down bashfully. But Hades would not let her evade him and brought her face up to receive his kiss. They engaged in this pleasant pastime for a while before he finally pulled away and asked, “Weren’t we supposed to be going somewhere?”

“Er…the throne room, I think?”

“Ah, yes. Come, we’ll go through the secret passage.” Hades willed the magically hidden door to show itself. Pulling her along with comical speed, he smoothly navigated the turns and steps. Eventually, the goddess saw a door open into the throne room.

As he climbed up the steps leading to it, Hades said, “Mind your—”

Too late, as it happened. Persephone’s head met soundly with a low slope in the ceiling. “Blast it!” she swore, emerging from the passageway.

Hades sealed the door and raised a hand to inspect her forehead. Persephone slapped it away when she saw the twinkle in his eye. “You might have warned me.”

“I did try,” he said, following her to their thrones.

“Humph.” The goddess sat in her ivory throne and rubbed at her temple. “Why we had to run through that bleak little tunnel like rats when we could have simply willed ourselves here escapes me.”

“Aye, but as you very recently inquired of me, what joy would there have been in that?” Hades asked, seating himself and placing a kiss on the spot Persephone had been rubbing.

Persephone nudged him away, mumbling, “You choose the oddest moments for whimsy, Hades.” But she could not help smiling.

Rhadamanthys popped in to ascertain their arrival. At Hades’ nod he departed and soon after, Orpheus entered. He was a tall, slender man, with long dark hair that hung limply against his wan features. His black eyes burned, as if with fever. He bore a gift from his father, a splendidly crafted lyre, close to his chest, clutching it as though it were his only weapon against the evils of the world.

Foregoing his customarily menacing approach, Hades simply commanded, “Speak.”

Orpheus drew closer and dropped to his knees before them, bowing his head in deference to the King of the Dead. “I am at your mercy, great god, and ask that you hearken to my sorrowful tale.” He dared now to look up, saw Persephone’s face clearly for the first time, and a light of hope flickered in his eyes. For a moment, it seemed his immense grief prevented him from speaking. Pity shadowed the goddess’ features and she encouraged him to tell his tale.

As if sparked by her compassionate tones, Orpheus positioned his lyre and began to sing. Quietly at first, then with more vigor, he praised Hades and his wife, imploring them to grant his petition. His sweet voice resonating throughout the Underworld, he sang of his great love for Eurydice, a wood nymph who only the day before brought him profound joy by becoming his wife. He described how she ran with her companions on the eve of their wedding celebration and was bitten by a snake, whose venom coursed through her veins instantly, rendering her lifeless on the spot. Orpheus related his despair upon learning of his loss, and how he felt compelled to descend to the gloomy realms to retrieve her. He relayed his argument with enchanting tones, singing that all mortals must surely retreat to the murky depths of Erebus in due time, but that Eurydice had been cut down in her prime. He beseeched them to restore her life, so that he and his wife might live out long years together and return to the Underworld in due course. Looking briefly at Persephone, he was inspired to add that, as surely as Love had induced Hades to claim his bride, so too must he allow Orpheus to reclaim his. Only then did the son of Apollo give his lyre a final strum and fall silent.

Hades looked at Persephone, only to find she’d raised a hand to her brow to hide her tears. He took her free hand in his and gave it a squeeze. The god turned his unreadable gaze to Rhadamanthys, who stood at the open door awaiting instruction. “Escort our guest back to the waiting chamber. I will summon you when we’re ready.” The judge bowed, then took Orpheus’ arm to lead him out of the throne room.

When the judge shut the door behind him, Hades turned to Persephone again. “Well?” he asked, reaching with his other hand to wipe the tears from her face.

Persephone willed a soft cloth to appear and dried her face with it. “Ah, Hades…I felt his pain as if it were my own.”

The Host of Many made no reply to that and Persephone turned to him, saw that he regarded her intently. Wondering at his look, she asked, “What are you going to do?”

“You mean, what are
we
going to do.”

She could not have been more surprised had he leapt to his feet and done somersaults across the room. “
We
?”

“Yes,
we
,” he said. “You are my queen and it is your duty to rule alongside me.” At her incredulous look, he added, “I haven’t forgotten what happened with Psyche—as you yourself noted, we should have discussed the matter together before, not after, the fact. I do not wish to repeat the error and hope you will feel free to speak your mind. Now, should we break all the laws of our kingdom by letting Eurydice leave with Orpheus or not?”

Persephone looked away, unsettled by having the mantle of such responsibility laid upon her shoulders for the first time in her existence. She deliberated for long, feverish moments what might be done. Finally, she turned back to Hades and shook her head. “I don’t know.”

He gave her hand another gentle squeeze, smiling as he said, “I’m surprised you didn’t immediately urge me to grant his wish.”

She looked down at the hand that covered hers. “That is what my heart wants, yes.”

“But?”

“But the fact is, as much as I love my nephew and his unfortunate bride, their fates were decreed by a force greater than ours,” Persephone said. “I do pity them, but they are not the first mortals to suffer such calamity and will not be the last. How can we release them from their destiny, when others have no similar chance of reprieve? It is not for us to alter the thread that the Fates themselves wove and cut.”

Releasing her hand, he stepped down from his throne to fetch some water from a nearby pitcher. “Much of what you’ve said is true.” He held up the goblet, offering it to her. When she declined, he drained the cup and went to stand before her. “However, we do have the power to thwart Fate, and it occurs to me that it could be to our benefit to do so in this situation.”

Persephone leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “How so?”

Hades reached for a cluster of her curls and played with them as he said, “I’ve no doubt Apollo would be gladdened if we were to accommodate his son. It could not hurt to cultivate his favor.”

She smiled at that. “Can it be that my dread Lord feels the need to cultivate the favor of a lesser god?”

“Under normal circumstances, no. But I, like Orpheus, esteem my wife highly and would find her loss insupportable. Because of this despicable weakness, I may need Apollo’s support at some undesignated point in the future.”

“I see,” she said, lowering her eyes.

Hades let go of her locks and returned to his throne. “The trouble is, if we simply allow Orpheus to remove his Eurydice from Erebus, we will be overrun by tearfully indignant mortals, each claiming his or her own loved one’s release.” He shuddered. “Hurling Hecatonchires, think of the clamor such throngs would raise!”

As Persephone laughed at his exaggerated horror, an idea came to her. “Perhaps we can grant him his desire without appearing to capitulate to it.” At his interested hum, she elaborated, “Make some stipulation for her return, something impossible to accomplish. In that way, though we show him a mercy that Apollo is bound to appreciate, we are not letting him get the best of us. Even if Orpheus succeeds, others will not imitate him for fear of some more strenuous challenge. Conversely, they will be discouraged from similar daring in the event of his failure.”

Hades’ thoughtful expression gave way to a broad, approving smile. “That is a most cunning plan, Kore. I am impressed by your heretofore undisclosed guile.”

She bowed her head modestly. “I believe I may have learned a thing or two from you, Hades. I also feel all the difficulty of your position.”

“
Our
position,” he corrected, his face sober again. “I do not make decisions alone while you are here by my side.”

It was an odd choice of words, and they both felt the weight of them. Persephone ventured, “I am here with you now.”

Hades’ look was unfathomable as he said, “So you are.” Then his mood shifted again and he proposed, “Shall we get on with it, then? We are unanimous in our ruling?”

“Yes.” Just as he was about to clap for the judge, she asked, “But wait, what is the condition for Orpheus?”

“You will think me a fiend once you hear it.”

Hades summoned Rhadamanthys and rendered their verdict. He gave the judge instructions on what should happen in the event of Orpheus’ failure to comply with the conditions of the ruling, then had Orpheus brought back in to see them.

Persephone sat back whilst Hades proclaimed their decision. Joy leapt in their nephew’s eyes when he learned he could have his beloved back. Hades named the one provision with some severity; Orpheus could not look back at his wife as they departed Erebus. She would be behind him at all times until they reached the Upperworld and, once there, they could gaze upon one another to their hearts’ content. “However,” Hades cautioned, “if at any point you turn to look at her, she will be lost to you, and you will not be allowed to return for her, nor will you see her again until Fate’s thread has run out for you.” His tone lost some of its edge as he concluded, “Now, go. Fetch your wife.”

Ecstatic, Orpheus ran to the foot of Hades’ throne, grasped the god’s hand and kissed it, then fell over Persephone’s knees to repeat the gesture. He raised shining eyes to his aunt and kissed her hand several times in thanks. The goddess put her hand over his and said, “Orpheus, heed Aidoneus well. You will lose Eurydice if you fail to uphold your end of the bargain. Do you understand?” So blissful that he could not even speak, the mortal nodded, then fled from the room in search of his wife.

Persephone turned to Hades in amazement. “Whatever made you think of that?”

“In the same way that Aphrodite knew Psyche’s curiosity would be her downfall, so too do I know how dearly Orpheus wishes to behold his beloved,” Hades replied, waving his hand to uncover the Viewing Mirror.

Persephone thought she should feel warmed by the sentiment Hades expressed, knowing it spoke to his own feelings for her. But instead, her earlier apprehension returned and worry wrinkled her forehead.

Hades noted her expression. “You disapprove?”

Afraid to articulate her concern lest its utterance cause some misfortune to occur, she smoothed her features. “Not at all. Indeed, I envy your evil genius.”

He smiled and then turned to the Mirror to see how Orpheus fared. They watched as he was reunited with the shade of his wife, shedding tears of happiness as his eyes devoured her hungrily. Then, turning as bade by Rhadamanthys, he began the long trek back to the Upperworld. He kept his gaze forward, navigating the treacherous path carefully, with Eurydice’s shade but two steps behind. Persephone reached for Hades’ hand, the suspense proving unbearable. A similar tension emanated from the god and they exchanged hopeful smiles, both seeking to dispel it. They turned their eyes back to the Mirror.

The bard and his mate progressed swiftly through Erebus. Soon, the mortals neared the opening to the eastern edge of Erebus, where the weak sunlight that filtered in managed to illuminate the rocky path before them. Then Orpheus tripped and cast a worried look at the ground. As one, king and queen leaned forward.

“He’s afraid she’ll fall and hurt herself,” Persephone said, her grip on Hades’ hand tightening.

“He ought to know that she can’t feel anything until she’s made mortal again,” Hades observed in turn, covering the hand he held with his other.

The strain of the moment intolerable, the two held their breaths as the lovers neared the egress. They saw Orpheus jump at the sound of some loose pebbles tumbling down behind him and emitted groans of objection as he turned to look back at his wife. Even as he reached out for her hand, her shade receded into the darkness. Orpheus let out an anguished cry, struggling to capture her in his embrace but to no avail, for she was now beyond his reach.