Series: Willow Winters
Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 74198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
“But you knew. You thought I had gone to the Underworld. Why?”
“Because there was nowhere else you could be. And…and I had a dream from Hecate… she whispered to have faith and that you were well but trapped. You were not among the mortals. You were not with any of the other gods. You were lost to your mother, and when she realized she could not find you in any of the places she knew and guarded, I prayed and made offerings to the one goddess, the Titan who rules every crossroad…but how? How did you get there?”
I frown, remembering. “Someone did take me. Someone…brought me to him.”
“Who?”
“I do not know. I do not remember.” I remember the cold. I remember the dark, the chill that ran down my spine. But now, with Beatrice’s hands in mine, I am certain it could not have been Hades. If he had the power to come to Olympus, he would be here with me now. He would not have let Hecate bring me here without staying at my side.
He cannot come to Olympus. It must be beyond his power. Someone did though. Someone broke the law of the gods.
“But you did not choose to go?” Beatrice searches my eyes. “There were some who thought you slipped away, intending to disappear. I told them you would never. Tell me I know you well enough to—”
“I would not do that to my mother,” I answer solemnly. “Never would have left without telling you either.”
“That is what I said!” Beatrice exhales. “That is exactly what I said to anyone who would listen. But it was not my place…”
She squeezes my hands and then releases them quickly, bowing her head slightly, seeming to remember that I am a goddess, and she is a companion. This closeness between us is not our usual habit, even if she knew all my darkest secrets before I went to the Underworld. I grab her hands again. I do not care what our old habits used to be. I’m not my old habits anymore. Beatrice smiles, glancing down at our hands, then brings her gaze back to mine.
“That is what I said,” she repeats, quieter this time. “I didn’t think it was like you to run away.”
“I would not.”
Beatrice’s expression softens, yet becomes more serious. She presses her lips together. “It was…difficult. While you were gone.”
“Tell me please. You have my confidence.”
“Your mother was in great distress.” She bites her lip for a moment, clearly worried. “Your father was no help at all.”
“You can tell me, Beatrice. I’ve heard some of what happened.”
“She took her anger out on first Zeus then Olympus. When you could not be found, she turned to the mortal world to upset the balance of the gods. She refused to provide life or harvest. Food and plants became scarce. Many have lost their lives. She demanded we all feel her pain and loss. Such a giving god, so gracious and compassionate, turned to wrath and spite.”
My eyes slowly close as I do my best to contain the anguish of knowing what my mother is capable of. My mother loves me so much she was willing to cause incredible pain, but I have always known her to treasure the mortals who pray to her. They are a gift. She told me such.
I open my eyes. “And has she given any sign she will stop?”
Beatrice shakes her head. “She has not given the mortal realm relief.”
“She must,” I murmur, then clear my throat. “I will speak to her. I will do my best to convince her that there must be a reprieve.”
“My lady…Persephone,” Beatrice says quietly, seeming uncomfortable with the question in her mind. She nearly whispers the question, “Did he hurt you?”
I thought he did. I thought Hades was a monster who had crept up to Olympus and taken me from my bedroom. I thought he made me a prisoner so he could break me down and hurt me for his own enjoyment. It is odd how my recollection has changed. Or rather what I care to admit has changed.
I don’t wish to lie to Beatrice. I cannot tell her all of what Hades did for me, but I won’t give her the impression that he harmed me for his own entertainment. He never did, but I cannot say the process of coming to terms with myself was entirely without pain.
“He showed me the parts of myself that feel pain,” I say finally, the words finally fitting with the experience, at least enough to share them with Beatrice. “And in doing so, he gave me power over it.”
Beatrice studies me again for a long moment, then seems to find honesty in my face and smiles, the corners of her eyes crinkling.
“You look well,” she whispers, as if it is supposed to be a secret. “Truly, you are not afraid?”