The throne room was set in the center of Olympus, laid out in a circle with over a dozen hallways leading from it, in the shape of the sun and her rays. It had been the seat of our power during the war, untouchable even to Cronus, and it was the one place where we’d all been safe. Now that it was Zeus’s domain, somehow the sun seemed darker. But that day, nothing, not even Zeus, could’ve brought me down.
No, not nothing. The moment I stepped into the throne room, my heart sank. Zeus, Poseidon, Demeter and Hestia were already there, waiting for me, but Hades’s throne was empty.
“Good morning,” I said, keeping the disappointment out of my voice. He was late, that was all. He had a much longer way to travel than the rest of us.
“Good morning,” said Zeus. He’d aged himself a few years, but not even a beard could make him look like a king. “Now that we are all here, I will call this meeting to—”
“What about Hades?” I said. “Shouldn’t we wait for him?”
“Hades won’t be coming,” said Zeus, sounding annoyed.
I lowered the tip of the feather from my nose. “Oh.”
Across the circle, Demeter gave me a sympathetic smile. So everyone knew then, even Zeus. Enough to realize that Hades was at least part of the reason I’d refused his proposal. One of our sisters must have told him, then,
I frowned. Hades felt like a secret, something I opened up when no one was there, and the thought of my sisters discussing Hades and me with Zeus made my skin crawl.
Zeus cleared his throat, and he gestured toward me. “I see you got my gift. Consider it an apology for how I’ve treated you. I would give you the heavens if I could, but Demeter insisted something simpler would be better.”
I nearly dropped the feather. His gift? One Demeter had helped pick out? “Thank you,” I mumbled, glaring at my sister. She knew how I felt about Zeus, and encouraging him like that wasn’t only cruel to him. It was cruel to me, as well.
The meeting began, a mostly neutral affair with no one raising their voices. Poseidon and Zeus talked about the progress they’d made, protecting their subjects from predators and showing them how best to care for themselves now that they no longer had the threat of the Titans hanging over their heads, while my sisters spoke of what we’d discovered on earth. I remained quiet, however, my gaze focused on Hades’s empty throne. His realm was the largest; and after a war, of course he wouldn’t have time to spare.
He would come next time, though. He wouldn’t break his promise. Not to me.
* * *
Hades didn’t come the next time, or the next, or the time after that. Finally, nearly a year after the war ended, his throne wasn’t there at all.
“Hades has decided to become an honorary member of the council,” said Zeus that day. “He will join us when it is important, but otherwise he will defer to our judgment when it comes to matters above his realm.”
In other words, he’d separated himself from us, breaking our unity. That pain sliced through me, hot and unyielding, and I had to blink rapidly to keep myself from letting it show. Fine. If he didn’t think we were worth it—if he didn’t think I was worth it, then so be it. We didn’t need him. I didn’t need him.
But I did, and that empty space inside my chest where hope for a happy life had once been ate away at me. He’d represented everything I’d wanted—respect, compassion, honesty and maturity that Zeus could never hope to obtain. The possibility of life as an equal to my partner. And with one single decision, he’d destroyed all of those dreams.
As soon as the meeting ended, I fled to the earth. It was summertime, and the forest was lush with colors. Green leaves, red and purple flowers, the blue sky and the brown soil—it should’ve been beautiful, but I was blind to all except Hades’s betrayal.
I sat on the shore of a lake and sobbed. My cries echoed amongst the trees, but I was alone. Always alone. My sisters were content with their lots. My brothers each had their own kingdoms to rule. When would it be my turn to have a happy ending? When would I have a chance to live the life I wanted?
The Titan War hadn’t been waged just to save humanity. We’d fought to save ourselves, too. I’d fought for my freedom, but what good was freedom when I found no joy in life alone? I wanted to share it with someone, to share the bonds of respect and fidelity, to know that to someone in the world, I was their life. But I would never have that now. Not with someone who could ever hope to be my equal, and I could never be with someone who looked down on me as something less. Hades had been my only hope.
A pitiful cry caught my attention, and I stopped weeping. Only a few feet away, crumpled on the ground, lay a tiny bird no bigger than an acorn. His wing was crooked, and as I peered down at him, he cheeped helplessly.
“You poor thing.” Gently lifting the bird into my hand, I stroked his back. Next to the peacock that had become my constant companion in Olympus, this was the tamest creature I’d ever seen.
I touched the broken wing, willing it to heal. The bones eased back into place, and at last the bird righted himself. He seemed to doubt that his wing was fixed; he kept it close as he expanded the other, as if readying himself for takeoff. But instead he remained in my palm, and he cocked his head as he chirped up at me once more.
Despite the heartbreak of the morning, I smiled. “You can fly now, you know. You don’t have to stay with me.”
He hopped from my palm to the tips of my fingers, and at last he spread both of his wings. As he took off, I felt that same keen wrench in my chest, and it only brought on another fresh wave of tears. Everyone would leave me eventually, given enough time.
But even as I thought it, I felt a featherlight touch on my shoulder, and the bird chirped beside my ear. I wiped my cheeks. “You’re back,” I said thickly.
Another chirp, and he took a few strands of my hair in his beak. I managed a small smile.
“I wouldn’t eat that if I were you. Let’s find you some seeds.”
The bird and I spent the rest of the day together, exploring the woods around the lake as I tried to find his home. But no matter how hard I searched the trees, I saw no evidence of a nest. He couldn’t have been very old, certainly not on his own yet, but I heard no cries of his mother or siblings. So he’d been abandoned, after all.
“We aren’t so different, you and I,” I said as he perched on my finger. We sat on a rock, sunbathing in the warm afternoon glow. “I’m on my own, as well.”