The throne room was full that day, and by the time evening came, we’d barely made it through half. Hades and I had other duties as well, of course, but neither of us halted the proceedings. I stole a glance at him, searching for signs of fatigue, but he was as stoic as ever. And I was too keyed up from my fight with Aphrodite to stop, either.
A woman moved to the spot before us where countless other souls had stood. Her hair was long and stringy, and her hands shook as she regarded us with a wavering gaze.
“I know that because of my misdeeds, I am to be banished to an eternity of fire and brimstone to dance with the devil himself,” she said, her voice shaking as much as her hands. “But I beg of you—I only acted out of love.”
“And what are these acts of which you speak?” said Hades in a low voice. The woman winced.
“I—betrayed my husband. But he wasn’t good to me, your majesty. He had little love for me, and after a time, I could no longer love someone who didn’t love me back. I cherished my vow to him for as long as I could, but—when I met someone else, someone who loved and appreciated me…”
She broke down, and I glanced at Hades. Was this his idea of a joke? His brow was knitted, however, and he clutched the arms of his black-diamond throne. No way he’d planned this.
Our eyes met, and he quickly looked away. So he was aware of the irony, as well. Not that adulteresses were all that uncommon, but this woman’s story tugged at me in a way none of the others before her had. Maybe it was because of Aphrodite, or maybe Adonis—whatever it was, I ached for her.
“This other man,” I said, and the woman focused on me, wringing her hands desperately. “He made your life worthwhile?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “He made me content. He made me feel as if I were loved.”
“Yet you took a vow to remain faithful to your husband,” said Hades. “Did you believe your affair to be wrong, despite how it made you feel?”
Her eyes watered. “Y-yes.”
“But what good was her vow when it was choking the life out of her?” I said, turning toward Hades. “What’s more important—a few words in front of family and friends, or her entire life’s happiness?”
“Yes, what is more important, Persephone?” he said. “Her virtue or her own selfish desires?”
I clenched my jaw. There was that word again—selfish. So that was how he saw me, as well. “How can you call her selfish when all she was trying to do was find some small joy in her life?”
“And how can you not see the pain and humiliation she must have brought upon her husband?”
“Maybe if he’d listened to what she wanted, she would’ve never had to stray.”
“Perhaps if she gave him a chance to prove himself, she would have never felt the need to break her vows to begin with.”
I slammed my hand onto my armrest. “And maybe if she’d had a choice in the first place—”
The doors to the antechamber opened suddenly, and Hades and I both looked up, along with every soul in the throne room. Hermes stood in the doorway, and upon seeing everyone staring at him, he turned pink and hurried down the aisle.
Hades sighed and leaned back in his throne. “What is it, Hermes?”
Hermes glanced at me, his lips pressed together, and he hesitated. “I’m sorry for interrupting—”
“Then get on with it,” said Hades. I glared at him, but he stared straight ahead. Bastard.
Hermes shuffled his feet, his brow furrowed and his eyes glued to the marble floor. All my pent-up anger drained away, and my heart sank. Whatever it was couldn’t be good.
“It’s Adonis,” he said. “He’s dead.”
Part Three
Naturally Aphrodite was responsible.
Not directly, of course, but close enough. Ares, who we all knew was the jealous type, had sicced a wild boar on Adonis the moment Aphrodite had left his side. Why she hadn’t seen that coming, I didn’t know—more important, why she’d put Adonis in that sort of danger, knowing Ares might try to take revenge…
It didn’t matter. Adonis was a citizen of my realm now, and I sat frozen in my throne as Hermes explained what had happened. Hades dismissed the remaining dead, leaving the three of us alone, and the tension was as high as ever between us. I’d searched the faces of the departing souls, but Adonis wasn’t among them. No surprise there, really. Only a small percentage of our subjects needed to be judged.
“I’m sorry,” said Hermes once he’d finished his horrific story. Adonis had bled to death on the bank of a river, and nausea rolled through me as I imagined his blood mixing with the water. How long had it taken him to die? How badly had it hurt? Had Ares stood there, watching the life drain out of him?
“Do not apologize,” said Hades. “For once, this is not your doing. Persephone?”
It was the first time he’d addressed me all winter. I looked up, blinking away my tears. There was no point in crying. I couldn’t change the pain Adonis had gone through, and at least now he was safe from Aphrodite’s games. “I’m all right,” I whispered. “I need to go.”
His lips thinned, but even though he must’ve known exactly where I was going, he nodded. “Very well. Make it quick.”
I stood, and without bidding them goodbye, I pushed myself through the space between myself and Adonis’s new eternity. In that split second, a barrage of images flashed through my mind—possibilities of his afterlife. The shore where we’d first met. Mother’s cottage. Even his childhood home, which I’d never seen, but he’d told me about in passing. What were Adonis’s favorite memories? Which ones would he want to surround himself with for the rest of forever?
I held my breath as my feet landed on solid ground once more. Instead of the green forest I’d expected, however, swirls of white surrounded me, and something soft and cold brushed my cheek. Snow.
My feet were buried in several inches of it, and it fell heavily from the gray sky, thick enough that I couldn’t see my hands. This couldn’t possibly be right.
“Adonis?” I called. I must’ve managed to land on the edge of another soul’s afterlife. One step in the right direction, and this would melt away, returning me to the familiar. “It’s me—where are you?”
A groan cut through the silence, and my heart leaped into my throat. I scrambled through the drifts of snow, unused to moving around in it. We didn’t exactly get any at Mother’s cottage during the summer.