Charon waited for them, his brown skin ignited against his white robes. He was a daimon—a divine creature that ferried souls across the River Styx. He met Hades’ gaze before it slipped to Persephone, his dark eyes sparking with curiosity. Beneath his gaze, Persephone started to withdraw her hand from his, but Hades’ grip tightened. He guided her toward his throne, manifesting a smaller one beside it, composed of the same jagged edges but in ivory and gold.
He gestured for her to sit and knew she was about to protest.
“You are a goddess. You will sit on a throne.”
Those words were similar to what he was really thinking. You will be my wife and queen. You will sit on a throne.
She did not protest. After she took her seat, Hades did too, turning his attention to the daimon.
“Charon, to what do I owe the interruption?” he asked.
“You’re Charon?”
Hades jaw tightened, not only at the goddess’ interruption, but at the evident admiration in her expression and tone. It was true that Charon did not look as the Upperworld depicted. He was regal, a son of gods—not a skeleton or an old man—and he was about to face a stint in Tartarus if he did not wipe that grin off his face.
“I am, indeed, my lady.”
“Please call me Persephone,” she offered, her smile matching his.
“My lady will do,” Hades interrupted. His people would not call her by her given name. “I am growing impatient, Charon.”
The ferryman bowed his head, probably to hide his laughter and not out of respect, but when he looked at Hades again, his expression was serious.
“My lord, a man named Orpheus was caught sneaking onto my ferry. He wishes for an audience with you.”
Of course, he thought. Another soul eager to beg for life—if not their own, then another’s.
“Show him in. I am eager to return to my conversation with Lady Persephone.”
Charon summoned the mortal with a snap of his fingers. Orpheus appeared on his knees before the throne, his hands tied behind his back. Hades had never seen the man before, and there was nothing particularly remarkable about him. He had curly hair that stuck to his face, dripping with water from the Styx. His eyes were dull, gray, and lifeless. It was not his appearance Hades was interested in anyway, it was his soul, burdened with guilt. Now that interested him, but before he peered deeper, he heard Persephone’s audible inhale.
“Is he dangerous?” she asked.
She had posed the question to Charon, but the daimon looked to him for an answer.
“You can see to his soul. Is he dangerous?” Persephone asked, looking at Hades now. He was not sure what had him so frustrated about her question. Perhaps it was her compassion?
“No.”
“Then release him from those bindings.”
His instinct was to fight her, to scold her for defying him in front of a soul, Charon, and Minthe. But looking into her eyes, seeing to her soul, how desperate she was to see compassion from him, he relented and released the man from his bonds. The mortal was unprepared and hit the floor with what Hades felt was a gratifying clap. As he picked himself up from the floor, he thanked Persephone.
Hades grinded his teeth. Where is my thanks?
“Why have you come to the Underworld?” Hades’ question was more of a bark. He was finding it hard to contain his impatience.
The mortal stared into Hades’ eyes, unafraid. Impressive…or arrogant. Hades could not decide.
“I have come for my wife. I wish to propose a contract—my soul in exchange for hers.”
“I do not trade in souls, mortal,” Hades answered.
The fact that his wife had died was an act of the Fates. The three had deemed her death necessary, and Hades would not interfere.
“My lord, please—”
He held up his hand to silence the man’s pleas. No amount of explaining Divine balance would help, and so Hades would not try. The mortal looked to Persephone.
“Do not look upon her for aid, mortal. She cannot help you.”
He might have given her free rein over his world, but she could not make these decisions.
“Tell me of your wife,” Persephone said.
Hades’ brows knitted together at her question. He knew she was challenging him, but what was her aim?
“What was her name?”
“Eurydice,” he said. “She died the day after we were married.”
“I am sorry. How did she die?”
Hades should discourage this line of conversation. It would only give the man hope.
“She just went to sleep and never woke up.”