“I cannot find her,” he said, his voice shaking, his heart racing. “I cannot feel her.”
They both paled hearing his words, and there was a shared sense of dread between the three.
“We’ll find her,” Hermes said confidently.
But would it be too late?
The two vanished, and Hades stormed across the field. The wind picked up speed, whipping around him, and the elegant stems of the asphodel wilted as he drained the lush ground around him of magic. Then the air rippled and grew warm with the energy of gods as Hades summoned the deities of the Underworld. They came to him disembodied, taking the form of shadow and lightning, whirling around him. He felt them acutely—grief and sorrow, sickness and panic, starvation and want. They whispered to him as they circled, monstrous things they used to infect mortal minds and drive them to madness.
And Hades felt mad.
Now and then, the deities flashed red eyes or gnashed long, sharp teeth.
They were monsters more than they were human, and Hades needed them.
“Find. My. Queen!” he commanded.
The deities circled quicker, and their whispers became faster until they peeled away, dashing across the sky. Hades followed, still leeching magic from his realm as he went, his sole focus on finding Persephone.
His mind knew no bounds when it came to imagining what might have happened to her. His earlier thoughts of battle returned with a vengeance, and all he could think was that she must be hurt and that he would find her broken and bleeding. The images came to mind easily because he had seen many bodies in the same state. He had never allowed himself to think long on loss, not when it came to Persephone, though he’d always promised to end the world if anything did occur.
Now he was certain of it, but he’d not just set it aflame.
He would tear it to pieces.
It was Cerberus who came to him first, then Typhon, and they led him to a grove of poplar trees where Orthrus sat rigid, guarding Persephone, who slept beneath the silver of his strange moon. Even standing before her, he still could not sense her. It was as if, in slumber, she had managed to shield herself.
It took him a moment to move, to settle the chaos her absence had caused, and when he did, the wind ceased to roar and the deities he had called to his aid screamed as they were forced to return to the untamed wild beyond the gates of his realm. Though he managed to quell the external part of his frenzy, inside, he still felt the aftershock shudder through him, but that soon ebbed as he knelt to gather her into his arms.
He cradled her close as he rose, enjoying her warmth and weight and the smell of her hair, which was earthy and sweet, and soon, Hecate and Hermes had found them. None of them spoke, but there was a general sense of relief between the three. Hades moved past them, heading for the palace.
While he could have teleported, he wanted more time with her like this—
when all was well and peaceful, when she forgot that she hated him.
Cerberus, Typhon, and Orthrus led the way, and with each step he took, his world fell into place, and the Underworld became lush once more.
*
Hades took Persephone to his room, tucking her into his bed. She shifted once when he laid her down, moving to her side and curling her hands beneath her cheek, but she did not wake. He bent and pressed a kiss to her forehead, calm in the knowledge that she was safe, and ventured into the night, finding that he was far more disturbed by his behavior than he had expected to be.
He hated feeling like he had no control, and when he’d returned to the Underworld to find Persephone missing, he had lost it in more than one way. He returned to where he’d found her. This time, she had been far from the dangers of Tartarus, nearer to Hecate’s meadow and the palace.
“She must have gone for a walk,” Hecate said, appearing in the meadow beside him. “Perhaps she got tired and sat down to rest.”
“I find myself wishing to destroy everything that poses a threat to her,” he admitted.
“If you only try to insulate her, she will grow to resent you.”
He knew Persephone well enough to know that Hecate was right. She would grow to hate him if she felt caged, and wasn’t that the opposite of what he’d wanted for her?
He looked away. “I am afraid for her.”
In the short time they’d been together, she had become collateral for Hera’s whims and the focus of Apollo’s soon-to-be wrath. Not to mention her mother, Demeter, was likely still plotting ways to keep them apart, and he suspected that Leuce may be part of that scheme.
Worst of all, he knew this was only the beginning.