Yesterday, 01:38 AM
Days had passed since the refugees departed through the Greek Pyle, and Hades had found little reason to revise his judgment. Their arrival had been unwelcome, their departure overdue, and the death of the goddess who attempted to cross the Acheron an entirely avoidable consequence of her own foolishness. He had considered the matter settled almost before the last of them vanished through the ancient doorway. The information they brought, however, was another matter.
Hades had devoted much of the intervening time to the records of the Titanomachy. Several accounts described devices capable of disrupting Dynamis, though the instruments themselves had been rare, expensive, and notoriously unreliable. There had been little need to preserve detailed explanations of their construction once the war ended. The surviving examples were ordered destroyed, and the knowledge of their manufacture had been sealed away by mutual agreement among the victorious brothers. Or so Hades had believed.
The magistrate's account of Enodia's death suggested that someone, somewhere, had been less diligent in observing that agreement. It was this consideration, rather than any particular desire for his wife's company, that brought him to Elysium.
The Palace of Persephone rose above the cultivated valleys. Its terraces of black basalt followed the natural contours of the hillside. Slender colonnades curved around sheltered courtyards, their dark columns crowned with bronze ornaments resembling unfurling petals. Cascades of water spilled over polished stone into shallow reflecting pools, where pale blossoms drifted beneath the branches of flowering trees. Cypress and white asphodel were carefully arranged along winding paths and broad stairways of deep green marble.
Inside, the palace was equally beautiful. Galleries opened upon gardens enclosed within the architecture, where fragrant blossoms mingled with the cool scent of water and polished stone. Everything bore the unmistakable influence of the palace’s queen, whose attention to beauty was matched only by the care with which she cultivated it.
He had dressed for the visit with more consideration than he ordinarily afforded a mere visit. A fitted tunic of midnight-blue silk crossed asymmetrically over his chest, its fabric gathered beneath a broad belt of black leather. Over it he wore a sleeveless garment of black brocade, fashioned with a high, sculptural collar and long, sharply pleated panels that moved independently around his legs. Fine metallic threads ran through the fabric in a subtle geometric pattern, catching the light with each step. Narrow black trousers and polished leather boots completed the ensemble.
The effect was striking, though Hades considered it entirely appropriate for a visit to the queen's court. He had never understood why some gods equated dignity with dressing as though they had been wrapped in their own bed linens.
His dark hair was swept back neatly from his face, and he carried himself with the unstudied confidence of a king accustomed to being obeyed. There was no particular urgency in his movements as he approached the receiving gallery. Whatever questions the Atharim had raised, they would still require answers after he had paid the appropriate courtesies to his wife.
The guards at the palace entrance bowed as he approached. Within, an attendant hurried to announce his arrival, although Hades had already passed through the receiving gallery before the young woman could complete the necessary formalities.
He had always found the elaborate procedures of Persephone's household mildly excessive.
The queen was holding court in the palace's principal audience hall. It was an elegant chamber of green marble and basalt, its vaulted ceiling supported by slender columns. Tall flowering trees occupied alcoves along the walls with branches extending above pools of dark water. At the far end stood Persephone's throne, a beautifully fashioned seat of dark stone and warm bronze, elevated upon three broad steps. Its back curved into a subtle arrangement resembling the unfolding petals of a flower, while deep pomegranate upholstery softened the dark materials.
Hades privately admired the throne. Its design was a fine example of Persephone's ability to transform the practical requirements of royal ceremony into something unusually beautiful. She occupied it with practiced ease, although her expression suggested she had been listening to the same petitioner for rather longer than she would have preferred.
She wore a gown of wine-colored silk, elegantly draped across her figure to leave one shoulder bare. The asymmetrical folds gathered at her narrow waist, where the fabric had been expertly tailored to flatter her silhouette. At her throat rested a necklace of pale gold, adorned with a finely carved pomegranate surrounded by small, luminous stones.
Her long chestnut hair fell in generous waves over one shoulder, the rich brown catching warmer highlights beneath the palace illumination. She possessed a delicate, almost deceptively gentle beauty, with luminous skin, softly defined features, and dark eyes whose expression could shift from inviting warmth to remarkable calculation with very little warning. Hades knew both expressions intimately.
At present, she appeared somewhat bored. The petitioner was discussing the allocation of water. Hades listened for several moments as the man explained a disagreement concerning the maintenance of an irrigation reservoir. The problem was mundane, though the consequences of neglecting it might not be. Persephone asked two precise questions, corrected an assumption in the petitioner's calculations, and instructed one of her attendants to arrange an inspection before approving additional resources.
Only when the matter was concluded did she turn her attention to her husband.
"My lord husband. This is an unexpected pleasure."
There was nothing in her tone to suggest whether she considered it a pleasure at all.
Hades inclined his head.
"I trust I have not interrupted anything important."
Her gaze moved briefly toward the departing petitioner.
"Only the distribution of water to several hundred acres of cultivated land. Nothing that should inconvenience the King of the Underworld."
A faint smile touched his mouth.
"Then I am relieved."
Persephone regarded him for a moment before rising from her throne. The attendants withdrew at a discreet gesture, leaving the chamber to its royal occupants.
"You might have sent word that you were coming."
"Would it have made a difference?"
"To the arrangements? Considerably."
"Then I shall endeavor to be more predictable."
"A promise I have learned not to rely upon."
There had been a time when such exchanges might have ended with her crossing the distance between them and kissing him. The thought occurred to Hades with an unexpected clarity, though he gave no indication of it. Persephone descended the steps and approached him, the hem of her dress whispering against the polished floor.
"What brings you to Elysium?"
"I require Hecate's assistance."
Her expression altered very slightly.
"Hecate?"
"Yes."
"Not mine?"
Hades studied her. There was something in the question that he might once have answered differently.
"That depends upon how much you remember of the Titan War."
She fixed him with a look that pointed out she realized she’d not yet been born when the war was waged. "Only what I have been told. Some of it by you, as I recall."
"Then Hecate will be of greater assistance."
Persephone arched a brow.
"How flattering."
"I had not intended it as a comparison between the two of you."
"Of course you hadn't."
There was something unpleasantly familiar in her tone. Hades regarded her for a moment, recognizing the tired accusation beneath an otherwise innocent remark. It seemed that even the most harmless comparisons could summon ghosts between them. He decided against pursuing it.
"There has been an incident in Thessaly," he said instead. "A goddess named Enodia was killed by the Atharim. The survivors brought an account of the weapon employed against her."
Persephone's amusement vanished.
"I know of Enodia's death. My mother has been receiving reports from the region."
"Then you know the circumstances."
"I know that Pherae has fallen and that Enodia's household was scattered. I have heard very little about how she died."
"The Atharim possessed an artifact capable of disrupting her command of Dynamis. I suspect it was derived from a weapon developed during the war against the Titans."
Persephone regarded him in silence.
"And you believe Hecate will recognize it?"
"She may recognize the principle. More importantly, she may remember what became of the surviving examples."
"I thought those weapons were destroyed."
"So did I."
The admission gave her pause.
Hades rarely spoke of the war against the Titans in anything resembling personal detail. Persephone knew the histories, of course. She knew that armies had broken before him, that cities thought impregnable had fallen at his command, and that even the Titans had learned to dread his name. The histories celebrated his victories. They were rather less forthcoming about what those victories had required of him. There had been decisions made in quiet chambers that condemned more lives than any battle, sacrifices whose necessity he had never doubted. They had won that war, and he remained proud of the victory. Yet there were things he had done to secure it that belonged neither to the histories nor to the life he had built afterward. Even during the happiest years of their marriage, Persephone had known little of those memories. Some belonged to a man she had never known, and others he had no desire to resurrect.
Persephone turned toward the doors.
"Have Hecate brought to the inner chamber," she instructed the attendant waiting beyond them. "And see that we are not disturbed."
Then she looked back at Hades.
"You may as well tell me the rest."
He considered refusing, if only because the account involved several matters upon which he had already rendered judgment. Yet Persephone's authority over Elysium made the broader implications relevant to her administration, and he had no reason to suppose that keeping her uninformed would benefit anyone.
So he told her. He described the arrival of the refugees at the Acheron, their account of Pherae's destruction, and the means by which they had gained access to the Greekward Pyle. He explained his refusal to admit them and the measures he had ordered to prevent further unauthorized arrivals.
Persephone listened without interrupting. Only when he finished did she ask about the wounded goddess who had accompanied them.
"And Dione? I have heard she was among the survivors."
"She attempted to cross the Acheron without permission."
The queen's eyes narrowed.
"You know the fate of anyone foolish enough to make the attempt."
Persephone understood the implication immediately.
"I see."
She looked away toward the dark waters of the nearest reflecting pool. Hades allowed her a moment to consider the information.
"You could have allowed them to remain in the sanctuary," she said eventually.
"For how long?"
"Until they recovered enough strength to continue."
"And the next company that arrives? Shall I house them as well? And the next thousand after that?"
"I did not ask about the next thousand."
The answer provoked a flash of anger that surprised even him. His expression hardened, and when he spoke, the customary warmth reserved for his wife had vanished from his voice.
"Which is precisely why I must."
The words came sharper than he intended. He held her gaze for a moment before allowing the silence to settle between them. Persephone folded her hands before her, chin turned upward slightly so that the gold ornament at her throat caught the light.
"You always did prefer the consequences of a thing to the thing itself."
She did not pursue the argument. Hades knew she disagreed with him, but agreement was not a requirement of his marriage, and he had never expected it to be.
"And the priest who opened the Pylai?"
"I have ordered Alecto to investigate. She departed yesterday."
Persephone looked up sharply.
"You've sent one of the Erinyes into Greece?"
"I have sent an investigator to determine how a mere priest acquired knowledge sufficient to operate one of my gates."
"Does Hermes know?"
"Unless someone has told him. Not yet."
"He will undoubtedly have something to say about it."
" I would be considerably more astonished if Hermes had nothing to say."
She almost smiled.
"And Zeus?"
"I imagine my brother has rather more pressing concerns."
That earned him a longer look. Persephone knew him well enough to recognize when an observation was intended to be both accurate and insulting. Before she could respond, the doors opened and Hecate entered.
The goddess had none of the elaborate ornamentation worn by many members of Persephone's household. Her attire was dark and impeccably fitted, consisting of a long, flowing garment of gray silk beneath an open mantle whose inner lining carried a faint metallic sheen. Narrow bands of silver ornamented the sleeves, and a small arrangement of black stones rested at her throat. Her dark hair was gathered behind her head in an intricate knot woven with gray streaks of age, revealing a composed face whose expression suggested she was accustomed to knowing considerably more than she chose to reveal.
Hades had known Hecate for a very long time. She inclined her head to Persephone, then offered him a more formal acknowledgment.
"My king. I understand you require my counsel."
"I do. Something has surfaced in Thessaly that should no longer exist."
Hecate's gaze shifted briefly toward Persephone.
"That is an unfortunately broad category."
Hades gave a quiet snort.
"Then perhaps you will assist me in narrowing it."
Persephone gestured toward an adjoining chamber furnished for private conferences. They moved through an archway into a smaller room overlooking one of the enclosed gardens, where a single white-flowering tree stood above a basin of polished stone. The room contained a long table of dark green marble surrounded by low-backed chairs, and its walls were ornamented with restrained botanical reliefs.
Hades took a seat without ceremony. Persephone occupied the chair nearest him, while Hecate remained standing until the queen indicated that she should sit.
He began by repeating Dione's description.
He recounted the dark metal object, the metallic bands, the instrument driven into the ground, and the apparent collapse of Enodia's flows when the device was activated. He described the goddess's attempt to regain control and the manner in which her own use of Dynamis seemed to have become a liability. Hecate listened with increasing attention.
"Did the witness describe any physical contact between the artifact and Enodia?"
"None. The device remained upon the road."
"And any greater detail about the silver bands?"
"Their arrangement was not specified."
Hecate frowned thoughtfully.
"There were several attempts during the Titanomachy to interrupt the relationship between a Titan and the folds of Dynamis that they controlled. Most were spectacular failures, but a few were not."
"I remember well."
"Then you remember the difficulty of maintaining their action."
"The devices required a sustaining source. An untrained mortal could not simply activate one and expect it to function independent of control."
"Not the versions you encountered."
Hades regarded her.
"Explain what you mean."
Hecate considered her words carefully, casting a wary look at Persephone before gathering herself.
"Near the end of the war, certain artificers experimented with storing the necessary flows within prepared materials. The intention was to allow a device to function without requiring its operator to themselves wield Dynamis."
Persephone leaned forward slightly.
"So a mortal could have duse it?"
"In principle. The designs were unstable. The energy required was considerable, and the containment materials degraded rapidly."
"Yet some succeeded?"
Hecate met his gaze.
"Briefly."
The distinction was not reassuring.
Hades remembered enough of the early experiments to know that the greatest limitation had never been the weapon's ability to interfere with Dynamis. It had been the difficulty of controlling that interference without destroying the device, its operator, or both.
He had witnessed one such failure during the campaign against the Titans. A prototype collapsed almost immediately, killing four of its users and leaving the intended target unharmed. The incident had delayed an entire offensive while the surviving artificers argued over which of them was responsible.
The failure had cost him four lives and an opportunity the enemy had been quick to exploit. He remembered his anger rather better than the artificers' excuses. They had seemed remarkably proud of an invention whose only demonstrated success was killing the people assigned to operate it.
"The artifact at Pherae was carried by mortals," he said.
"They activated it, disabled Enodia, and survived long enough to kill her. That suggests either a remarkable improvement in the design or a considerable amount of luck."
"Luck is rarely so obliging."
Persephone looked between them.
"Are you suggesting the Atharim have learned to manufacture these weapons?"
"I would not go so far. A surviving artifact could have been modified. Its containment might have been repaired, or the original design could have been adapted to more reliable materials."
"Who living today has such capability and control?"
Hecate offered no immediate answer.
It was an omission Hades found more informative than a speculative explanation.
"I was led to believe the surviving weapons were destroyed."
"Many were."
"Many?"
Hecate glanced toward Persephone before returning her attention to him.
"The destruction orders were not always executed immediately. Certain devices were retained for examination, particularly those whose construction could not be readily understood. Others were dismantled, but their components were preserved. I cannot tell you how many remained intact when the final inventories were sealed."
Hades felt the first stirrings of genuine irritation.
"I was assured there were no surviving examples."
"You may have been told what those responsible believed to be true."
"I was told what they wished me to believe."
Persephone watched him with renewed interest.
"Who gave you that assurance?"
"Zeus."
A brief silence followed.
Hecate lowered her eyes to the polished surface of the table. Persephone's expression remained carefully neutral, although Hades could almost hear the observations she was choosing not to make.
He had little desire to hear them.
"Hecate, I want to know what became of those inventories. If any surviving designs were transferred into private collections, I want their locations. If they were destroyed, I want to know who witnessed the destruction."
"That may require access to records held outside your kingdom."
"Then send inquiries. Use whatever contacts you consider reliable. I have no intention of dispatching an army to search through my brother's neglected storerooms."
Hecate inclined her head.
"As you command."
Persephone had remained quiet throughout the exchange, though Hades knew better than to interpret silence as disinterest.
"If the Atharim possess such weapons, will the protections around the Underworld withstand them?"
It was a reasonable question.
Hades considered the distinction between a device capable of disrupting a goddess's immediate command of Dynamis and the great, layered systems that sustained his kingdom. The two were not remotely equivalent. The protections surrounding the inhabited territories had been designed over centuries, strengthened and revised by successive generations of work, specialists, and improvements, and anchored to foundations far more substantial than any individual wielder.
"The weapons described at Pherae were designed to interfere with an individual god. Our defenses are considerably more complicated."
"That wasn't quite what I asked."
"Then I shall be more precise. A weapon capable of killing a lesser divinity like Enodia is not necessarily capable of threatening Elysium, much less Erebos."
"But you don't know that it cannot."
Hades regarded his wife. Her tone was neither accusatory nor frightened. She was simply pursuing a question to its logical conclusion, a habit that had once made their conversations considerably more enjoyable.
"Which is why I am investigating it."
She acknowledged the answer with a slight inclination of her head.
Hecate, meanwhile, appeared to have reached a decision.
"There is something else I would suggest."
Hades turned toward her.
"Do not concern yourself solely with the weapons. Concern yourself with the people who understand them. The knowledge required to adapt such a device is uncommon, but it is not unique. If the Atharim have found someone capable of reproducing the necessary components, destroying one weapon will accomplish very little."
"Agreed."
"Then I shall begin with the surviving artificers. Some are still known to me."
Hades considered the proposition. It was a sensible approach, and one that might yield answers without committing his kingdom to any involvement beyond the collection of historical intelligence.
"Proceed discreetly. I have no interest in alarming every antiquarian and relic collector from here to Olympus."
"Discretion has always been among my better qualities."
Persephone gave a soft laugh. "Among the more useful ones, certainly."
For the first time since his arrival, Hades found himself in the company of two women who appeared to be enjoying the conversation. He regarded them both with faint suspicion for their moment of shared amusement.
"I shall leave you to your investigations, then."
Hecate rose, offered the appropriate acknowledgments, and departed to begin her inquiries. Hades remained seated for a moment, considering what he had learned. The possibility that their weapons had survived the Titanomachy was troubling, though hardly sufficient to justify alarm. He had his own store of priceless weapons and assumed his brothers kept their armories as well. He had seen far more dangerous inventions produced during the war, and the vast majority had proved as hazardous to their makers as to their intended victims.
Nevertheless, Enodia was dead, and the people responsible had survived to use their weapon again. That was a fact worth remembering.
Persephone rose and moved toward the garden-facing windows. Beyond them, flowering branches stirred in the gentle currents maintained throughout the palace, their pale petals drifting occasionally onto the dark water below.
"Will you tell Zeus what you've discovered?"
Hades stood.
"When I have discovered something worth telling him."
"He might know where the weapons were kept."
"Then he is welcome to enlighten me whenever he wishes."
She turned toward him.
"You know he won't."
"Then we understand one another perfectly."
There was an old familiarity in the exchange, though it lacked the easy warmth that had once accompanied such conversations. Persephone regarded him for a moment longer, then looked back toward the gardens.
"My mother says the countryside around Pherae has been largely abandoned. The roads are filled with people fleeing toward cities that may not be any safer than the places they've left."
"War has a tendency to produce such inconveniences."
"You always make it sound so simple."
"It rarely is. That is why I prefer not to participate."
She did not respond immediately.
Hades approached the window beside her. From here, the gardens descended in a succession of terraces toward the distant valley, where groves and cultivated fields stretched beneath the steady weather of the Underworld's sky. The landscape remained as beautiful and orderly as it had been when he last visited, indifferent to the troubles consuming lands thousands of miles away.
He intended to keep it that way.
"You believe this trouble will remain beyond our borders," Persephone said.
"I believe the Atharim have more immediate concerns than attempting to invade a kingdom they cannot reach."
"They found the passage in Greece."
"And discovered that finding it was considerably easier than entering my kingdom."
She turned her head, studying him with an expression he had learned to recognize over centuries of marriage.
"There is a considerable difference between confidence and complacency, my husband."
Hades glanced at her.
"Indeed there is."
"I sometimes wonder whether you remember it."
He might have answered sharply. Instead, he allowed himself a small, humorless smile.
"I have survived rather longer than most who confuse the two."
Persephone held his gaze for another moment before looking away.
There was little more to be said. Hades had obtained the assistance he required, and the information Hecate provided would occupy his attention for some time. He was already considering what records might remain in Erebos, and whether Morpheus had encountered reports of similar weapons elsewhere.
He turned to leave.
"Hades."
He stopped.
Persephone remained beside the window, her hair falling across one shoulder as she regarded him.
"You know I would never question your right to protect this kingdom."
"I certainly should hope not."
"But protecting it and pretending the rest of the world no longer exists are not quite the same thing."
Hades' fingers curled slowly against his palm, the heavy ring upon his hand pressing into his skin. He held them there a moment, mastering the sharp reply that had risen to his lips.
"I have never pretended the world does not exist, Persephone. I have simply found very little reason to invite it inside."
He left her with that distinction, passing through the galleries and flowering courtyards toward the Pylai that would return him to Erebos.
Hades had devoted much of the intervening time to the records of the Titanomachy. Several accounts described devices capable of disrupting Dynamis, though the instruments themselves had been rare, expensive, and notoriously unreliable. There had been little need to preserve detailed explanations of their construction once the war ended. The surviving examples were ordered destroyed, and the knowledge of their manufacture had been sealed away by mutual agreement among the victorious brothers. Or so Hades had believed.
The magistrate's account of Enodia's death suggested that someone, somewhere, had been less diligent in observing that agreement. It was this consideration, rather than any particular desire for his wife's company, that brought him to Elysium.
The Palace of Persephone rose above the cultivated valleys. Its terraces of black basalt followed the natural contours of the hillside. Slender colonnades curved around sheltered courtyards, their dark columns crowned with bronze ornaments resembling unfurling petals. Cascades of water spilled over polished stone into shallow reflecting pools, where pale blossoms drifted beneath the branches of flowering trees. Cypress and white asphodel were carefully arranged along winding paths and broad stairways of deep green marble.
Inside, the palace was equally beautiful. Galleries opened upon gardens enclosed within the architecture, where fragrant blossoms mingled with the cool scent of water and polished stone. Everything bore the unmistakable influence of the palace’s queen, whose attention to beauty was matched only by the care with which she cultivated it.
He had dressed for the visit with more consideration than he ordinarily afforded a mere visit. A fitted tunic of midnight-blue silk crossed asymmetrically over his chest, its fabric gathered beneath a broad belt of black leather. Over it he wore a sleeveless garment of black brocade, fashioned with a high, sculptural collar and long, sharply pleated panels that moved independently around his legs. Fine metallic threads ran through the fabric in a subtle geometric pattern, catching the light with each step. Narrow black trousers and polished leather boots completed the ensemble.
The effect was striking, though Hades considered it entirely appropriate for a visit to the queen's court. He had never understood why some gods equated dignity with dressing as though they had been wrapped in their own bed linens.
His dark hair was swept back neatly from his face, and he carried himself with the unstudied confidence of a king accustomed to being obeyed. There was no particular urgency in his movements as he approached the receiving gallery. Whatever questions the Atharim had raised, they would still require answers after he had paid the appropriate courtesies to his wife.
The guards at the palace entrance bowed as he approached. Within, an attendant hurried to announce his arrival, although Hades had already passed through the receiving gallery before the young woman could complete the necessary formalities.
He had always found the elaborate procedures of Persephone's household mildly excessive.
The queen was holding court in the palace's principal audience hall. It was an elegant chamber of green marble and basalt, its vaulted ceiling supported by slender columns. Tall flowering trees occupied alcoves along the walls with branches extending above pools of dark water. At the far end stood Persephone's throne, a beautifully fashioned seat of dark stone and warm bronze, elevated upon three broad steps. Its back curved into a subtle arrangement resembling the unfolding petals of a flower, while deep pomegranate upholstery softened the dark materials.
Hades privately admired the throne. Its design was a fine example of Persephone's ability to transform the practical requirements of royal ceremony into something unusually beautiful. She occupied it with practiced ease, although her expression suggested she had been listening to the same petitioner for rather longer than she would have preferred.
She wore a gown of wine-colored silk, elegantly draped across her figure to leave one shoulder bare. The asymmetrical folds gathered at her narrow waist, where the fabric had been expertly tailored to flatter her silhouette. At her throat rested a necklace of pale gold, adorned with a finely carved pomegranate surrounded by small, luminous stones.
Her long chestnut hair fell in generous waves over one shoulder, the rich brown catching warmer highlights beneath the palace illumination. She possessed a delicate, almost deceptively gentle beauty, with luminous skin, softly defined features, and dark eyes whose expression could shift from inviting warmth to remarkable calculation with very little warning. Hades knew both expressions intimately.
At present, she appeared somewhat bored. The petitioner was discussing the allocation of water. Hades listened for several moments as the man explained a disagreement concerning the maintenance of an irrigation reservoir. The problem was mundane, though the consequences of neglecting it might not be. Persephone asked two precise questions, corrected an assumption in the petitioner's calculations, and instructed one of her attendants to arrange an inspection before approving additional resources.
Only when the matter was concluded did she turn her attention to her husband.
"My lord husband. This is an unexpected pleasure."
There was nothing in her tone to suggest whether she considered it a pleasure at all.
Hades inclined his head.
"I trust I have not interrupted anything important."
Her gaze moved briefly toward the departing petitioner.
"Only the distribution of water to several hundred acres of cultivated land. Nothing that should inconvenience the King of the Underworld."
A faint smile touched his mouth.
"Then I am relieved."
Persephone regarded him for a moment before rising from her throne. The attendants withdrew at a discreet gesture, leaving the chamber to its royal occupants.
"You might have sent word that you were coming."
"Would it have made a difference?"
"To the arrangements? Considerably."
"Then I shall endeavor to be more predictable."
"A promise I have learned not to rely upon."
There had been a time when such exchanges might have ended with her crossing the distance between them and kissing him. The thought occurred to Hades with an unexpected clarity, though he gave no indication of it. Persephone descended the steps and approached him, the hem of her dress whispering against the polished floor.
"What brings you to Elysium?"
"I require Hecate's assistance."
Her expression altered very slightly.
"Hecate?"
"Yes."
"Not mine?"
Hades studied her. There was something in the question that he might once have answered differently.
"That depends upon how much you remember of the Titan War."
She fixed him with a look that pointed out she realized she’d not yet been born when the war was waged. "Only what I have been told. Some of it by you, as I recall."
"Then Hecate will be of greater assistance."
Persephone arched a brow.
"How flattering."
"I had not intended it as a comparison between the two of you."
"Of course you hadn't."
There was something unpleasantly familiar in her tone. Hades regarded her for a moment, recognizing the tired accusation beneath an otherwise innocent remark. It seemed that even the most harmless comparisons could summon ghosts between them. He decided against pursuing it.
"There has been an incident in Thessaly," he said instead. "A goddess named Enodia was killed by the Atharim. The survivors brought an account of the weapon employed against her."
Persephone's amusement vanished.
"I know of Enodia's death. My mother has been receiving reports from the region."
"Then you know the circumstances."
"I know that Pherae has fallen and that Enodia's household was scattered. I have heard very little about how she died."
"The Atharim possessed an artifact capable of disrupting her command of Dynamis. I suspect it was derived from a weapon developed during the war against the Titans."
Persephone regarded him in silence.
"And you believe Hecate will recognize it?"
"She may recognize the principle. More importantly, she may remember what became of the surviving examples."
"I thought those weapons were destroyed."
"So did I."
The admission gave her pause.
Hades rarely spoke of the war against the Titans in anything resembling personal detail. Persephone knew the histories, of course. She knew that armies had broken before him, that cities thought impregnable had fallen at his command, and that even the Titans had learned to dread his name. The histories celebrated his victories. They were rather less forthcoming about what those victories had required of him. There had been decisions made in quiet chambers that condemned more lives than any battle, sacrifices whose necessity he had never doubted. They had won that war, and he remained proud of the victory. Yet there were things he had done to secure it that belonged neither to the histories nor to the life he had built afterward. Even during the happiest years of their marriage, Persephone had known little of those memories. Some belonged to a man she had never known, and others he had no desire to resurrect.
Persephone turned toward the doors.
"Have Hecate brought to the inner chamber," she instructed the attendant waiting beyond them. "And see that we are not disturbed."
Then she looked back at Hades.
"You may as well tell me the rest."
He considered refusing, if only because the account involved several matters upon which he had already rendered judgment. Yet Persephone's authority over Elysium made the broader implications relevant to her administration, and he had no reason to suppose that keeping her uninformed would benefit anyone.
So he told her. He described the arrival of the refugees at the Acheron, their account of Pherae's destruction, and the means by which they had gained access to the Greekward Pyle. He explained his refusal to admit them and the measures he had ordered to prevent further unauthorized arrivals.
Persephone listened without interrupting. Only when he finished did she ask about the wounded goddess who had accompanied them.
"And Dione? I have heard she was among the survivors."
"She attempted to cross the Acheron without permission."
The queen's eyes narrowed.
"You know the fate of anyone foolish enough to make the attempt."
Persephone understood the implication immediately.
"I see."
She looked away toward the dark waters of the nearest reflecting pool. Hades allowed her a moment to consider the information.
"You could have allowed them to remain in the sanctuary," she said eventually.
"For how long?"
"Until they recovered enough strength to continue."
"And the next company that arrives? Shall I house them as well? And the next thousand after that?"
"I did not ask about the next thousand."
The answer provoked a flash of anger that surprised even him. His expression hardened, and when he spoke, the customary warmth reserved for his wife had vanished from his voice.
"Which is precisely why I must."
The words came sharper than he intended. He held her gaze for a moment before allowing the silence to settle between them. Persephone folded her hands before her, chin turned upward slightly so that the gold ornament at her throat caught the light.
"You always did prefer the consequences of a thing to the thing itself."
She did not pursue the argument. Hades knew she disagreed with him, but agreement was not a requirement of his marriage, and he had never expected it to be.
"And the priest who opened the Pylai?"
"I have ordered Alecto to investigate. She departed yesterday."
Persephone looked up sharply.
"You've sent one of the Erinyes into Greece?"
"I have sent an investigator to determine how a mere priest acquired knowledge sufficient to operate one of my gates."
"Does Hermes know?"
"Unless someone has told him. Not yet."
"He will undoubtedly have something to say about it."
" I would be considerably more astonished if Hermes had nothing to say."
She almost smiled.
"And Zeus?"
"I imagine my brother has rather more pressing concerns."
That earned him a longer look. Persephone knew him well enough to recognize when an observation was intended to be both accurate and insulting. Before she could respond, the doors opened and Hecate entered.
The goddess had none of the elaborate ornamentation worn by many members of Persephone's household. Her attire was dark and impeccably fitted, consisting of a long, flowing garment of gray silk beneath an open mantle whose inner lining carried a faint metallic sheen. Narrow bands of silver ornamented the sleeves, and a small arrangement of black stones rested at her throat. Her dark hair was gathered behind her head in an intricate knot woven with gray streaks of age, revealing a composed face whose expression suggested she was accustomed to knowing considerably more than she chose to reveal.
Hades had known Hecate for a very long time. She inclined her head to Persephone, then offered him a more formal acknowledgment.
"My king. I understand you require my counsel."
"I do. Something has surfaced in Thessaly that should no longer exist."
Hecate's gaze shifted briefly toward Persephone.
"That is an unfortunately broad category."
Hades gave a quiet snort.
"Then perhaps you will assist me in narrowing it."
Persephone gestured toward an adjoining chamber furnished for private conferences. They moved through an archway into a smaller room overlooking one of the enclosed gardens, where a single white-flowering tree stood above a basin of polished stone. The room contained a long table of dark green marble surrounded by low-backed chairs, and its walls were ornamented with restrained botanical reliefs.
Hades took a seat without ceremony. Persephone occupied the chair nearest him, while Hecate remained standing until the queen indicated that she should sit.
He began by repeating Dione's description.
He recounted the dark metal object, the metallic bands, the instrument driven into the ground, and the apparent collapse of Enodia's flows when the device was activated. He described the goddess's attempt to regain control and the manner in which her own use of Dynamis seemed to have become a liability. Hecate listened with increasing attention.
"Did the witness describe any physical contact between the artifact and Enodia?"
"None. The device remained upon the road."
"And any greater detail about the silver bands?"
"Their arrangement was not specified."
Hecate frowned thoughtfully.
"There were several attempts during the Titanomachy to interrupt the relationship between a Titan and the folds of Dynamis that they controlled. Most were spectacular failures, but a few were not."
"I remember well."
"Then you remember the difficulty of maintaining their action."
"The devices required a sustaining source. An untrained mortal could not simply activate one and expect it to function independent of control."
"Not the versions you encountered."
Hades regarded her.
"Explain what you mean."
Hecate considered her words carefully, casting a wary look at Persephone before gathering herself.
"Near the end of the war, certain artificers experimented with storing the necessary flows within prepared materials. The intention was to allow a device to function without requiring its operator to themselves wield Dynamis."
Persephone leaned forward slightly.
"So a mortal could have duse it?"
"In principle. The designs were unstable. The energy required was considerable, and the containment materials degraded rapidly."
"Yet some succeeded?"
Hecate met his gaze.
"Briefly."
The distinction was not reassuring.
Hades remembered enough of the early experiments to know that the greatest limitation had never been the weapon's ability to interfere with Dynamis. It had been the difficulty of controlling that interference without destroying the device, its operator, or both.
He had witnessed one such failure during the campaign against the Titans. A prototype collapsed almost immediately, killing four of its users and leaving the intended target unharmed. The incident had delayed an entire offensive while the surviving artificers argued over which of them was responsible.
The failure had cost him four lives and an opportunity the enemy had been quick to exploit. He remembered his anger rather better than the artificers' excuses. They had seemed remarkably proud of an invention whose only demonstrated success was killing the people assigned to operate it.
"The artifact at Pherae was carried by mortals," he said.
"They activated it, disabled Enodia, and survived long enough to kill her. That suggests either a remarkable improvement in the design or a considerable amount of luck."
"Luck is rarely so obliging."
Persephone looked between them.
"Are you suggesting the Atharim have learned to manufacture these weapons?"
"I would not go so far. A surviving artifact could have been modified. Its containment might have been repaired, or the original design could have been adapted to more reliable materials."
"Who living today has such capability and control?"
Hecate offered no immediate answer.
It was an omission Hades found more informative than a speculative explanation.
"I was led to believe the surviving weapons were destroyed."
"Many were."
"Many?"
Hecate glanced toward Persephone before returning her attention to him.
"The destruction orders were not always executed immediately. Certain devices were retained for examination, particularly those whose construction could not be readily understood. Others were dismantled, but their components were preserved. I cannot tell you how many remained intact when the final inventories were sealed."
Hades felt the first stirrings of genuine irritation.
"I was assured there were no surviving examples."
"You may have been told what those responsible believed to be true."
"I was told what they wished me to believe."
Persephone watched him with renewed interest.
"Who gave you that assurance?"
"Zeus."
A brief silence followed.
Hecate lowered her eyes to the polished surface of the table. Persephone's expression remained carefully neutral, although Hades could almost hear the observations she was choosing not to make.
He had little desire to hear them.
"Hecate, I want to know what became of those inventories. If any surviving designs were transferred into private collections, I want their locations. If they were destroyed, I want to know who witnessed the destruction."
"That may require access to records held outside your kingdom."
"Then send inquiries. Use whatever contacts you consider reliable. I have no intention of dispatching an army to search through my brother's neglected storerooms."
Hecate inclined her head.
"As you command."
Persephone had remained quiet throughout the exchange, though Hades knew better than to interpret silence as disinterest.
"If the Atharim possess such weapons, will the protections around the Underworld withstand them?"
It was a reasonable question.
Hades considered the distinction between a device capable of disrupting a goddess's immediate command of Dynamis and the great, layered systems that sustained his kingdom. The two were not remotely equivalent. The protections surrounding the inhabited territories had been designed over centuries, strengthened and revised by successive generations of work, specialists, and improvements, and anchored to foundations far more substantial than any individual wielder.
"The weapons described at Pherae were designed to interfere with an individual god. Our defenses are considerably more complicated."
"That wasn't quite what I asked."
"Then I shall be more precise. A weapon capable of killing a lesser divinity like Enodia is not necessarily capable of threatening Elysium, much less Erebos."
"But you don't know that it cannot."
Hades regarded his wife. Her tone was neither accusatory nor frightened. She was simply pursuing a question to its logical conclusion, a habit that had once made their conversations considerably more enjoyable.
"Which is why I am investigating it."
She acknowledged the answer with a slight inclination of her head.
Hecate, meanwhile, appeared to have reached a decision.
"There is something else I would suggest."
Hades turned toward her.
"Do not concern yourself solely with the weapons. Concern yourself with the people who understand them. The knowledge required to adapt such a device is uncommon, but it is not unique. If the Atharim have found someone capable of reproducing the necessary components, destroying one weapon will accomplish very little."
"Agreed."
"Then I shall begin with the surviving artificers. Some are still known to me."
Hades considered the proposition. It was a sensible approach, and one that might yield answers without committing his kingdom to any involvement beyond the collection of historical intelligence.
"Proceed discreetly. I have no interest in alarming every antiquarian and relic collector from here to Olympus."
"Discretion has always been among my better qualities."
Persephone gave a soft laugh. "Among the more useful ones, certainly."
For the first time since his arrival, Hades found himself in the company of two women who appeared to be enjoying the conversation. He regarded them both with faint suspicion for their moment of shared amusement.
"I shall leave you to your investigations, then."
Hecate rose, offered the appropriate acknowledgments, and departed to begin her inquiries. Hades remained seated for a moment, considering what he had learned. The possibility that their weapons had survived the Titanomachy was troubling, though hardly sufficient to justify alarm. He had his own store of priceless weapons and assumed his brothers kept their armories as well. He had seen far more dangerous inventions produced during the war, and the vast majority had proved as hazardous to their makers as to their intended victims.
Nevertheless, Enodia was dead, and the people responsible had survived to use their weapon again. That was a fact worth remembering.
Persephone rose and moved toward the garden-facing windows. Beyond them, flowering branches stirred in the gentle currents maintained throughout the palace, their pale petals drifting occasionally onto the dark water below.
"Will you tell Zeus what you've discovered?"
Hades stood.
"When I have discovered something worth telling him."
"He might know where the weapons were kept."
"Then he is welcome to enlighten me whenever he wishes."
She turned toward him.
"You know he won't."
"Then we understand one another perfectly."
There was an old familiarity in the exchange, though it lacked the easy warmth that had once accompanied such conversations. Persephone regarded him for a moment longer, then looked back toward the gardens.
"My mother says the countryside around Pherae has been largely abandoned. The roads are filled with people fleeing toward cities that may not be any safer than the places they've left."
"War has a tendency to produce such inconveniences."
"You always make it sound so simple."
"It rarely is. That is why I prefer not to participate."
She did not respond immediately.
Hades approached the window beside her. From here, the gardens descended in a succession of terraces toward the distant valley, where groves and cultivated fields stretched beneath the steady weather of the Underworld's sky. The landscape remained as beautiful and orderly as it had been when he last visited, indifferent to the troubles consuming lands thousands of miles away.
He intended to keep it that way.
"You believe this trouble will remain beyond our borders," Persephone said.
"I believe the Atharim have more immediate concerns than attempting to invade a kingdom they cannot reach."
"They found the passage in Greece."
"And discovered that finding it was considerably easier than entering my kingdom."
She turned her head, studying him with an expression he had learned to recognize over centuries of marriage.
"There is a considerable difference between confidence and complacency, my husband."
Hades glanced at her.
"Indeed there is."
"I sometimes wonder whether you remember it."
He might have answered sharply. Instead, he allowed himself a small, humorless smile.
"I have survived rather longer than most who confuse the two."
Persephone held his gaze for another moment before looking away.
There was little more to be said. Hades had obtained the assistance he required, and the information Hecate provided would occupy his attention for some time. He was already considering what records might remain in Erebos, and whether Morpheus had encountered reports of similar weapons elsewhere.
He turned to leave.
"Hades."
He stopped.
Persephone remained beside the window, her hair falling across one shoulder as she regarded him.
"You know I would never question your right to protect this kingdom."
"I certainly should hope not."
"But protecting it and pretending the rest of the world no longer exists are not quite the same thing."
Hades' fingers curled slowly against his palm, the heavy ring upon his hand pressing into his skin. He held them there a moment, mastering the sharp reply that had risen to his lips.
"I have never pretended the world does not exist, Persephone. I have simply found very little reason to invite it inside."
He left her with that distinction, passing through the galleries and flowering courtyards toward the Pylai that would return him to Erebos.