Goddess Interrupted
Page 25
I managed a faint smile. “Good point.”
We walked in silence, passing through place after place after place. Some of them were as wonderful and lush as the garden; others were full of pain and torture. I all but ran through those, my head down as I tried to ignore the screams. Eventually they all blended together, forming a chorus of pain, and the more I heard, the more certain I became that Henry and the council had been wrong. I could never do this. I could never sentence people to that kind of eternity, no matter what their crimes had been.
Time lost all meaning as we wandered. James seemed to know where he was going, leading the way once he was sure I wasn’t going to try to run and help the people we passed, and Ava hung on to me. I lost count of the number of places we walked through—dozens? A hundred? I couldn’t remember them all. My feet ached and my leg felt as if the bone was breaking with every step I took, but f inally in the middle of a forest, James stopped and set his bag down. “I think it’s a good time to rest.” He collected f irewood while I sat down on a fallen tree and hid my face in my hands. Ava sat beside me and rubbed my back.
“I can’t do this,” I whispered. “I don’t know why you thought I could, but I can’t.”
“Can’t do what?” said Ava soothingly.
“I can’t make those decisions,” I said. “I can’t—I can’t send anyone into that kind of eternity. I don’t care what they did. No one deserves that forever.” Self ishly I wondered if giving in to Calliope was the easiest option. At least then I wouldn’t have to rule the Underworld. Oblivion was a price I was willing to pay if it meant I would never have those billions of lives resting on my conscience.
“You heard James,” said Ava. “It only happens if they think they deserve it.”
“And what if they don’t? What if they think they do because someone’s told them again and again?” She opened and closed her mouth, and it took her a moment before she said anything. “I don’t know,” she said. “I guess that’s where you come in.”
I shook my head bitterly. “No one deserves anything.
There’s no one keeping score. Why can’t everyone be happy for eternity, and no one has to suffer?”
“I don’t know,” said Ava softly. “I’m sorry, but this isn’t my thing. It isn’t James’s, either. It’s Henry’s. And maybe Persephone’s. She could probably tell you.”
“Great,” I muttered. “The two people who can explain it are either being held hostage or want nothing to do with this anymore. I’m sure the f irst thing Persephone’s going to want to do after we interrupt her is tell me all about the thousands of years she spent doing this. No wonder she gave up her immortality and ran.”
“Don’t,” said James from behind us. I jumped. He was closer than I’d thought. “Persephone went through hell.
She deserves a little happiness.”
There was that word again. I didn’t care what Persephone deserved. I cared about what she’d done and why. “That’s exactly why this might all be for nothing,” I said. “If she won’t help us, then what?”
“Persephone’s a better person than you think,” said James.
“Henry’s probably f illed your head with all sorts of stories about how he’s the victim, but they both were. He was stuck with a wife he loved who didn’t love him back, and she was stuck with a husband she didn’t love and a job that made her miserable. Don’t hate her for that.” I f idgeted. The only other time I’d seen James like this was when he’d confronted Henry about making me stay in Eden Manor after I’d tried to leave, and seeing James’s anger and disapproval made me want to crawl under the log and hide.
“I don’t hate her,” I said quietly. “I hate that she was something to Henry that I’ll never be. I hate that she could do this damn job without feeling ready to jump into a lake of f ire herself. And Henry’s never said a word against her.” With his mouth set in a thin line, James set down the pieces of wood he’d collected, and he started to build a small teepee that reminded me of the fries he used to treat like Lincoln Logs back in Eden High School, before I’d known he was a god. Before any of this had ever happened.
“She and Henry had thousands of years together. You’ve barely had one. Give it time.”
“I’m not going to tell you again that Henry loves you,” said Ava. “You can choose to believe me or not, but I wouldn’t lie to you.”
“I know you wouldn’t, and I believe you, but you two didn’t see how he acted around me.” No matter how many years we had together and how much he loved me, I knew he would never love me as much as he loved Persephone.
He couldn’t love two people that much. It was impossible.
James f inished arranging the wood. Rubbing his hands together, he held them out as if he were trying to get warm.
A moment later, the wood crackled, and the sticks burst into a cheerful f ire. “He acts like that with all of us, but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t care.”
I wasn’t all of them though. I was supposed to be his wife. His queen. His partner. “So I’m supposed to accept that having a husband who never touches me is f ine?”
“You’re the one who decided to do this,” said James, and I glowered at him. “Don’t give me that look. I warned you he wasn’t going to act the way you expected. It’s not his fault for being himself.”
We walked in silence, passing through place after place after place. Some of them were as wonderful and lush as the garden; others were full of pain and torture. I all but ran through those, my head down as I tried to ignore the screams. Eventually they all blended together, forming a chorus of pain, and the more I heard, the more certain I became that Henry and the council had been wrong. I could never do this. I could never sentence people to that kind of eternity, no matter what their crimes had been.
Time lost all meaning as we wandered. James seemed to know where he was going, leading the way once he was sure I wasn’t going to try to run and help the people we passed, and Ava hung on to me. I lost count of the number of places we walked through—dozens? A hundred? I couldn’t remember them all. My feet ached and my leg felt as if the bone was breaking with every step I took, but f inally in the middle of a forest, James stopped and set his bag down. “I think it’s a good time to rest.” He collected f irewood while I sat down on a fallen tree and hid my face in my hands. Ava sat beside me and rubbed my back.
“I can’t do this,” I whispered. “I don’t know why you thought I could, but I can’t.”
“Can’t do what?” said Ava soothingly.
“I can’t make those decisions,” I said. “I can’t—I can’t send anyone into that kind of eternity. I don’t care what they did. No one deserves that forever.” Self ishly I wondered if giving in to Calliope was the easiest option. At least then I wouldn’t have to rule the Underworld. Oblivion was a price I was willing to pay if it meant I would never have those billions of lives resting on my conscience.
“You heard James,” said Ava. “It only happens if they think they deserve it.”
“And what if they don’t? What if they think they do because someone’s told them again and again?” She opened and closed her mouth, and it took her a moment before she said anything. “I don’t know,” she said. “I guess that’s where you come in.”
I shook my head bitterly. “No one deserves anything.
There’s no one keeping score. Why can’t everyone be happy for eternity, and no one has to suffer?”
“I don’t know,” said Ava softly. “I’m sorry, but this isn’t my thing. It isn’t James’s, either. It’s Henry’s. And maybe Persephone’s. She could probably tell you.”
“Great,” I muttered. “The two people who can explain it are either being held hostage or want nothing to do with this anymore. I’m sure the f irst thing Persephone’s going to want to do after we interrupt her is tell me all about the thousands of years she spent doing this. No wonder she gave up her immortality and ran.”
“Don’t,” said James from behind us. I jumped. He was closer than I’d thought. “Persephone went through hell.
She deserves a little happiness.”
There was that word again. I didn’t care what Persephone deserved. I cared about what she’d done and why. “That’s exactly why this might all be for nothing,” I said. “If she won’t help us, then what?”
“Persephone’s a better person than you think,” said James.
“Henry’s probably f illed your head with all sorts of stories about how he’s the victim, but they both were. He was stuck with a wife he loved who didn’t love him back, and she was stuck with a husband she didn’t love and a job that made her miserable. Don’t hate her for that.” I f idgeted. The only other time I’d seen James like this was when he’d confronted Henry about making me stay in Eden Manor after I’d tried to leave, and seeing James’s anger and disapproval made me want to crawl under the log and hide.
“I don’t hate her,” I said quietly. “I hate that she was something to Henry that I’ll never be. I hate that she could do this damn job without feeling ready to jump into a lake of f ire herself. And Henry’s never said a word against her.” With his mouth set in a thin line, James set down the pieces of wood he’d collected, and he started to build a small teepee that reminded me of the fries he used to treat like Lincoln Logs back in Eden High School, before I’d known he was a god. Before any of this had ever happened.
“She and Henry had thousands of years together. You’ve barely had one. Give it time.”
“I’m not going to tell you again that Henry loves you,” said Ava. “You can choose to believe me or not, but I wouldn’t lie to you.”
“I know you wouldn’t, and I believe you, but you two didn’t see how he acted around me.” No matter how many years we had together and how much he loved me, I knew he would never love me as much as he loved Persephone.
He couldn’t love two people that much. It was impossible.
James f inished arranging the wood. Rubbing his hands together, he held them out as if he were trying to get warm.
A moment later, the wood crackled, and the sticks burst into a cheerful f ire. “He acts like that with all of us, but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t care.”
I wasn’t all of them though. I was supposed to be his wife. His queen. His partner. “So I’m supposed to accept that having a husband who never touches me is f ine?”
“You’re the one who decided to do this,” said James, and I glowered at him. “Don’t give me that look. I warned you he wasn’t going to act the way you expected. It’s not his fault for being himself.”
