The Goddess Legacy
Page 64
I opened my mouth to speak, fury building inside me faster than I could release it, but she kept going. She stood only inches in front of me now, her nose practically touching mine, and it took everything I had not to throttle her.
“You’re selfish, Persephone. You’re the most selfish person I’ve ever met. You hurt Demeter. You hurt Hermes. You hurt Hades so badly that he’s nothing more than a ghost of who he was before you ripped his heart out and fed it to the dogs. You hurt people again and again, and the worst part about it is that you don’t care. You can claim to love Adonis all you want, but he’ll never have all of you. And one day, you’re going to hurt him the way you’ve hurt everyone else in your life, and I won’t let that happen.”
I stared at her, every word I’d planned to fling back in her face dissolving on my tongue. In spite of her many flaws, Aphrodite knew love, and she knew people. She could see the good side and the bad, and she, more than any of us, could weigh them against each other rather than rushing to judgment. And if that’s how the most understanding of us saw me—
Maybe it was our battle over Adonis. Maybe it was my constant jealousy. Maybe she just wanted to win. But even so, she still wouldn’t say those things if she didn’t believe them.
The weight of her words crashed down around me, leaving me shaking and exposed and vulnerable in a way I’d never been before. Was that what the entire council thought of me? Was that how Hades saw me? And Mother—did she believe it, too?
Were they right?
“I—” I swallowed. “I need to go.” Stepping back, I mustered what little strength I had left and said, “Cut him loose, Aphrodite. Give him his freedom. If you really love him…” I shook my head, and without giving her the chance to rub salt in my already gaping wound, I disappeared back to the Underworld. Back to Hades.
Back where I belonged.
* * *
I stayed in the observatory for the rest of the night, not bothering to go to my chambers. Hades wouldn’t notice, and on the remote chance he did decide to come visit me, I needed to be alone.
I turned Aphrodite’s words over in my mind again and again without reprieve. She was right, and I hated myself for it. I hated myself for every bit of it. But at the same time, she didn’t understand—she didn’t see the whole picture, the life I’d lived and the things I’d missed, things she’d never wanted for. She was loved wherever she went by everyone who set eyes on her. Me—I was the dreaded Queen of the Underworld. I was the person no one wanted to see, and when I did run across the rare mortal on the surface, they all fled. Except Adonis.
To Aphrodite, he was nothing more than an exceptionally beautiful toy, but to me, he was everything I’d never had before. She didn’t understand that—how could she, when her world was saturated with love? She would never be alone. She would never face an eternity of loneliness and heartache. But that was my reality, and no matter how good a judge of character she was, it simply wasn’t in her capacity to understand that.
By the time morning came, I itched with the need to defend myself. For a few minutes, I debated going up to the surface and giving her a piece of my mind, but it wouldn’t do any good right now. I needed her to understand, and in order to make that happen, my argument had to be perfect.
I dragged myself to the throne room at the appointed time, and when Hades trudged down the aisle, I was already seated in my throne. The way he eyed me confirmed he knew I hadn’t spent the night in my chambers, and I made a mental note to straighten that out later. He deserved the truth. And an apology.
At last the judgments got under way. They were routine, for the most part—mortals who hadn’t believed in the afterlife, or mortals who had believed, but had never anticipated what it might be like. A few children mixed in with the adults as well, and those judgments always hurt the most, seeing their young lives over before they’d begun. Hades and I had agreed long ago that they would always be granted their happiest memories regardless of whatever hell a handful of them thought they deserved.
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.
“You’re selfish, Persephone. You’re the most selfish person I’ve ever met. You hurt Demeter. You hurt Hermes. You hurt Hades so badly that he’s nothing more than a ghost of who he was before you ripped his heart out and fed it to the dogs. You hurt people again and again, and the worst part about it is that you don’t care. You can claim to love Adonis all you want, but he’ll never have all of you. And one day, you’re going to hurt him the way you’ve hurt everyone else in your life, and I won’t let that happen.”
I stared at her, every word I’d planned to fling back in her face dissolving on my tongue. In spite of her many flaws, Aphrodite knew love, and she knew people. She could see the good side and the bad, and she, more than any of us, could weigh them against each other rather than rushing to judgment. And if that’s how the most understanding of us saw me—
Maybe it was our battle over Adonis. Maybe it was my constant jealousy. Maybe she just wanted to win. But even so, she still wouldn’t say those things if she didn’t believe them.
The weight of her words crashed down around me, leaving me shaking and exposed and vulnerable in a way I’d never been before. Was that what the entire council thought of me? Was that how Hades saw me? And Mother—did she believe it, too?
Were they right?
“I—” I swallowed. “I need to go.” Stepping back, I mustered what little strength I had left and said, “Cut him loose, Aphrodite. Give him his freedom. If you really love him…” I shook my head, and without giving her the chance to rub salt in my already gaping wound, I disappeared back to the Underworld. Back to Hades.
Back where I belonged.
* * *
I stayed in the observatory for the rest of the night, not bothering to go to my chambers. Hades wouldn’t notice, and on the remote chance he did decide to come visit me, I needed to be alone.
I turned Aphrodite’s words over in my mind again and again without reprieve. She was right, and I hated myself for it. I hated myself for every bit of it. But at the same time, she didn’t understand—she didn’t see the whole picture, the life I’d lived and the things I’d missed, things she’d never wanted for. She was loved wherever she went by everyone who set eyes on her. Me—I was the dreaded Queen of the Underworld. I was the person no one wanted to see, and when I did run across the rare mortal on the surface, they all fled. Except Adonis.
To Aphrodite, he was nothing more than an exceptionally beautiful toy, but to me, he was everything I’d never had before. She didn’t understand that—how could she, when her world was saturated with love? She would never be alone. She would never face an eternity of loneliness and heartache. But that was my reality, and no matter how good a judge of character she was, it simply wasn’t in her capacity to understand that.
By the time morning came, I itched with the need to defend myself. For a few minutes, I debated going up to the surface and giving her a piece of my mind, but it wouldn’t do any good right now. I needed her to understand, and in order to make that happen, my argument had to be perfect.
I dragged myself to the throne room at the appointed time, and when Hades trudged down the aisle, I was already seated in my throne. The way he eyed me confirmed he knew I hadn’t spent the night in my chambers, and I made a mental note to straighten that out later. He deserved the truth. And an apology.
At last the judgments got under way. They were routine, for the most part—mortals who hadn’t believed in the afterlife, or mortals who had believed, but had never anticipated what it might be like. A few children mixed in with the adults as well, and those judgments always hurt the most, seeing their young lives over before they’d begun. Hades and I had agreed long ago that they would always be granted their happiest memories regardless of whatever hell a handful of them thought they deserved.
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.
