Series: Willow Winters
Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 74198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Hecate must see my shock, because her grip gets gentler. “You have nothing to fear, Persephone.”
I turn my attention to her. Don’t I? I want to ask. War came to the Underworld because of me. I was taken, then stolen back. My father could have spoken with Hades, could have dealt with him without so much destruction, but he did not.
I do not speak the question aloud. It is not something I want to voice when I have no idea who may be listening, or who is responsible for what.
“I would not lie to you,” she says and again her voice seems to echo twice. All three of her reassure me. “Fear does not belong to you, so release it.”
I nod, although I don’t do so consciously. At the thought, as if under a spell, the fear trickles away. Emotions dim as logic replaces it. What has happened is gone. What will come is not here yet. My feet are planted in the present and I stand with Hecate at the crossroads of the living and the dead.
Hecate studies my eyes, then gives a shallow nod.
“Are you in need of anything?” she asks. “Food? Drink?”
“I am not. Thank you.” I could eat, but it would replace the taste of the pomegranate seeds that still lingers on my tongue. The decadent fruit and memory of Hades. In the harsh light of Olympus, it feels like the Underworld might have been some kind of dream.
It was not a dream, I reassure myself. It was real. I’m disoriented because I have spent so much time in the Underworld, but I’m not powerless. Not anymore.
Hecate takes me at my word and releases me entirely as if she was only holding on to steady me for the journey. Was that what it was like to travel to the Underworld? I suppose I would not have noticed. To me, it felt like falling into a cold, dark sleep.
Somehow, I did not think the light would feel colder, but it does. So much colder than I remember.
I follow Hecate out of the room, our steps slow but steady and across the vacant courtyard. The once lively state is far too empty for my liking. Distant voices echo in the halls, and shadows move from room to room. What happened here? I witnessed the souls streaming into the Underworld, but they had to have come from the mortal realm, not Olympus.
Did the battle rage here, too?
Impossible.
“Where is my father?” I question as alarm wraps itself around my shoulders. My pace quickens as I realize the time passed has been unkind to Olympus.
“We are headed to him now,” she says, and unfortunately my anxiousness only intensifies.
Hecate does not seem surprised by the quiet murmurs and the soft, rushing footsteps as we walk. She nods to a few servants who bow as we make our way through the halls. We stop once or twice only to let them pass.
My body quivers as we get closer.
I cannot get my bearings. I know these halls. I grew up on the grounds of Olympus. All my childhood memories were bathed in this light. Now it all feels unfamiliar, as if it rearranged itself while I was gone. As if it wanted to be something new when I returned.
Perhaps it is only a consequence of moving between realms.
Perhaps, I think, I am the one who is new and different, and suddenly these bright halls do not seem endless. They do not seem like a dream. They are not the place my heart aches for.
Hecate stops outside a beautifully carved quartz archway. It takes me a few beats to realize that this is the archway leading to my rooms.
My rooms. The ones I spent so much time in. The ones I whispered my worries to Beatrice in. The ones I set up altars in, begging for help with my magic.
The ones I was stolen from.
“Would you like to change?” Hecate questions delicately. It takes a moment for her question to register.
I glance at my simple linen gown.
My heart thumps a little harder. There are conversations that will need to be had. What does it matter what I wear? There are much more important matters at hand.
Goosebumps run down my arms.
Do not drink the wine. Tell me you understand, Hades said, just before Hecate appeared.
I will not drink the wine, I promised Hades.
I draw myself up and answer, “I will change later, if need be. Is my mother waiting for me?” My mother. I need her so. I need her now.
“She will return soon,” Hecate answers. “It is your father who wishes to see you and who you must see first.” Disappointment runs through me for only a moment.
I wonder about that as we walk through the halls. Olympus is teeming with servants. There are more than usual, or else they have all been called to help with whatever disaster happened here. Some kind of storm? An argument between gods?