A Touch of Malice (Hades & Persephone #3)(66)

Feeling awkward and uncertain, she ambled down the hill toward them. She hesitated when she saw Thanatos approaching while Lexa remained beneath the tree, head tilted back, her eyes closed.

"You're not here at your usual time," Thanatos observed.

“No,” she agreed, but did not apologize. Elysium might be watched over by him, but Hades was king. “I have somewhere to go tonight. I thought I’d come to see Lexa early.”

“She is tired,” he said.

“She was just talking to you,” Persephone pointed out, and narrowed her gaze.

"I understand you miss her," Thanatos said. "But your visits will not produce the results you want."

She reared back, as if he had slapped her. Thanatos's features changed, his eyes widened slightly, and he took a step toward her, as if realizing the pain his words had caused.

“Persephone—”

"Don't," she said taking a step back.

She didn't need to be reminded that Lexa would never be the same. She mourned that fact every day, wrestled with the guilt that this was her fault.

"I didn't mean to hurt you."

“But you did,” she said and vanished.

Since she could not visit Lexa in the Underworld, Persephone teleported to Ionia Cemetery, to her grave. It was still new—a barren mound with a headstone that read beloved daughter, taken too soon. Those words gripped her heart for two reasons—because it did feel as though Lexa had been taken too soon, but also because Persephone knew they were wrong. In the end, dying was Lexa’s choice.

I accomplished what I needed to, she’d said, right before she walked off with Thanatos to drink from the Lethe and things would never be the same again.

It was the first time Persephone had come here since Lexa’s funeral. She took a quivering breath as she knelt beside the grave. It was dusted with snow, and as her palm touched the cold earth, a carpet of white anemone sprouted from the dirt. This magic was easy to release because the emotion behind it was so raw, so painful, it practically poured out of her skin.

She spent some time brushing snow from the flowers and from the headstone.

“You don’t know how much I miss you.”

She spoke to the grave, to the headstone, to the body buried six feet below. They were words she could not say to the soul in the Underworld because they were words she would not understand. It was why she was here—to talk to her best friend.

She sat on the ground, the cold seeping through her clothes and into her skin. She sighed, resting her head against the stone at her back and looking up at the sky—flurries of snow melted on her skin.

“I’m getting married, Lex,” she said. “I said yes.”

She laughed a little. She could practically hear Lexa screaming as she jumped in the air and threw her arms around her neck, and as happy as that thought made her, it also crushed her.

“I have never been so happy,” she said. “Or so sad.”

She was quiet for a long time, letting silent tears stream down her face.

“Sephy?”

She looked up to find Hermes standing a few feet away looking like gold fire amid the snow.

“Hermes, what are you doing here?”

“I think you can guess,” he said, running his fingers through his blonde hair as he took a seat beside her. He was dressed casually, in a long-sleeved shirt and dark jeans.

“No jumper this time?”

“That is only for very special occasions.”

They smiled at one another and Persephone wiped at her eyes, lashes still damp from crying.

“Did you know that I lost a son?” he said after a long moment.

Persephone gazed at him, only viewing the profile of his beautiful face—but she could tell by the deep gold of his eyes and the set of his jaw, this topic of conversation was difficult for him.

“No,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

“You know of him,” Hermes said. “His name was Pan, the God of the Wild—of Shepherds and Flocks. He died many years ago and I still grieve him…some days it’s like it happened yesterday.”

She knew what questions others would ask—how did he die? But that was not a question she wanted to ask because it was one she did not like to answer, so instead, she said, “Tell me about him.”

A smile curved his lips.

“You would have liked him,” he said, nudging her with his shoulder. “He is like me—handsome and hilarious. He loved music. Did you know he invented the pipe? He challenged Apollo to a competition once,” Hermes paused to laugh. “He lost, of course. He was just…fun.”

He continued, telling stories of Pan—his great and not so great loves, his adventures, and finally his death.

“His death was sudden—one moment he existence and then he didn’t, and I heard of his passing upon the wind—through shouts from mortals and mourners. I did not believe it, so I went to Hades who told me the truth. The Fates had cut his thread.”

“I am so sorry, Hermes.”

He smiled, though sad. “Death is,” he said. “Even for gods.”

At those words, the cold shivered through her, too deep to ignore.

“We should go,” he said, rising to his feet, he held out his hand. “We are due at Club Aphrodisia and I know you aren’t wearing that.”