Erysichthon killed another, but his gaze remained upon Hades and Persephone.
He saw the blood drunk mortal moving toward
s his chariot, gripping his dripping sword. If not for Persephone, he’d welcome the mortal’s advance. Greek or no, he would feel no remorse ripping the king apart. He looked forward to such a battle, once she was safe.
A Persian stopped the king, swinging a red blade and cleaving the king’s shoulder armor.
Hades turned, scouring the plains. There was no clear path to freedom, except the way he’d come. Could he risk taking her there? He looked down at her, pale and limp in his arms. He had one choice. He flicked the reins, turning his team towards the Underworld.
“I will find you,” Erysichthon’s roar echoed above the fighting, but Hades did not turn. “And you will suffer!”
“Run,” Hades hissed, urging his chargers faster.
He pressed her closer to him, supporting her as best he could. She still bled heavily, her tunic wet and sticky. She was immortal, yes, but such wounds could be too. If she was not healed, she would suffer its pain forever. Or never wake from its effect, but live on in eternal sleep. Such a fate was worse than death. He spoke to her, repeating soft assurances over and over as they went.
The journey was interminable. With each step, she seemed to fade within his arms. He grew frantic, tearing across the plains of Thessaly, the hills of Larissa and stilling the River of Acheron to ride atop its black waters with ease.
The sight of his mountainous fortress eased him greatly, but he did not pause until he’d carried her inside the safety of his home. Only when he gently laid her upon his bed, when he was free to inspect the grey cast to her skin and the unsteady rise of her chest, did fear defeat him. He knelt, taking her hand in his. “Be brave, Persephone. You must be brave.”
She lay so still, too still.
“My lord?” Aeacus was here.
He turned, not bothering to hide his anguish. “Send Theron to find Hermes. Have him bring ambrosia and nectar.”
Aeacus nodded. “Shall I send someone to assis–”
“Only Hermes.” He turned back to Persephone. “Hurry!”
He did not hear Aeacus go.
He removed her cloak, slitting her peplos up the front and spreading it wide. The wound was angry, gaping wide and seeping blood. Her face was covered in a sheen of sweat. He covered her with clean linen, leaving only the wound exposed.
She stretched, then groaned when the wound gaped and pulled. He winced at the bright red blood running from the jagged hole.
“Hades?” she whispered.
He leaned over her, careful of jostling the bed with his weight. “I am here.” He took a deep breath as she turned her head to stare at him.
She looked dazed, disoriented. “Here?”
“My home.”
“Oh…” She stared at the fire. Her eyes closed, pinched tightly as her hands flew to her waist. She clasped her wound suddenly, her face twisting. “I fear… I fear I may retch…”
He reached for her, helping her lie on her side. “Your wound is deep. Jarring it will worsen the damage.”
She stared at him with glassy eyes, her body shaking. “Those men… those men…”
He could not stop himself from taking her hand in his. He wished he had some words of comfort for her. But his throat was tight and his chest heavy. He had no experience with such words, or emotions. But he sought to soothe her, to reassure her. His voice was hoarse as he offered, “You are safe now.”
She smiled slightly, even as she was racked with shudders. Her stomach convulsed, forcing a moan from her parted lips.
He turned her, supporting her chest with his arm. She shook so violently. Then, suddenly, her body tightened as she retched on the floor. Her hands grasped the angry wound in her side and he ached from her suffering.
“Do not fight it,” he murmured into her ear.
She tightened, heaving again, as she cried. He could hold her no tighter, for fear of injuring her. But neither could he lessen his hold upon her, for she was too weak to hold herself upright. She went limp against him, gasping.