“Persephone?” He cradled her, gently turning to place her upon the bed.
Her face was grey, her lips white. Her chest rose and fell slowly. But her eyes were focused intently upon him. They blazed, round pools of luminescent green, in her exhausted face. He glanced at her stomach. The wound oozed, further torn by her sickness. His arm and thigh were smeared with her blood.
Her eyes fluttered, and the shadow of a smile found her. “I am fine.”
“You are brave.” He could not help but smile. “And more fierce than Athena.”
She shook her head once.
“You are.” His voice was hard, defiant.
She closed her eyes, the smile fading as she relaxed. He sat, watching the rise and fall of her chest, appeasing his worry… and anger. She dozed, stirring restlessly, unable to find comfort. When she seemed more peaceful, he stood, restless.
He dropped a thick cloak over the sickness on the floor and moved to build up the blue-white fire. Only when the air was smoldering did he drag a chair beside the bed. He poured a goblet of water and returned to her. He held the water to her mouth, tipping the cup slightly. Her eyes were closed, but he whispered in her ear, “Drink, Persephone, and heal.”
She turned from the cup, moaning.
He sat beside her on the bed. “Shh,” he whispered, hesitantly resting his hand upon her shoulder. She sighed, shuddering heavily, and turned her face into his arm. Her hand came up, loosely anchoring his arm in place. Her touch soothed him as nothing else. If only he might do the same for her. He watched her, exploring her features in the flickering firelight.
She was beauty.
Her brow smoothed, her lips relaxed, her breathing grew deep and even. Her hair seemed to dance in the firelight, casting an ethereal glow about her. She smiled slightly, her lids fluttering in dreams. Sleep, peace, had finally found her.
He drew in a steadying breath, his nostrils filled with her scent. Panic found him anew, and he closed his eyes to fight it. He had never known such fear, never. His hand tightened upon her shoulder as he bent forward to rest his forehead atop hers. He would never feel such suffering again, nor wish it on his deepest enemy…
“Hades?” Hermes stood inside his chamber, staring at them with wide eyes. “What happened?”
“I’ve never been so pleased to have you here,” Hades spoke softly, too relieved by Hermes’ arrival to safeguard his heart. He stood carefully, slipping his arm from her hold and pulling the furs over her. “She was caught on a battlefield, between Persians and Greeks. She was wounded, gravely so. She needs…”
Hermes handed Hades a large cask of nectar and a basket full of ambrosia. “I have it.”
Hades nodded. “My thanks.”
“She is an Olympian, Hades. And friend to me. Persephone has my protection as well as yours.” Hermes’ face hardened with anger. “I would see those that did this suffer.”
Erysichthon’s face rose before him, hard and… crazed. He’d been drunk with bloodlust, more so than any mortal Hades had ever witnessed. “As would I,” he agreed.
“Did they? Were they punished? Was justice delivered?” Hermes rarely spoke with such heat.
Hades gazed at Persephone then, explaining. “There was no time for vengeance. She was…” He paused, swallowing back the emotion that choked him. “She was too frail.” Hades shook his head, rubbing a hand across his face.
“No… It was wise, to shelter her… But I would go with you when you seek vengeance, when she is well once more.”
Hades nodded, worry rising within him once more. He would see her laughing again. Feast upon the sounds of her teasing voice and the sparkle in her green eyes. But she did not stir. Her long lashes rested on pale cheeks. He sighed, feeling useless once more.
“Did Erysichthon not protect her?”
Hades shook his head. “He wanted me to leave her…”
She moaned, her brow furrowing as her hands hovered over her wound.
Hades poured a glass of nectar and knelt beside her,
lifting the cup to her lips. “You must drink, Persephone.”
She did not stir.
Hermes cleared his throat. “She will heal. She is strong, Hades.”