“Speak them, Goddess, and they will be made.”
“You will have no more mistresses.” She watched him closely as she spoke. “And your daughter must leave. Marry her to your neighbor. His holdings are almost as grand as yours, are they not?”
Such a notion had crossed his mind many times. But Ione was young, a comfort to him. He’d thought to pass more years with her at his side. He’d hoped as much.
Demeter sighed, as if she could hear his thoughts. “Besides your Goddess, there can be only one woman in your heart, Erysichthon. I demand it.”
Her words cut deeper than a sword. While he’d only ever loved Demeter, his daughter Ione was the only one who’d ever loved him. Pain, and anger, twisted his gut.
“I know you are fond of her,” Demeter continued, “as I am fond of my own daughter. If I am to give you Persephone, a Goddess, you will send your Ione to the north.”
He could not meet Demeter’s eye, not when his anger burned so. But he nodded, his voice only slightly husky as he acquiesced. “It shall be done, Goddess.”
Demeter touched the top of his head. “Come now. You will have more daughters, demi-gods at that. Your Ione will not be dead or punished, just gone to live a new life of her own. How proud she will be, for you will both marry well. How pleased she will be to see such honor bestowed upon you. Much better than losing favor with the Gods, surely? Better than two such loyal worshippers suffering the Olympians’ wrath? Is it not? Think on it that way.”
He said nothing, for his anger burned brighter. She threatened him? His Ione? When he had been nothing but loyal to her?
But he must be careful. For Persephone would live with him, away from her mother’s influence. Once the vows were done, he would find a way to bring Ione home again, somehow.
Until then, he must remain Demeter’s most devoted servant. He took a deep breath, speaking calmly, “You do me, and my daughter, the highest honor a mortal can hope for. I thank you.”
She smiled down at him, patting his bearded cheek. Her palm lingered, one finger stroking his thick brow. “You are welcome, Erysichthon. See that you do nothing to make me regret such generosity. Won’t you?”
He shivered from her touch, ashamed when he turned into her palm. He inhaled, pulling in her scent. Earth and honey, flowers and grass, woman, all swirled in his nostrils. His attempt to stifle a groan was unsuccessful, but she did not scold him for his lust. Instead she tilted his head back, her brown eyes bright.
“Can you be gentle, mighty Erysichthon?” She ran her fingertips over his mouth, watching her movements with heavy-lidded eyes.
He swallowed, desperate to pull her to him. Did one seduce a Goddess? Did one dare try? For her touch upon his mouth was more potent than any coupling.
“I can be,” he murmured, daring to add, “I would show you.”
She smiled, her hands cupping his cheeks to tilt his head forward. She placed a kiss upon his brow, whispering, “Show my daughter.”
He closed his eyes, the throb of his hunger pounding in his ears. When he opened them, she was gone and he was alone, kneeling on his floor.
###
The cave dropped, a mere shelf of rock that hung over his realm. Hades stood, peering at the world that stretched before him. Tartarus glowed red from here, a wasteland of pain and suffering. Only those most evil and cursed were sent there. Such were fitting company for his mood.
He grasped the edges of the ladder, climbing swiftly down. The ladder swung, suspending him precariously in the thick blackness separating
Tartarus from the rest of his realm.
The Erinyes, those he charged with Tartarus’ keeping, would have followed his orders by now. They never tired of tormenting their charges, of bringing suffering to the damned. It was their way. But his mood made him restless and he sought any distraction. Tartarus offered much in the way of distractions.
The smell of sulfur, blood and smoke welcomed him. Heat wafted from the tunnels leading to the earth’s core, spewing steam at irregular intervals. He dropped from the ladder, landing on the warm, black dust with a thud. His eyes narrowed, adjusting to the red flickers of light and lengthening shadows.
“Didymos,” Hades greeted Tartarus’ master guard, chosen by the Erinyes themselves.
Didymos bent low, his booming voice echoing, “My lord.”
“Hades,” a woman’s voice stirred the hair on his neck. “What do you think of your reinforcements?”
Hades turned, glancing at the Erinye. He took care to reveal none of the aversion her appearance evoked. They may assist him in his realm, but theirs was a fragile friendship. Erinyes were spiteful creatures, easily offended and quick with their retribution. Only a fool would make an enemy of an Erinye.
“More guards have been placed, as you ordered.” The Erinye’s voice was deep.
Vaporous forms, hardly recognizable as men, lined Tartarus’ wall. Their eyes, black holes that flamed and sparked, did not rise to regard him. To look upon him would set the Erinyes’ wrath upon them.