nothing particularly remarkable about him. He had curly hair that stuck to his face, dripping with water from the Styx. His eyes were dull, gray, and lifeless. It was not his appearance Hades was interested in anyway, it was his soul, burdened with guilt. Now that interested him, but before he peered deeper, he heard Persephone’s audible inhale.
“Is he dangerous?” she asked.
She had posed the question to Charon, but the daimon looked to him for an answer.
“You can see to his soul. Is he dangerous?” Persephone asked, looking at Hades now. He was not sure what had him so frustrated about her question. Perhaps it was her compassion?
“No.”
“Then release him from those bindings.”
His instinct was to fight her, to scold her for defying him in front of a soul, Charon, and Minthe. But looking into her eyes, seeing to her soul, how desperate she was to see compassion from him, he relented and released the man from his bonds. The mortal was unprepared and hit the floor with what Hades felt was a gratifying clap. As he picked himself up from the floor, he thanked Persephone.
Hades grinded his teeth. Where is my thanks?
“Why have you come to the Underworld?” Hades’ question was more of a bark. He was finding it hard to contain his impatience.
The mortal stared into Hades’ eyes, unafraid. Impressive…or arrogant. Hades could not decide.
“I have come for my wife. I wish to propose a contract—my soul in exchange for hers.”
“I do not trade in souls, mortal,” Hades answered.
The fact that his wife had died was an act of the Fates. The three had deemed her death necessary, and Hades would not interfere.
“My lord, please—”
He held up his hand to silence the man’s pleas. No amount of explaining Divine balance would help, and so Hades would not try. The mortal looked to Persephone.
“Do not look upon her for aid, mortal. She cannot help you.”
He might have given her free rein over his world, but she could not make these decisions.
“Tell me of your wife,” Persephone said.
Hades’ brows knitted together at her question. He knew she was challenging him, but what was her aim?
“What was her name?”
“Eurydice,” he said. “She died the day after we were married.”
“I am sorry. How did she die?”
Hades should discourage this line of conversation. It would only give the man hope.
“She just went to sleep and never woke up.”
Hades swallowed. He could feel the man’s pain, and yet there was still guilt weighing heavily upon his soul. What had he done to his wife? Why did he feel such guilt at her passing?
“You lost her so suddenly.” Persephone sounded so sad, so forlorn for the man.
“The Fates cut her life-thread,” Hades interjected. “I cannot return her to the living, and I will not bargain to return souls.”
He noted the curl of Persephone’s delicate fingers into a fist. Would she attempt to strike him? The thought amused him.
“Lord Hades, please—” Orpheus choked. “I love her.”
His eyes narrowed, and he laughed. He loved her, yes, he could sense that, but the guilt told him the mortal was hiding something.
“You may have loved her, mortal, but you did not come here for her. You came for yourself. I will not grant your request. Charon.”
Hades leaned back in his throne as Charon obeyed his command, vanishing with Orpheus. He would return the man to the Upperworld where he belonged, where he would mourn like other mortals for his loss.
In the silence, Persephone seethed. He felt her anger, billowing. After a moment, he spoke.
“You wish to tell me to make an exception.”
“You wish to tell me why it’s not possible,” she snapped, and Hades’ lips twitched.
“I cannot make an exception for one person, Persephone. Do you know how often I am petitioned to return souls from the Underworld?”
Constantly.
“You barely offered him a voice. They were only married for a day, Hades.”
“Tragic,” he said, and it was, but Orpheus was not the only one with this kind of story. He could not spend time feeling for every mortal whose life did not turn out the way they expected.
“Are you so heartless?”
The question frustrated him. “They are not the first to have a sad love story, Persephone, nor will they be the last, I imagine.”
“You’ve brought back mortals for less.”
Her statement took him aback. To what did she refer?
“Love is a selfish reason to bring the dead back,” he replied. She had not yet learned that the dead were truly favored.