the souls call you their queen.”
“That does not mean I should wear a crown or sit upon a throne in the Underworld.”
“Do this for them, Persephone,” Yuri pleaded. “It is part of the surprise.”
“Okay,” Persephone said, nodding. “For the souls.”
She took a seat and Yuri clapped her excitement.
After a moment, children from the Underworld appeared from the darkness, wandering into the circle of light, dressed in colorful clothing. They began their performance by stomp their feet and clap their hands in unison. The effect was musical, increasing in tempo the longer they went. Soon, their voices joined the clapping and stomping, and they began to move about, creating different lines and shapes with their bodies. By the end of the performance, Persephone was clapping along and smiling so wide, her face hurt. The children grinned, bowing to the applause.
Then a flute began to play, and the children started to sing, their voices rising and falling in a haunting melody. The song they sang was the tale of the Lethe, the river of forgetfulness, and told of a woman who drank from its waters and forgot the love of her life. When the song ended, a hard knot settled at the back of Persephone’s throat. She stood as she clapped, and the children ran to her, hugging her legs.
“Thank you,” she told them. “You were all so wonderful!”
After the children’s performance, the real festival began, and the residents dispersed. Some danced and played instruments while others played games—races, disc tosses, and jumping competitions. A group headed inside the ballroom to eat and the children gathered around the maypole.
“Persephone!” Leuce approached, throwing her arms around the goddess’s neck, a glass of wine in hand.
“Leuce, I’m so glad you could make it.”
The nymph drew back. “Thank you for inviting me. This is truly amazing. I’ve never seen the Underworld so vibrant.”
“Drink,” she said, handing Persephone the wine she held. “The wine tastes like strawberries and summer.”
Leuce twirled away, disappearing into the crowd of souls.
“Well, don’t you look like the Queen of the Underworld,” Hermes said, appearing out of thin air.
Persephone smiled at the God of Trickery. He was dressed like an ancient god—gold armor and a leather skirt. His sandals wrapped around his strong calves, a circlet of laurel leaves crowed his head, and his white-feathered wings draped his body like a lush cloak.
“Hermes!” She threw her arms around him. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Sephy,” he said, and then winked, holding up a bottle of wine he’d swiped from the ballroom. “The wine helps. Where’s your brooding lover? He wasn’t too angry with you, I hope?”
At the mention of Hades, Persephone was reminded that the God of the Underworld still hadn’t made an appearance. She frowned.
“I’m not sure where he is. He left before I woke.”
“Uh oh. Don’t tell me, Sephy. No makeup sex?”
When did talking about sex become a regular conversation between her and Hermes?
“No.”
“I’m sorry, Sephy,” Hermes said, and then poured more wine into her cup. “Drink up, gorgeous. You’re going to need it.”
But Persephone didn’t feel like drinking, and soon, Hermes was distracted.
“Nemesis!” Hermes yelled when he glimpsed the Goddess of Divine Retribution and Revenge. “I have a bone to pick with you!”
Persephone tried not to laugh. Hearing Hermes use mortal idioms was hilarious. She started to turn when she noticed Apollo. He must have just arrived, as she was certain she would have sensed his menacing presence before now. He felt like static in the air around her.
He wore red robes and they were secured by embellished gold leaves. She’d never seen his horns before, but tonight, they were on full display. In total, he had four, a set of two, curling on each side of his face. They almost made it look like a helm worn during battle.
She smiled at him and approached.
“Last time I checked, I was the one who was supposed to do the summoning,” he said.
“I didn’t summon you,” Persephone said. “I invited you. You didn’t have to come.”
Apollo’s jaw tensed.
“But I’m glad you did,” she added, and the god’s brows rose. “Come, I’d like you to meet someone.”
She led Apollo outside where the maypole was raised, and the dead danced. It took her a moment, but she finally found him standing with a crowd of souls. Hyacinth, the young man Apollo loved. He was well-muscled and beautiful, with a swath of golden hair. When he smiled, his teeth gleamed, when he laughed, it was like music. She knew