than the rest. I slip it on. Once I belt the waist, the hem skims the tops of my feet, just the way I like it.
Then I see the brooches are marked with the letter P. So is the girdle.
I grab some necklaces from the jewelry trunk and dump them on the bed. There it is on the clasps: P. And woven into the hem of the grass-green chiton. And the blazing ruby crown—yes, here it is.
Of course. They're mine.
"Queen Persephone," I say out loud, and my voice echoes in the vast room.
The crown is too heavy in my hands; I fling it on the growing pile with a shiver.
Wait a minute. What am I nervous about? Any of my friends would love to have these clothes. And when it comes time to wear them, Hades will help me learn my way around. What was it he said? "Ruling is easy. I'll teach you."
I take a deep breath. Right now I'm going to discover my new home and its grasses, its leaves, its trees. I'll find my way down to that river and go for a swim. Then I'll come back, find Hades, and ask how he could leave me to wake up alone.
The halls twist and tangle like octopus arms, and there must be thousands of rooms: reception rooms with gilded couches, and storage rooms stacked with trunks and amphorae of wine or oil, and warrens of workrooms. I pass the same red marble bathtub four times.
Then I glance down a hall. Finally! There's Hades, standing with his hand on the three-headed dog's back. I run up, but he stands still and unmoving— Damn. It's only a statue, frozen forever in painted marble.
But the statue is next to a stair, and at the bottom of the stair is a door, and the door leads me out into bright morning sunlight.
And there are people everywhere.
Shades, I remind myself, shades. But they look as solid as I do, and their voices ring in the air, and I can hear their feet pattering across the stone forecourt. You couldn't tell they were different from me just by looking.
Then I see two of them heading right toward me: a gray-haired man and an elegant younger woman, their eyes respectfully lowered, their steps slow and thoughtful. They know who—what—I am!
My breath comes in short, shallow bursts. The shades are already worshiping me! I don't know how to do this! I don't know how to be a queen yet; nobody's told me anything! And I didn't even dress up like I probably should have, not a single piece of jewelry. I bet I was supposed to wear a crown. Soon they'll be close enough to kneel before me on the hard stones. What do I do ? My head is scrambling. I try to picture my mother. She'd never bow—maybe tilt her head in acknowledgement? That's it. I'll tilt my head. And my voice will fail me if I try to speak, I know it will—I'll have to use my hands to bid them rise. Oh, why didn't I wait for Hades to come?
I straighten the folds of my chiton, pull my shoulders down, and prepare to incline my head.
The man nods at me. "Good day," he says, and the woman smiles as they pass right by. Right by, on their way to a bench a few steps behind me. They sit and start talking to each other.
I deflate like the throat of a bullfrog all done croaking.
All that panic for nothing! I look down at my bare feet, my plain chiton, my ringless hands. They must think I'm one of them. Being a queen seems to be all in the clothes.
I walk near a group of young women with their arms around each other's waists. Carefully covering the P on my brooch, I smile and say hello. They grin back and one beckons. I wave my hand but keep walking.
It's true, then. No one knows who I am!
Relief floods through me. I don't have to be a queen right away. If I dress like this, I can learn bit by bit, and in between I can be as normal as any mortal.
The Lethe
I walk out of the forecourt, and soon I'm on my own again. Rough brown grass tickles my feet. I pluck a few blades and roll them between my fingers. A lizard lounging on a flat rock gives
Then I see the brooches are marked with the letter P. So is the girdle.
I grab some necklaces from the jewelry trunk and dump them on the bed. There it is on the clasps: P. And woven into the hem of the grass-green chiton. And the blazing ruby crown—yes, here it is.
Of course. They're mine.
"Queen Persephone," I say out loud, and my voice echoes in the vast room.
The crown is too heavy in my hands; I fling it on the growing pile with a shiver.
Wait a minute. What am I nervous about? Any of my friends would love to have these clothes. And when it comes time to wear them, Hades will help me learn my way around. What was it he said? "Ruling is easy. I'll teach you."
I take a deep breath. Right now I'm going to discover my new home and its grasses, its leaves, its trees. I'll find my way down to that river and go for a swim. Then I'll come back, find Hades, and ask how he could leave me to wake up alone.
The halls twist and tangle like octopus arms, and there must be thousands of rooms: reception rooms with gilded couches, and storage rooms stacked with trunks and amphorae of wine or oil, and warrens of workrooms. I pass the same red marble bathtub four times.
Then I glance down a hall. Finally! There's Hades, standing with his hand on the three-headed dog's back. I run up, but he stands still and unmoving— Damn. It's only a statue, frozen forever in painted marble.
But the statue is next to a stair, and at the bottom of the stair is a door, and the door leads me out into bright morning sunlight.
And there are people everywhere.
Shades, I remind myself, shades. But they look as solid as I do, and their voices ring in the air, and I can hear their feet pattering across the stone forecourt. You couldn't tell they were different from me just by looking.
Then I see two of them heading right toward me: a gray-haired man and an elegant younger woman, their eyes respectfully lowered, their steps slow and thoughtful. They know who—what—I am!
My breath comes in short, shallow bursts. The shades are already worshiping me! I don't know how to do this! I don't know how to be a queen yet; nobody's told me anything! And I didn't even dress up like I probably should have, not a single piece of jewelry. I bet I was supposed to wear a crown. Soon they'll be close enough to kneel before me on the hard stones. What do I do ? My head is scrambling. I try to picture my mother. She'd never bow—maybe tilt her head in acknowledgement? That's it. I'll tilt my head. And my voice will fail me if I try to speak, I know it will—I'll have to use my hands to bid them rise. Oh, why didn't I wait for Hades to come?
I straighten the folds of my chiton, pull my shoulders down, and prepare to incline my head.
The man nods at me. "Good day," he says, and the woman smiles as they pass right by. Right by, on their way to a bench a few steps behind me. They sit and start talking to each other.
I deflate like the throat of a bullfrog all done croaking.
All that panic for nothing! I look down at my bare feet, my plain chiton, my ringless hands. They must think I'm one of them. Being a queen seems to be all in the clothes.
I walk near a group of young women with their arms around each other's waists. Carefully covering the P on my brooch, I smile and say hello. They grin back and one beckons. I wave my hand but keep walking.
It's true, then. No one knows who I am!
Relief floods through me. I don't have to be a queen right away. If I dress like this, I can learn bit by bit, and in between I can be as normal as any mortal.
The Lethe
I walk out of the forecourt, and soon I'm on my own again. Rough brown grass tickles my feet. I pluck a few blades and roll them between my fingers. A lizard lounging on a flat rock gives
Similar Books
