I ignore that. “For someone so invested in the kind earth-mother persona, Demeter is quick to put her daughters on the chopping block.”
“She does love her girls.” Hermes shrugs. “You don’t know how it is out there. On this side of the river, you’re king and you’ve carved out a really good thing for your people. They don’t waste effort and resources re-creating the glitz and glam of the upper city, and they aren’t stabbing each other in the back with diamond-encrusted daggers.” At my look, she nods rapidly. “It happened. You must remember that fight between Kratos and Ares. That motherfucker just walked up to him in the middle of the party, whipped a dagger out, and…” She makes stabbing motions. “If Apollo hadn’t intervened, it would have been straight-up murder instead of just assault with a deadly weapon.”
“I’m sure I must have glossed over the part of the report where Ares was arrested on said charges.”
She shrugs. “You know how it is. Kratos isn’t one of the Thirteen, and he had been skimming off Ares’s bottom line. The fight was delightful drama; a trial wouldn’t have been.”
If ever there was a good example of how the Thirteen abuse their power, there it is. “It changes nothing. Persephone crossed the bridge. She’s here.” And she’s mine. I don’t say the latter, but Hermes’s perceptive gaze narrows on my face. I clear my throat. “She’s free to walk away at any time. She’s choosing not to.” I should leave it at that, but the thought of Demeter and Zeus dragging Persephone back to the upper city against her will has anger surging through me. “If they try to take her, they’ll have to go through me to do it.”
“‘They’ll have to go through me to do it.’”
I blink. Hermes’s impression of me was spot-on. “That was not a message.”
“Wasn’t it?” She examines her nails. “Sounded like a message to me.”
“Hermes.”
“I take no sides, not as long as everyone is following the rules. Threats don’t violate them.” She grins suddenly. “They just add a little spice to everyone’s life. Ta!”
“Hermes!”
But she’s gone, darting out my door. Chasing her down won’t change a damn thing. Once she’s set her mind on something, she’ll do it no matter what anyone around her says. For the spice. I drag my hands over my face. This is a fucking mess.
I don’t know if Demeter is capable of following through on her threat. She’s been in the role for years now, but her reputation is too carefully curated to get a good read on what she’ll do in a situation like this. Is she really willing to hurt thousands of people whose only crime is to live on the wrong side of the River Styx?
Fuck. I don’t know. I really don’t know.
If I wasn’t a goddamn myth to most of the upper city, I’d be able to fight this more effectively. She would never try this bluff with one of the other Thirteen because of the potential blow to her reputation. I’m in the shadows, so she thinks she’s safe, that I have no recourse. She’ll find out how wrong she is if she goes through with this.
At this point, I’m inclined to call Demeter’s bluff. The other Thirteen don’t overly give a fuck about the lower city, but even they have to see how dangerous it is to let Demeter run amok. Beyond that, I’ve had a lifetime of not trusting the Thirteen, so my people are prepared to weather any storm they try to throw at us.
If Demeter thinks she can fuck with me without seeing consequences, she has another think coming.
***
After a mostly sleepless night, I get ready and head down to the kitchen in search of coffee. The sound of laughter echoes through the empty halls as I reach the ground floor. I recognize Persephone’s voice, even if she’s never laughed that freely around me. It’s silly to feel jealous of that fact after only knowing her a few days, but apparently reason has gone out the window where this woman is concerned.
I take my time walking to the kitchen, enjoying how much more alive the house feels this morning. I hadn’t really noticed the lack until now, and the realization doesn’t sit well with me. It doesn’t matter what life Persephone brings to my home, because she’s leaving in a few weeks. Getting used to the idea of waking up to her laughing in my kitchen is a mistake.
I push through the door to find her standing at the stove with Georgie. Georgie is technically my housekeeper, but she’s got a small army of staff to take care of cleaning this place, so she mostly presides over the kitchen and cooking. There’s a reason most of my people find their way through these doors for at least one meal a day; she’s a happy, middle-aged white woman who could be fifty or could be eighty. All I know is that she hasn’t appeared to age in the twenty years since she took over the position. Her hair has always been a sleek silver, and there have always been laugh lines around her eyes and mouth. Today, she’s wearing one of her customary aprons with frills around the edges.
She points to my normal chair without looking. “I just put a new pot of coffee on. Breakfast sandwiches incoming.”
I eye the pair of women as I sit. Persephone is on the other side of the island, and she’s got a little flour on her dress. Obviously, she’s been an active participant in breakfast. The realization makes me feel strange. “Since when do you let us help?”
“There is no ‘us.’ Persephone offered to handle a few small tasks while I set things up. Simple.”
Simple. As if she hasn’t chased off
