Free The Dark Wife by Sarah Diemer Page A

stolen her from me?” My mother wails and beats her chest and scrabbles for ash in the fire as the king of the gods laughs and shrugs and leaves her weeping, alone.
    I woke with a start, breathless. My heart felt as if it would break the cage of my bones. I pressed my hands against my face, surprised to find my eyes sore and wet. I’d been crying in my sleep. And my mother—my mother had cried for me in the dream. But it was only a dream.
    Woozy, I sat up, detangled my legs from the twisted blankets. I knew where I was, why I was here, but to wake from a nightmare in this cold place, with no green in sight, no sunlight, no birdsong… I felt the weight of the earth pushing down upon me again, and it was only when I lifted my eyes, noticed Hades standing in the doorway, that the weight lifted and I remembered to breathe.
    I rose, washed my face, and we walked together; we didn’t speak. I had no sense of the time because there was no sky. I supposed, here, time was irrelevant, since nothing grew, nothing changed. The corridors meandered up and down, ending in staircases so narrow that my hips brushed the walls, and I wondered what it all meant, my life, life itself, that it led to such a strange, dark conclusion.
    Hades guided me onto a balcony. Instead of stars, my eyes met uninterrupted blackness.
     “Your hair,” she said, touching the ragged edges that brushed against my ears, one gentle finger grazing against my bare neck.
     “I sold it.”
    We watched the sunless morning in silence. After a little while, I stopped expecting a sunrise.
     “I’m sorry,” she said. “There are so many…rules in the Underworld. What is received must be in equal value to what is given. These are old laws, older than me—older than the earth.” Her hands gripped the marble railing. “I couldn’t make it easier for you, though I wanted to.”
    I reached out and touched her arm. She didn’t flinch; she didn’t react at all. So I let my hand fall away and whispered, “It was my decision. I rebelled.”
     “What did you say?” Hades fixed me to the spot with an intensity of gaze I had never seen from her before. I felt pinned, spellbound.
     “I rebelled,” I repeated doggedly. “Hermes told me—”
     “Hermes,” she laughed, pressing her fingertips to her temple. “Of course.” Her pale face—luminous as a full moon in the dark surrounding us—tightened with agitation. “He is a dear friend but a born meddler. Did he say anything to you about…all of this?”
    I hesitated. “All of what? I’m not sure I understand.”
    Hades chuckled for a moment, nervously, arms folded over her middle.
     “This…” She cleared her throat and tried again: “This has never happened before. No one, mortal or immortal, has ever chosen to enter the Underworld. We don’t know what will come of it.”
    My heart was sinking. She seemed different from last night, far away, locked up with her thoughts. I felt very alone.
            So I remembered Charis’s face. I painted it perfectly for my mind’s eye, replayed Zeus’ unforgivable violation, held the horrid image over my heart like a shield. There were reasons that I had come down to this place, and if I ever forgot them, I would lose myself to despair.
    Hades was watching me, but I couldn’t read anything from her steady black gaze.
      “Persephone, why have you come here, truly?”
      “Truly?” I had already told her about Charis , about Zeus and his plan to whisk me up to Olympus. Her question had a deeper motive, I was certain, but I couldn’t discern it; she was too distant now. “I came for a chance,” I murmured finally, resolve making the words sound sharper than I’d intended. “I came for a choice.”
    She nodded, expressionless. “Yes, well—you’ve come a long way. I hope you find what you’re seeking.” She straightened, shook herself, as if waking from a dream, and then she turned and walked back down the corridor at a brisk