Free Radiant Darkness by Emily Whitman

It has its own dangers. The banks are ferociously guarded."
       "Guarded against what?"
       "Escape. Charon the ferryman brings shades across that border from Zeus's realm, but no one crosses in the other direction. No one. Cerberus makes sure of that."
       "Let's go see it."
       "We'll have to do it another day." He glances up at the sun. "We took longer than I expected. Now it's time to prepare for your grand entrance."
       "My what ?"
    "Today you enter the throne room as my queen."
       I don't say anything the whole ride back to the palace, and I barely see the land around me. I think there are more streams, and we go through a gate, but I'm not sure. I'm too busy worrying.

I Take My Throne

    S ervant girls bathe me in the red marble bathtub. They anoint my skin with rose-scented oil until I glisten. They drape me in a purple chiton with golden, three-headed dogs guarding the hem. Gingerly, they fix in glittering brooches and place a broad girdle around my waist. They bend obsequiously, strapping my feet in ruby-studded sandals. Without a word, they hold out earrings for my approval: intricate golden boats, a small oarsman in the center of each, and delicate diamond stars dangling from bow and stern. When I nod, the servants slip them in my ears and the stars tickle my shoulders. They load heavy bracelets on my wrists and drape yokes of jewels around my neck. After spending ages on my tangled locks, they hold up a mirror to show me rubies glittering like fire in the dark night of my elegant hair. Then comes my crown: a blazing circlet of golden leaves. Finally, kneeling before me, they bow their obeisance, signaling that they're done.
       At the door, another servant meekly bobs her head then turns to show me the way. I guess we're not taking any chances I'll get lost. It's time for my grand entrance. I'm about to take my throne.
       My stomach rises in my throat.
       I thought about the ceremony the whole time they were dressing me, and I've decided how to get through it. I'll enter quietly and make my way discreetly to the dais. Then I'll put my feet on the little footstool like I've seen in pictures, and I'll sit tall and keep my mouth shut. I won't do or say a thing. I'll just watch and listen. That way, nothing can go wrong. I'll be like a silent sponge on the ocean floor, letting the water waft information through my open pores.
       My golden sandals clatter down the corridor, echoing into rooms as we pass. It's not like the early morning when the halls were deserted; servants are everywhere, and they're all kneeling on the floor with lowered heads. I want to grab their hands and pull them up, but I don't.
       We come to the stairway where the statue of Hades and the three-headed dog stand guard. But once we go down the stairs we turn right, down a new hall. I peer in at the doors to either side as we pass. Another room full of vases. Another lined with wooden boxes. Another—and then I stop.
       In a light, spacious room looking out on a courtyard, a loom stands fully threaded. Silver weights pull the warp threads straight and true, just begging for the shuttle. A silver basket bubbles with balls of yarn. I step closer. There, carved at the top of the loom, is my name: Persephone .
       "My lady!" says the servant girl in a tiny, frightened voice. "My lady, forgive me, but we'll be late!"
       I pull myself away from the loom and follow her into the grandest hallway yet. A double row of broad red pillars leads to a wall with stone blocks the size of sheep, and gigantic double doors. We pause in front of the thick wooden panels, and I can hear rustling and the muted hum of voices.
       I'm breathing so hard the girdle feels tight around my waist, and the heavy necklaces rise and fall on my chest like boats riding the waves.
       I can do this. I throw back my shoulders and try to stand tall like a tree stretching toward the sun. Taking a deep breath, I nod. The servant