Chapter Text
darkening sky
slant of trees, trench-footed with the earth
grain silo sits in the dust, planked skirt in disarray
endless fields of upright stones
two billboards, heralding a red angel
and a river running stainglassed in the light
of a fiery, unnatural dawn
*****
Lady Persephone won’t look at her.
Heat clogs the air. The factories have shut down for the day - behemoth wonders of machinery groaning as they finally settle into brief stillness - but the smoke has yet to ebb. Eurydice stands in the booth and tries not to cough. The Lady of the Underground has returned, setting another cycle of the world above in motion - and as usual, this means a rally that no one wants to be at. Shades shift around in their many thousands far below them, their faces like smudged fingerprints in the dark. Eurydice imagines them dully expectant. What do they care of seasons and cycles? The only cycles they know are the backbreaking routines of daily labour, and the only motions they’ve experienced are in the brutal repetitions of machinery and bodies, more automaton than human.
She doesn’t actually know how they feel, of course. Her father has never allowed her to set foot on the factory floor.
Father. Not King, not Lord Hades. He insisted on it, one day, when Eurydice was still a stranger to Hadestown. She stood in the booth with him and the Lady for the first time, foolishly excited by the prospect of experiencing something new. They made a fuss of it, dressing her up in a blossomy black frock, box braiding her hair and twining velvet flowers throughout. A miniature Lady in training. She was frightened by the energy of the people below her, and more frightened of the viciousness that stole across Hades’ face as he raved about walls and freedom. On instinct, she reached for the Lady’s hand and was brushed away as she went up to lead the praise songs. Eurydice didn't let the hurt show on her face. Later, Hades swept her into his arms in a rare fit of affectionate pride - he was Father after that. This was in better times, when the Lord and Lady still occasionally sent smiles to each other across the vast ocean of their dinner table.
Lady Persephone has always just been the Lady. Eurydice prefers the honesty.
With a slight gesture from her father’s hand, Eurydice steps up to the podium. He’d stopped bothering to motion for Persephone after she refused to sing at the last few rallies. This year, Eurydice takes her place entirely, standing by his side while his wife waits behind, her face impassive.
Imposter. It’s even worse now that she’s tall enough to wear Persephone’s old clothes.
The workers fall silent at her approach. She wonders if they resent her - the sheltered songbird twittering weakly in praise of hell. She tries, in melody and tone, to give them some beauty, or at least express a meagre one-way camaraderie. There's no use sneaking any encouragement into the lyrics. Hades is too perceptive for that.
It’s not her best work. Her voice is a thin, shaky thing, because the Lady still won’t look at her. The applause is subdued. Hades surges forward and makes an aborted gesture, lip curling, and it grows much louder.
Shades don't understand anything but rules and orders. You need to be firm. Give them guidance. It's only right, little bird. They're not people anymore, no need to be upset over them.
Even back then, she'd wondered how much of a father he was, if this was the way he treated his other children.
*****
"That was not six months."
Lady Persephone stabs at her chicken, glaring across the long table at her husband. The tines of her fork flash silver as she points at him accusingly.
"Harvest season has barely started. You knew this. People are going to starve because you couldn't be patient."
"Mortals starve all the time," Hades drawls. He swirls his glass, seemingly fascinated by the wine. "I'll provide for them if they call for me. We could always use more workers."
"There's such a thing as balance, lover. You may have forgotten that the seasons must have their ebb and flow for there to be harmony. The natural world is not a production line. You can't turn it on and off anytime you please."
"I missed you. As I recall, you made a promise to put your husband first." His voice is casual and dangerously soft.
"And you made a promise to my mother," she spits back.
Eurydice quietly cuts her dinner into ever-multiplying fractions. It's roasted hen, potatoes, and a herby salad - their habitual welcome-back meal. Hades must have made the orders for it. She's not hungry. She desperately wishes she could go to bed.
"You would rather spend your time with those dependent on you to fill their cups? They only take. Meu amor, could they provide for you as I have done? Do they love you to the point of creation? Which of them would build a kingdom in your honour?"
Lady Persephone barely restrains an eye roll. "They don't just take. They give what they can - whatever they accept from me, they share amongst themselves. And they repay me in appreciation. It may be different to what you know but it is love— a true and selfless love."
"Pah, ephemera. Buying your favour with a song. You would rather that than a love that is proven by foundation and stability."
Hades settles back in his chair, scorn tugging at his lip. Eurydice glances up at the Lady in sympathy, a lifeline thrown out on a reel. She flicks her eyes away in impatience. When she speaks again, her voice is deliberately measured.
"There is love and beauty in transience. If you bothered— if you condescended to walk among them, even for a short time, you would understand."
Then, pointedly, "Do you really care so little for mortals?"
Eurydice shrinks a little further into her seat.
It was unnerving, realising that her saviours didn't need to eat.
Eurydice had no clue where the train had stopped, or why she'd been welcomed into this strange mansion. Still to weak to walk, she'd been carried through lavish, velvet-curtained halls and up marbled staircases, eyes wide with wonder. Silent servants had immediately whisked her away into a bath (sorely needed, she'd admit) and scrubbed until the waters turned grey. She'd been bundled into pyjamas far too big for her and now sat perplexed at an ornate dining table, sleeves drooping onto her plate.
"Is the food acceptable?"
Eurydice looked down at her untouched meal. Roasted hen, potatoes, a rich brown sauce, and a salad of jewel-red tomatoes and fresh leafy herbs. It was the salad that had stopped her. Herbs were expensive, a luxury that her mama had rationed and savoured when they had it, and even then, they could usually only afford a common dried blend that they bought at the general store whenever they went into town. This was food for the good times. She didn't think that that was now.
Lord Hades and Lady Persephone - for that was how they'd introduced themselves - peered at her over their empty places. Eurydice flushed.
"Yes, thank you."
She cautiously started with one of the jewelled tomatoes. The juice burst on her tongue, densely concentrated summer, and suddenly she was ravenously shovelling food down her throat, completely forgetting her plan to savour it carefully. She hadn't experienced such a variety of flavours in - she didn't remember how long - but she'd almost forgotten that it was possible. Pity that it all was disappearing so fast.
A chuckle from her host. "There's more dinner if you want it, hungry little bird."
As if re-emerging from a dream, she blinked dumbly down at her plate, all but licked clean. She suddenly felt utterly exhausted, and a bit sick.
"No, thank you." Then, as her mama had taught her to be especially courteous to gods, "Are you having dinner too, sir and ma'am?"
They chuckled in that adult way that usually meant she'd amused them with her ignorance.
"No, sweet thing-- we eat for enjoyment, but we never need to," said the Lady.
"Oh. Do I need to?"
"You will, because you're not like us, honey. You may live in the domain of gods but you're still mortal. Does that make sense?"
Eurydice nodded slowly. She felt— untethered, like the time that they'd moved towns again and her mama had placed her in a local school, and she'd spent her lunchtime sitting on a bench in the shade watching all the other children play. But this was different. Her mama had told her to search for people, and by some definitions she had succeeded. But did gods count as people? They did feed her. Perhaps that was all that mattered. When would she see her mama again?
Lord Hades leaned closer. He reminded her of a big bird she'd seen once, all yellow piercing eyes under stern eyebrows, each movement predetermined and intentional.
"We would like it very much if you stayed with us and considered this your home. We could take care of you. You would never go hungry again."
She didn't know what to say. She didn't know what they wanted from her.
He inclined his head at her. "Would it make you feel more at home if we all ate together?"
She nodded. What else could she do?
"Then we'll do as mortals do, little bird."
"Mortals are a valuable— resource." Hades allows, slowly. No doubt he thinks that he is actually conceding something. Being reasonable. He shrugs. "They work hard, with a steady hand to guide them. They sing praises to the gods, as they should. But besides for those touched by the Fates, their lives are insignificant, no? They are here and then they are gone."
Lady Persephone still won't look at her.
"Our lives are as bound to their fates as theirs are to ours," she finally says. Her tone brooks no argument.
A tense silence settles over the dining table. The clink of silverware is deafening as the servants clear away three plates of half-eaten food. Eurydice musters up her dwindling courage and clears her throat.
"Father— Lady, would you like a song?"
The storminess on Hades' brow clears slightly. "A good suggestion." He turns to the Lady, a challenging glint in his eyes. "Our little bird wrote something just for you, to welcome you back. Why don't we hear it?"
Lady Persephone levels him a flat look, her face schooled into near-impassiveness again. "I think she's sung enough for today."
*****
After dinner, they brought her out to the balcony.
"See the big buildings over there, child? That is where the many citizens of Hadestown gather everyday, working hard to earn their living. The lights further back are where the workers live and rest. You can see some of the lights are on. This means that some workers are getting ready for the night shift. And if you look farther in the distance, you will see a Wall. That is a very special project that we have all worked on together for many years."
Hades crouched down to her level. "This is the kingdom that I share with my Lady. It can be yours too, when you are older. Do you understand?
She saw nothing and understood nothing, because the sky was wrong. She knew it instinctively, having slept under the stars many times in her life. Her mama had always pointed out the constellations and taught her to venerate the vaulted heavens, because to walk under the stars meant that you could go wherever you wanted - even if times were hard, you were free. Lying in the grass, she'd often felt an intimate thrill, an edge of terror she was only just able to bear, as if she could fall upwards at any moment and finally be at home amongst the stars. Here, there were no stars, no endless freefall. The only lights were those on the horizon. Without meaning to, she'd started to shake uncontrollably.
A gentle hand rested on her shoulder, stilling her. "I think she's had enough new experiences for today. Let's show her more tomorrow."
Later, with her belly full and tucked up in the softest bed she'd ever known, Eurydice quietly cried herself to sleep. Perhaps if she'd walked through the world a few winters longer, she would understand that there was something terribly, terribly wrong. But as it was, she only knew with a child's utter conviction that the wretchedness was her fault alone.
Eurydice closes the door to her bedroom and slumps against it. Finally, blessed peace. The first day back is always the hardest, as Hades and Persephone circle each other like duelling cats waiting for the first strike. Hopefully they will settle into each other in the coming weeks, sink into the old grooves and patterns of daily life that they eked out for a millennia. Their relationship may be the rockiest she's ever seen it, but who knows how that compares in a god's lifetime?
In any case, the only thing she cares about right now is Lady Persephone's favour. Eurydice takes a deep breath, steels herself, and approaches the bed.
She finds a brown, nondescript box under her pillow - just small enough to be snuck in under a shade servant’s arm. Inside, a twine of carefully dried roses, a tiny book of pressed meadow flowers, a few leaves of sheet music, and a small bottle of sea glass. Scant souvenirs from the world above, delivered only once a year, and each item to be guarded greedily like a magpie with its treasures. Eurydice stopped being certain of the Lady's feelings a long time ago, but she clearly retained enough affection (or pity) towards her ward that she wouldn't deny her this sole consolation. The rush of relief is dizzying. Though Eurydice has had the audacity to take her place, perhaps their relationship is still somehow salvageable. She will try harder to repair it, tomorrow.
She flops onto her bed, carefully tucking the box out of sight again, and falls into an exhausted sleep.
It comes back to her in dreams.
She’s been walking for days, weeks, she doesn’t know how long. Her tummy had ached and ached until it stopped aching and she just felt strange and shivery all over, like she’d never been warm in her life. She knows there will be help, and hopefully soup, if she can find a house or a town with people in it. Someone sensible had told her that. She remembers a few birds reeling overhead, and she slowed to watch them because they were pretty and she didn’t know what else to do. She remembers dust caking her arms up to her elbows after her legs gave out. She remembers an endless silver ladder stretching into a clay-baked sky.
“This one gone already?”
A sun-warm hand brushes her cheek. Eurydice leans in. She can’t help it, she’s so cold.
“Oh. Where’s your folks, honey?”
A faint whisper through cracked lips. “Don’t know, ma’am.”
A deeper voice chuckles, and Eurydice imagines two mighty slabs of granite sliding over each other. “Well. She’s got manners.”
“If there’s nothing we can do for her, make it quick. Poor dear.”
“Yes, pity…such a pretty little slip of a thing. She’d be one of many that end up on my doorstep.” The voice turns slow, thoughtful. “Too young to go on the line…but she’s made it all this way. Might be a sign from the Fates.”
“Hades—"
The voices echo and fade, as if heard from the other side of a cave. Something syrupy hits her tongue and warmth swells into her fingers and toes. She remembers a thrumming, clattering motion below her, and a hand, heavier than the one before, stroking her hair.
She also remembers that hand unfurling towards her (and when her dreams wend their way down darker paths, it blooms eternally, impossibly - fingers bursting from fingers and ceaselessly reaching out) in an offer that she could not refuse, a mockery of free will, or perhaps it is only her mind reliving it again and again, that torturous moment when everything changed.
“Your choice, my child.”
She takes the hand every time.