Matilda led him into a room with two neat rows of a dozen beds pushed close together. “Here are the others your age,” she said. “Why don’t you join in while I find you something hot to eat?”
Henry didn’t reply. Instead he scanned the other children, searching for a girl who might be called Ingrid. A few of them stopped playing to stare at him, both boys and girls, but there didn’t seem to be anything extraordinary about them. And Diana would choose someone special, of that Henry was certain.
But they all looked ordinary. Clean, well cared for, certainly, but no one stood out. They played in three groups, each having claimed a third of the room, and none of them asked him to join them. Not that he needed their permission, of course. It was ludicrous to think that he, Lord of the Underworld, could be bested by a roomful of seven- to ten-year-olds, but here he was.
“You’re Henry, aren’t you?” A high, almost musical voice sounded from the doorway, and he turned. A girl with two blond braids stood behind him, holding a bowl of something that smelled like broth. And though he’d been looking for her, the shock of seeing her for the first time made the blood drain from his face.
This was Ingrid. He knew it as well as he knew himself, and though she didn’t appear to be anything but ordinary, everything about her called to him. The kindness in her blue eyes, the bashfulness in her cheeks, the way her small size made him want to protect her against every bad thing that had led her to this place. In her he saw something—something wiser and deeper than the others, something he couldn’t explain. But it was there. That much he was sure of.
“Y-yes, I’m Henry,” he said, surprised by how high his own voice sounded. Had he ever been this young before? He was certain he hadn’t. “Is that for me?”
The little girl nodded, and he took the bowl, careful not to spill. It wasn’t the sort of rich fare he was used to, but there was something distinctly homey about the scent that wafted from his meal. A soaked biscuit floated in the center, and the little girl turned red upon noticing it.
“Oh! I’m sorry. I can get you a new one.” Her hands were halfway to the bowl before Henry pulled it back.
“No, it’s fine,” he said. “It smells good.” Sinking down onto the wooden floorboards, he gestured for her to join him. “What’s your name?”
“Ingrid,” she said with a slight accent he couldn’t place, and she sat down beside him. She eyed his bowl hungrily, and without a word, he offered it to her.
“I’m not really that hungry,” he said, and despite her hesitancy, she allowed herself a spoonful, along with a bit of the soaked biscuit. “Didn’t you eat?”
She shrugged. “Wasn’t hungry before,” she whispered. “Had a funny feeling, and my stomach was all twisty.”
He didn’t know how to interpret that. Had Ingrid known he was coming? Could she sense it somehow? Did she know, even now, that there was something about him, as he knew there was something about her?
“You can have all you want,” he promised, and after she sneaked a look at the others, she dug in with fervor, stopping only to take a deep breath. He watched her with a small smile, reminded vaguely of Cerberus at mealtime. But despite being so young, she managed not to spill a drop.
“We should be friends,” she said between mouthfuls, with the shy boldness only a child could get away with. “I don’t really have many.”
“I’d like that,” said Henry. “I don’t have many, either.”
“You’re my friend now.” After sipping up the last few spoonfuls, she finally set the bowl aside. She hadn’t left so much as a soggy bite. “And we’ll be good friends, won’t we?”
“The best,” promised Henry. A moment passed, and she watched him with those ancient eyes of hers, as if she could see right through him. As if she knew exactly who and what he was.
“Why are you here?” she said without preamble, and Henry hesitated. Did she know after all? Or was she simply asking about his supposed parents?
“Why are you here?” he said
“Because,” she whispered, “I want a family.”
Henry smiled. “That’s why I’m here, too.”
“Good. Everyone needs a family.” She hugged his arm and all but dragged him to his feet, surprisingly strong for such a small girl. “Come on, I’ll show you my doll.”
With the same patience Diana had shown him only minutes before, Henry let her pull him away. It was strange, and no matter her age, he could never see himself loving anyone else the way he’d loved Persephone. But perhaps being friends wouldn’t be such a bad thing, after all.
* * *
On Ingrid’s eighteenth birthday, he finally told her who he was.
After eleven years by her side, he knew her better than he knew himself; he knew she would cry. He knew she would be confused and ask more questions than he could possibly answer.
What he hadn’t expected was her acceptance.
Despite his deception, somehow she’d taken his hand, kissed his cheek, and asked to see the Underworld. For him to show her his world and everything he’d ever known before he’d met her. At first he’d been tempted to comply, but he’d never brought a living mortal down there before, and some fundamental part of himself refused.
Instead, as the tests began and the members of his family began to watch her, he reopened one of the long-dormant manors he’d built for Persephone. It was the least he could do, giving her a place on the surface where she could stay when the Underworld became too much. He wouldn’t make the same mistakes with Ingrid. She would not be Persephone, and no matter what it cost him, she would be happy.
And so, he thought, would he. Their friendship was just that—perhaps to Ingrid it was more, but he still didn’t have it in him to take her as a true wife. He loved her dearly, more than he’d loved anyone since Persephone, but it was a platonic love. And whether or not she accepted it, he could never quite be sure.
“So,” said Ingrid one day as they walked through the gardens of Eden Manor. “If you’re really Hades, and I’m supposed to be the new Persephone, then where are the pomegranate seeds?”
“The…what?” said Henry.
“The pomegranate seeds. You know, how in the myth, Persephone eats a bunch of seeds while she’s in the Underworld, and that’s why she has to stay down there with you.”
Henry stared at Ingrid blankly. “Persephone liked pomegranates, certainly, but I’m afraid the story you’ve heard isn’t what really happened.”
“Well, of course it isn’t,” she said, rolling her eyes. “You didn’t kidnap me, after all.”
He nearly choked. “Kidnap?”
“You really don’t know, do you?” Ingrid took his hands and sat him down on the nearest bench, and in the warm breeze, she told him everything she knew about the Persephone myth. And the more she spoke, the more Henry realized it really was nothing more than a myth that held next to no truth. Was that really what the world thought of him? What Ingrid thought of him?
Once she’d finished, he told her the real story, every last painful moment of it. From agreeing to the arranged marriage to their disastrous wedding night to Persephone’s affairs. Especially with James.
And rather than ask question after question as she usually did, Ingrid remained quiet. He’d never told anyone before, not like this, not as if it was ancient history. A small piece of his burden lifted away with each word he spoke, and once he was finished, he felt strangely empty. Not healed, but as if there was room for more now.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “It’s terrible, what you had to go through.”
“I’m afraid I brought it on myself,” he said with a small, sad smile, and Ingrid furiously shook her head.
“You’re crazy. Of course that isn’t your fault. You were as much a victim as she was, and you didn’t—you didn’t do anything wrong. She’s the one who broke your heart.”
“I am the one who forced her into marriage to begin with.”
“No, her mother forced her into marriage. You
did everything you could to make an awful situation livable for both of you.” She shifted closer to him on the bench, her hand sliding up his arm to settle on his shoulder. “I get why you don’t love me the way I want you to, and I won’t ever pressure you, I promise. But do yourself a favor and at least try to move on, would you? Even if we’re only ever friends, we could be happy. Really, really happy.”
“I would like nothing more,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Persephone is my past, one I cannot ever forget. But you, Ingrid, are my future. And for the first time in an eon, I do not dread it.”
Ingrid leaned toward him, brushing her lips against the corner of his mouth. It was such an intimate gesture that Henry nearly moved back, but he couldn’t. Not when it could mean losing Ingrid. “You better not,” she murmured with a playful smile. “We’re going to be happy together—you know that, right?”
“I do.” Or at least he hoped so.
“Good.” Another grin, and her blue eyes sparkled. “Now, I’m serious about those seeds. There has to be a ceremony to make this all official. That’s the only way you can do it, you know.”
“Is that so?” he said, amused, and he clasped her hand in his. “Very well. For you, I will do it.”
She squealed and threw her arms around his neck. “Can I wear a dress? A really pretty one?”
“The most beautiful dress you can think of,” he promised, kissing her knuckles. “You can have whatever you want.”
Her grin relaxed into a warm smile, and she cupped his cheek. “Hasn’t anyone told you? I already do.”
Her words were a greater salve than any medication in the world, and he gathered her up, holding her in the sunshine. They would be happy together. Perhaps not as happy as he’d once wanted to be with Persephone, but Ingrid was all the things Persephone never was. And Henry knew exactly how lucky he was to have found her.
The weeks passed until finally it was the night of the ceremony. Ingrid had planned every detail, from her dress to the food to where the council would sit. They had obliged her at Henry’s request, though he suspected they would have anyway, considering how pleased they seemed to be at the prospect that he wouldn’t fade. Regardless, everything was falling into place. Only three more tests, and she would finally be one of them.
As the council arrived and settled in the throne room, Henry headed toward Ingrid’s suite. He was on edge, his nerves frayed and his stomach doing flip-flops, but he did his best to appear as calm and composed as he normally did. Even if Ingrid did not make the best of impressions on the council, it didn’t matter what they thought of her. What mattered was that she pass the tests, and so far she was doing marvelously. Everything would be all right.
Knocking on her door, he waited, expecting she was putting the finishing touches on her hair. She wouldn’t be late, after all, not to her own party. But as the seconds ticked by with no answer, he knocked again.
Silence.
“Ingrid?” he called. Had he perhaps missed her on the way to the throne room? No, there was only one direct path, and she had no reason to take another. “Ingrid, I am coming in.”
Opening the door, he didn’t know what he expected. Ingrid curled up in bed, perhaps, struck down by anxiety. Or her with pins in her mouth, putting the finishing touches on her hair.
What he did not expect was to see her crumpled on the floor, lost in the layers of her yellow dress. And bleeding from the head.
He was by her side in an instant, his body numb as he searched her for signs of life. But as soon as he’d spotted her, he’d known: she was gone. His best friend was dead.
A scream unlike any other ripped through the halls of Eden Manor, and it took Henry several moments before he realized it was him. He cradled her body, trying to will life back into it, but the bubbly girl he’d loved was lost.
“Brother?” Diana’s voice whispered toward him, and the air beside him shifted as she appeared. “Oh. Oh. Is she…?”
He nodded, his eyes filled with tears and his throat closed. He clutched her fragile body to his chest, his fingers tangling in her blood-soaked hair. This wasn’t an accident. She was in the middle of the suite, far from anything that could’ve caused so much as a knock on the head, let alone a fatal injury. And her skull was all but crushed.
“Who did this?” Walter’s voice rumbled behind Henry, but he didn’t turn toward him. He couldn’t move.
“I don’t know. Perhaps she fell,” said Diana tightly, but even as she said it, Henry heard the doubt in her voice. Not even she believed it.
As she set her hand on his shoulder, he shrugged it off. This was his fault—if he hadn’t let Diana convince him to do this, if he had just stepped down and faded as he’d wanted, Ingrid would still be alive. She would grow old, she would have children and she would have a full and satisfying life. But because she’d had the misfortune of knowing him, she was nothing more than a lifeless body now.
Calliope knelt beside him, her eyes huge as she clasped her hands between her knees. “Henry?” she whispered, but he couldn’t bear the pity in her voice. They were all there now, the entire council watching him, some horrified and others grimly neutral.
“Leave,” he said thickly. “I will have no more of this.”
He expected a fight, but miraculously they all backed away, disappearing one by one. And once only he and Diana remained, he looked at her, her face swimming through his tears.
“Please go,” he whispered, rocking Ingrid’s body back and forth. Diana touched his cheek, her own eyes red.
“I’m so sorry, Henry. I’ll find another girl—”
“I don’t want another girl.” His voice cracked, and he turned from her, burying his face in Ingrid’s hair. She grew colder by the second.
“Henry, you must—”
“I will not risk another life,” he said, and she took a deep breath, releasing it slowly.
“Very well. Then I will have another daughter.”
“No.”
“I’ve been thinking about it anyway, and if you don’t want to risk another girl’s life—”
“I said no.”
She sniffed. “Those are your choices, Henry. You may either allow me to select another girl, and we will do our utmost to protect her now that we know there is a threat, or I will have another child. It is up to you.”
He shook his head as tears streamed down his cheeks. She didn’t understand. How could she, when her goal was to keep him in this hell of an existence? “I wish to fade.”
“I’m sorry, brother, but you gave us a hundred years,” she said in a gentler voice, placing her hand over his. “We all love you too much to give up.”
He closed his eyes, struggling against the flood of anger and guilt and sadness inside him. “You will not have a child because of me. Any daughter you bring into this world will live the life she wants, and you will not force her to be with me. You owe Persephone that much.”
Diana swallowed, growing still for a fraction of a second. “And you will allow me to choose another girl not only so we can find you a companion, but so we can flush out the killer and bring them to justice. You owe Ingrid that much.”
The knife her words formed burrowed deep within him, becoming as much a part of him as his very essence. And as she stood and walked away, her bare feet silent against the thick carpet, he knew she was right. He owed Ingrid everything—even if it meant losing himself in the process.
* * *
Eleven girls.
That was how many he lost. After Ingrid, it was Charlotte; after her, Maria. And so on and so forth, as each name and face scarred another part of him until there was nothing left inside him but guilt and misery.
Some girls made it only a few days. Others, weeks—and the worst deaths were the ones who made it months, who came so close to the halfway point that he nearly let himself hope. But no matter how well protected they were, no matter what security measures he implemented, they always turned up dead. Some were clearly murder; oth
ers were questionable, with no visible signs of struggle or attack. Diana, Walter and other members of his family were certain they’d cracked under the pressure of the tests, which had never been meant for mortals. Henry wasn’t so sure.
After each girl, he tried to fade. And after each girl, another member of the council convinced him to keep going. Murder after murder, body after body, he selfishly allowed another girl to risk her life for him in hope that perhaps this time, they would discover the killer. Perhaps this time, they would win.
They never did.
“How did it happen this time?”
Henry tensed at the sound of her voice, and he tore his eyes away from the lifeless body on the bed long enough to look at her. Diana stood in the doorway, a beacon of calm in the middle of the storm that was his existence, but even her presence didn’t help rein in his temper.
“Drowned,” said Henry thickly, turning back to the body on the bed. “I found her floating in the river early this morning.”
He didn’t hear her move toward him, but he felt her hand on his shoulder. “And we still don’t know…?”
“No.” His voice was sharper than he’d intended, and he forced himself to soften it. “No witnesses, no footprints, no traces of anything to indicate she didn’t jump in the river because she wanted to.”
“Maybe she did,” said Diana. “Maybe she panicked. Or maybe it was an accident.”
“Or maybe somebody did this to her.” He broke away from her, pacing the length of the room in an attempt to get as far away from the body as possible. He hadn’t known Bethany nearly as long as he’d known Ingrid, but the pain still slithered through his body, choking the life out of him. “Eleven girls in eighty years. Don’t tell me this was an accident.”
She sighed and brushed her fingertips across the girl’s white cheek. “We were so close with this one, weren’t we?”