The Goddess Legacy
Page 101
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“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?
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?
