💀 Bejeweling Cobwebs & Skulls
L&W2: Haides prepares the Underworld for his bride (even though her father hasn't actually said "yes" yet)
Previously on 6 LITTLE SEEDS:
The moment Hekate snatched the arrows from Haides’ breast, they disintegrated, and with them, his memory of being pierced. The love-spell was sealed. The rage melted from him and he sighed. A gooey look transformed his features—an expression she thought to never witness upon the Tormentor of Tartaros.
Haides blinked several times. His gaze darted around the chamber. “I—I—”
She patted his cheek. “You have secured the Underworld, my lord. The Titans remain locked up tight. All is well.” She held out his cup. “More blood-nectar?”
“I...no. I think I’ve had more than enough tonight. Is Hermes still here? Hermes! Herm— Oh.” As the Olympian trickster glided out of the shadows on his winged boots to offer a floating bow, the Lord of the Underworld draped a heavy arm on his shoulder and dragged him close, a most un-Haides-like gesture of intimacy. “I need you to deliver another message to Zeus. Right now.”
—Start at the beginning
—Mature Content Warnings for this series
Also. Nobody calls Persephone by her true name. They call her KORE, “the Maiden,” and it’s pronounced like “ko-ray” or “kora” not like “core of the planet.”
HAIDES, LORD OF THE UNDERWORLD, KING OF THE DEAD
🔥💀🔥
“Cankerous sons of Nyx.” That expanse was too broad to tolerate. One hundred chairs sprawled between the King’s dining throne and that of the Queen. Unacceptable. He would have to shout everything he would rather murmur—exactly what he didn’t want during the first supper with his new bride.
And she would be. She had to be.
Zeus will say yes. He’s just being his customary needling-prick self.
Aside from any calamities that might affect the Upper Realms, the King on High always took his sweet time in replying to anything sent from from Underworld, if he bothered to do so. Just one of the many ways the Thunderer brandished his bolt. This waiting dance was nothing unexpected. Haides simply had to remain patient and keep busy, because giving that brat the satisfaction of knowing his tactics had vexed?
Never going to happen.
Besides, so many preparations still needed to be made before Kore’s arrival, so the King of the Dead speared his hand toward the bejeweled throne down at the foot of the table. With a sideways gesture, he transported it to the other end. The first chair, an identical one-in-a-hundred, disappeared from the King’s right hand; the Queen’s throne took its place, along with its place setting.
“Oh, Styx on top of Nyx.” That was worse, for there sat the delicate, pretty seat for his wife, dwarfed by Haides’ monstrosity, a sleek, varnished, high-backed number of inlaid woods, done in a pattern of flames and dark, haunting eyes.
He’d commissioned Kore’s golden marvel of leaves, flowers, and frippery from Hephaistos, Master of Metalwork, specially for this occasion, but now it didn’t even match. Or rather, it blended perfectly with the rest of the chairs, showing how different Haides’ seat was from everyone else’s.
With a loud huff, he raked his curls back from his face.
He supposed he could always have another throne commissioned and pay triple for the rush. Or he could take Kore to a more intimate setting like the informal dining table on the balcony overlooking the orchard. Or there was the formal breakfast room at the top of the south tower, or the informal feasting room just off the kitchen hearth. Any number of sitting and gaming rooms came equipped with tables that were perfectly adequate for dining. Erebos knew, he’d eaten alone or with his paramours at every one of them. So, too, in the fields, orchards, riverbanks, and innumerable caves throughout his realm.
But that was the problem.
In his millennium ruling the Underworld, there was only one place he had never brought a lover to dine, just like there was one place he had never been laid: the formal dining hall and his official bedchamber.
The bedchamber.
He had, after all, never constructed separate quarters for himself and a wife. In truth, when he’d had this palace built, he’d said, “Fuck that,” to allotting official chambers to any queen. He’d been enraged and hurt. Deeply insulted.
Probably why you’ve never made a queen’s dining throne to match your hulking eyesore.
Probably why I’ve also never used that bedchamber.
He hadn’t so much as wanted to look at a plush, languorous bed. What use did it serve? Gods had no need of sleep, and Haides had no need of nightly reverie. Not with ghosts eternally pouring down his staircase and villains forever needing management—both the ones jailed in Tartaros and those who kept them there.
Including yourself in that list, hero?
Always.
As for a bed’s other primary use, Haides had never had a use for that either. A tabletop, an Elysian field, a lava flow, a riverbank, or the very air itself in an exhilarating plummet off a cliff—all these served just as well. Better, in fact, for they didn’t mislead anybody into harboring ideas about queenly thrones on his dais or in his formal feast hall.
Well, after enough centuries of snarling and derisive gestures had flushed the grudge and the outrage from his ichor, he had spied the Bringer of Blossomtime, and that had changed everything. A god’s consecrated Queen deserved special treatment, especially when that Queen was an Olympian goddess, not a nymph or daimon. Now that Kore’s dining throne sat adjacent to his, their disparity was obvious—and garish. Overbearing. Quite rude.
He swatted his hands outward, sending both thrones to the outskirts of the room. After the first chair rejoined its ninety-nine mates, he transported the King’s and Queen’s place settings across the table from one another. That was better, but now the space at the head of the table seemed overt in its emptiness. Would Kore notice? She’d never seen this room the way it had been for nearly a thousand years. Was it simply his eye, unaccustomed to the change?
His arm slapped around his ribs. He braced his other elbow atop it as his chin landed in his palm. A low growl crashed against his clenched knuckles. Nothing looked right, and it needed to be right.
No. It needed to be flawless.
“Infernal fires of the Pyriphlegethon.”
To his surprise, the matched place settings shimmered, then shifted down two spots, coming to rest before the third pair of seats. Haides’ brows rose as all but those two chairs disappeared into the depths of Darkness, along with both thrones. In that glaring empty space at the head of the enchanted table, a giant candelabra appeared, golden to match the chairs, many-armed to hold a variety of corpse-aither globes. With the dishes bathed in a soft glow, the remainder of the table’s length disappeared into shadow.
From the arms of the candelabra, intricate spiderwebs clung, heavy with crystals, water droplets, and gemstones. A garland of asphodel and cyprus boughs encircled its base. Here and there on the table, matching accents appeared amidst the feast that sprawled out around the place settings. More gems and crystals had been scattered across the cloth-of-silver-and-smoke that covered the table.
Haides’ lips compressed behind his knuckles. He blinked once, twice. Then his hand alighted upon the tabletop. He gulped down the lump in his throat so he could whisper, “Thank you.” In response, all the food disappeared except for his evening meal. The Queen’s place setting remained, empty and awaiting his bride’s arrival. That thought sent a rush through his belly and a thrill through his veins. He was too anxious to sit down and eat. “I’ll be back to dine later.”
Although the plentiful meal vanished, a serving of ambrosia remained, glowing and insistent. The cup of nectar shifted toward him.
A sigh huffed through his lips, part annoyance, the rest grateful. He polished off the ambrosia, swigged down the nectar, and thumped the cup down. “Happy?” he shot back, but a smile teased at his lips.
The table whisked itself clean, but for the two empty place settings and the candelabra, now bereft of globes.
His knuckle gave two affectionate raps on the tabletop. Then he marched for the throne room to inspect the preparations taking place. The servants were hard at work, polishing, dusting, decorating. They had been trained long ago not to exchange productivity for protocol whenever he passed, but they did acknowledge him with deferential nods and an increase of intensity in their work.
Droves of orb weavers raced and twirled along the upper moldings, reweaving broken pieces of spiderweb or any designs they deemed unfit for the eyes of an Olympian princess. Beetles came behind, decorating the webs with tiny jewels like those that glimmered on the candelabra’s drape. Others polished skulls and furniture gems with their buzzing wings, while daimons refilled the incense burners, hung garlands, and changed out wall hangings.
The Furies swooped in to make sure that all the corpse-aither globes knew their place. They tortured any of those compacted, damned souls who didn’t get into line quickly enough, driving them into a frenzy of madness for a few moments.
Upon seeing how well the tactic worked, Haides nodded his approval and strode on. It was the same throughout the whole palace, as well as the exterior grounds. More daimons spruced up the gardens, fountains, and orchards. As the Lord of the Underworld passed between the pomegranate trees, the branches bowed at his approach and the fruits showed off their best faces. His hands reached up to traipse amongst the leaves or to caress a particularly tantalizing treat.
He finally chose one, grew his pinky nail into a tiny knife, and sliced it in half. As he bit into its messy sweetness, all he could imagine was the deliciousness of Kore’s lips stained with the juice…watching it run down her chin…licking it off her skin. And oh, the kisses they would finally share!
Juicy pomegranate kisses.
Their intertwined songs certainly hinted at it enough.
Delirious with the visions, he polished off the fruit, then strolled out into the Lands of the Dead in a way he almost never allowed himself. What would she think of all this? The Underworld took some getting used to, that was for certain, but it wasn’t all gloomy and gruesome. There were so many beautiful things he wanted to show her. The towering Crystal Caves and the Cave of Illumination. The Giant’s Swords. The Reflective Lakes. The Maelstrom of Fire and Ice. The Poppy Fields of Sleep and the Asphodel Meadows—of course she would love those.
As he passed among the ghosts awaiting reincarnation in the meadow, they shuffled toward him, drawn to his divine light and the sway he held over the realm. Tonight, their crowding didn’t annoy. He passed among them—sometimes through them—at a leisurely pace, relishing in all the damp and musty scents, and how the cavernous winds teased his hair.
It had taken a long time, but this place had truly become home to him—one he greatly preferred over Mount Olympos. Talk about garish, overbearing rudeness. He hadn’t realized how much the Underworld and its residents had grown on him. Like moss, those shadowy skulkers.
Everywhere he went, his subjects remained hard at work from their own excitement, not because their king had commanded it and came to inspect their progress. He could feel their anticipation, could hear it in the way they spoke about the impending event. They were as keen to make a good a first impression upon Kore as Haides was. Rivers edged their banks, nymphs firmed up spots of erosion and scattered seeds for more flowering reeds, and the earthworms practiced a dance that created fabulous designs in the reeking mud of the Akherousian Mere.
Haides made a soft noise. “How lovely,” he said, which made the worms wriggle in delight. Kore did so love dancing.
From further down the lakeshore, Akheron’s voice carried, dripping his usual hauteur with an extra dose of anxiety. “No, no, no. We must have less woodwind, more ghost choir—don’t give me that surly look. I do not care that you loathe my banks. This is an unprecedented event, never to be repeated, so you will give me every wisp your miserable essences have left.”
Haides rolled his eyes at the river god’s persnicketiness, then strolled up to oversee the orchestra practice, hands clasped behind him, grin mostly squashed.
Usually he rehearsed with them, dueling side-by-side with Akheron on whichever string instrument tickled their fancy on any given night. But for this musical extravaganza, Haides would be busy escorting his new bride into the Underworld, while Akheron conducted the musical score that would accompany the procession from gate to palace.
Along with the usual cadre of music-makers, the river god had corralled the Restless Dead from where they prowled between the Gate of Shades and the lake. They were a shifty, contrary lot, trapped on this side of the Mere for the time that it would take them to dissipate into Oblivion, since they had been buried without the proper rites and payment for a ferry ride. Some took longer than others, for their grasp on life was stronger, but all eventually faded. Until then, they were on perpetual loan to Hekate and Morpheus, whenever anyone in the Mortal Realm required a good haunting, whether through visions or dreams.
Tonight, the malevolent spirits skulked at the edge of the lake, trying to torment the reeds. Since they lacked corporeal hands, all they could do was glare out threats everybody knew they could never enact.
They could, however, send up a chorus of eerie moans and shrieks, once they’d been temporarily plumped with sacrificial blood.
Akheron’s waters spouted up on either side and clapped in midair to gain their attention. When they ignored him, Kerberos edged closer and growled, so they straightened up their lines. “Creatures, please!” the river god snapped. “This is the Princess’s Crossing theme and we’re only getting one shot at this. Don’t forget, we’ve got Olympian royalty here—a daughter of Zeus and our very own king. The whole court might even attend on the far side of the Styx. Now let me hear that hair-raising section as the sweet maiden leaves her entourage and crosses into Eternal Night through the Gate of Shades. Winds first…that’s it. And woodwinds—easy reeds, not too much. Now choir…more. Yes, more—blast it, Kerberos! Enough with the menacing. Pay attention to my cues!”
As the whole affair fell apart again, Haides reduced his chuckle to a silent shake of his chest and shoulders.
Akheron huffed at the panting-leering-sniggering hound. “Kerbi, you come in right after the ghosts, and your three voices do not howl in unison. One, two, three…let me hear it.” When Kerberos lifted each of his three heads to yowl, one after the other, Akheron cut him off with an arcing spurt of water along the bank. “Yes, that’s it, but it needs more discord. All of you—you’re far too harmonious. Do you hear me? I want that pretty princess’ hair standing on end. This is the Great Below, creatures. We have a reputation to uphold.”
“That we do,” Haides said from behind him.
The river god whirled around and splashed into a bow. “My Illustrious Liege! What an honor to be graced with the king’s presence. Any notes, sire?”
Haides waved a hand. “I have the utmost confidence that it will be spectacular once you’ve whipped them into shape.”
“Yes, well, they will wander.”
“That they will. Carry on.” Leaving everyone to bow and whisper in his wake, Haides strode up the bank. He paused to give Kerberos a good scratching and received a thorough licking in return, then he vaporized the slobber and continued on to inspect the beetles polishing the skulls that encrusted the Gate of Shades.
As he pictured the Bringer of Blossomtime stepping through that gate with the ghost choir moaning and Kerberos yowling…the eerie whistles of wind-tunnels and reeds…Styx’s cat-gut bass…Kharon’s flying hair-wisps, his furious flame-eyes, and his dueling femur bones pounding away on the drums…
The Lord of the Underworld swallowed hard, suddenly struck with doubt. He waved down the nearest daimon. “Let’s add some jewels in those eye sockets, shall we?”
The shadowy spirit bowed. “Right away, lord.”
“And perhaps some garlands. And some more crystalized spiderweb. Lots of crystals, and maybe a few nice candles. And asphodels!” Why was his voice so damned loud? He took a sniff of the shore. “Definitely some incense out here.”
“It shall be done, lord.” The daimon bowed again and vanished.
Haides hunched and stalked away from the gate. Dammit, there’s nothing more you can do. It’s the rotting Underworld, not Zeusy’s perfumed palace, so stop being a flighty, nail-gnawing fool. It’ll be fine. The entryway is a bit daunting, but once she truly sees this place…once she truly sees you…
Are you really sure that’s what you want?
His eyes shifted toward the Akherousian Mere, but he refused to look at his reflection. Nothing he could do about his ash-and-bone countenance or his chthonic aura either.
From behind him, a few reeds and wind chimes took up a tune that stopped the King of Shades in his track. He glanced back.
They all swayed, grinning.
Haides couldn’t help a little smile in return, for it was Kore’s song. The one she always sang when she inspired buds into flowering. Such a sweet, lilting melody. “La-la-la…la-la-la-la-la…”
Certain that his cheeks were ablaze, he continued on. The rush of wings had returned to his belly, and they all rose up to race around his ribcage. What would her voice sound like echoing off the canyon walls, dancing among the colossal crystals, mingling with the burble of the rivers? What would it feel like to unite their songs in harmony while face-to-face? To gaze into her eyes? To at long last carry her in loving arms and lay her down where he had never taken another?
He already knew what it would be like. It would be divinely, fatedly, achingly perfect.
But first, there was one more preparation that could only be made by Haides’ own hand.
Up Next: The Bringer of Blossomtime twinkles her dainty toes into THE TEMPLE OF WAR.
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