The Persephone Variant

Chapter 1 - Catalyst

The King of the Evernight wears his exhaustion like a heavy crown. Though obviously burdensome, it looks good on him.

It's hard to imagine anything that wouldn't.

He studies me from across the table of glossy black stone, eyes dark-shadowed, the hard angles of his jaw shaded by stubble. His hair—swept back and out of his face—has a bluish sheen in the light.

"Signed, sealed, and sent" I say, voice unnaturally breathy as I set the stylus down beside my tablet. Looking up from his reflection on the table's surface, I meet his eyes for the first time since we were introduced about an hour ago.

"Excellent," Hecate, Left Hand of the King, declares happily, clapping her hands together. "I think that's everything, then." She beams around at all of us, standing as she gathers up her own tablet and other particulars. I can't decide if her smile is endearing or frightening—only that it makes me think of a razor-eel. Just a little too wide, flashing fangs any predator would envy.

King Aidoneus, however, doesn't budge.

"Your Majesty?"

"I'd like a moment alone to speak with Kore before we take our leave, if she doesn't object."

I clear my throat. "Not at all," I say, managing to sound almost normal—but the words still come out an octave higher than usual.

My older sister looks sideways at me, but I don't spare her a glance. I can't look away from the man across the table.

My husband-to-be.

Assuming I die within the next few weeks, of course.

When our respective entourages have left the room—save our Guardians—Aidoneus fixes his eyes on mine. His cat-like pupils narrow and widen as he refocuses, striking against the pale silver of his irises.

He's even more imposing with no one else in the room, silhouetted against the window-wall looking out over all of Gaia, an emissary of shadow in my world of never-ending brightness.

I wait in polite, expectant silence.

"Kore, I know you're aware of what you're getting into, and I respect your decision. But I wanted to hear it from you in person. Face-to-face. Without anyone else's influence or pressure." He pauses, searching my eyes. "I haven't signed the contract yet myself. If you want to back out now, I can come up with some reason for cancelling the arrangement. That way the blame won't fall to you."

I shake my head. "Your Majesty—"

"Please, call me Aidon."

"Your—Aidon. I..." I pause, take another breath, and force myself to maintain eye-contact. My cheeks flush with heat. "This is what I want."

There's so much more I'd like to say, but it's as though my words are ground to nothing in the weight of his presence.

He stands, rising to his full—and considerable—height, and circles around the table. His cloak flows behind him, revealing the artfully fitted contours of the dark suit he wears beneath it. I get up, turning to face him. My jaw goes slack, but I catch it before I think he can notice, biting my lip to keep my mouth closed.

Cold washes off of him in waves, and at this range it's easier to understand what's so odd about his skin. It's not just the ashen, unusually cool tone of it—but the way the light refracts subtly off its surface, as though its covered in a rime of tiny ice crystals.

"You want to be surrounded by the dead? To leave behind all of that," he gestures outward towards the vibrant sprawl of Gaia—its colored-glass towers and earthen homes, its trees and parks and gardens and stony outcroppings all bathed in the amber-pink sunlight filtered through the dome.

"To be tied to me, forever, in the cold and the dark? Are you sure, Kore?"

He reaches out, offering his hand—and I take it. Its chill spreads through my skin, into my bones. I swallow. His eyes widen—perhaps because I don't flinch or pull away.

"I want to be able to leave here, to see other places. To be free," I tell him. "But I also want to do my part for my house. For Gaia."

I squeeze his palm. "So yes, I'm sure."

He exhales suddenly, his lips twitching upward in the barest of smiles—then he releases my hand and inclines his head.

"Very well," he says, stepping back. "It's best not to keep Hecate waiting too long."

And with that he strides away, waving a hand towards the exit. The door whirs open.

"After you."

Thanking him, I brush past—trying to hide the shiver that runs down my spine.

Glancing over at his Left Hand and the others where they stand chatting with my sister and our people, Aidoneus pauses before turning back to me.

"See you at the wedding," he says.

~*~

"Ouch," I complain, eyeing the red fluid in the syringe as Dr. Lepis presses the plunger, sending its chill snaking into my bloodstream.

The Catalyst.

Whatever strain of the pseudovirus awaits within me, it's free to manifest now. Unless of course, I'm one of the Immune. Doomed to an ordinary human lifespan and an ordinary human life, too fragile to ever leave the safety of the dome.

Then the contract between Aidoneus and I would be null and void, and I'll never so much as set foot within the halls of Styx. My heart constricts at the thought.

"Done," chirps Lepis, pulling the needle free and retracting it into her appendage for later disposal. A few more fluid movements and the tiny wound in my upper arm is covered in a cool gel that solidifies an instant later into a flexible film. "Don't pick at it. Symptoms should manifest anywhere between a day and a week, if they're to manifest at all." Then she turns and whirs off—a blur of glossy black limbs and cyan lights as the door of my room opens to make way for her. Her model's never been one to waste words...something I appreciate about them.

Sitting up off my bed, I pad towards the broad, arch-shaped window at the front of my room, brushing my fingertips softly through the vines, leaves and blossoms of my plants—my treasures, my babies. They transform the broad, simple curves of the chamber into a dripping oasis of life and color.

Night has fallen. Not true night of course, we don't have that on this side of the world. But the dome has darkened, filtering the unrelenting brightness of the sun into a dim violet haze. I take a long breath as my eyes wander over the lights of Gaia, glowing through her many-colored windows and stained-glass structures. Then I step out onto my balcony and into the warm, heavy air—skirting around stocky palms, clusters of succulents and the fountain pool filled with lily pads and rose-gold fish. My Guardian hovers along a few paces behind, a silent silvery specter in the shape of an orb.

Inhaling again, I taste the sky. Let it fill my lungs and my soul with its scents of salt and sweetspice, greenery and growth and decay. Plastic and people. Fruit and street food.

I can't help but wonder which breath might be the last I take as a human. Will it still smell so good here, after I'm reborn? If I am? Or will I long for the clean, cold darkness of the other side?

The evening's rain begins, slow at first—then building. I spread my arms and turn my face up to it, close my eyes as my lips curl into a smile. The water chills my skin.

My blood, my bones.

My eyes snap open as my teeth begin to chatter. In a matter of heartbeats, I'm shivering so hard I can barely control my movements. Then my heart stops, and the ground is rushing up to meet me.