Hell Is An Empty Heart (Book One of The Triple Moon's Chronicles)

35 | In The Tomb Of Her Heart

It had been eight mortal days.
Eight days of silence at the palace.
Eight days had passed since Doso arrived.
Four more mortal days to make it one divine day,
After the day, Demeter vanished from Poseidon's hands.
Yet only two days had gone by when Queen Metanira fell asleep.

When her eyes opened again, Metanira woke up in a jolt, her croaky voice whispering to herself, "Dekate."

With this, she left her bed, still in her nightgown, and hurried to her husband. King Celeus was already seated at his throne, legs straight, arms crossed and face tightening, while waiting for an update from his wife.

She threw herself at his feet in a rushed movement of air with a heat that blushed her cheeks. Bitting on her lips, Metanira raised her hands to wrap them around her head. The fear of disappointing her husband again ranged from a light breeze to a hurricane within her, as she didn't know where her twin sons were.

Natural hazards, or tornadoes?

Her arms then folded across her body with the hope he didn't think she had also forgotten her titles and duties. However, when her mouth was about to slit open, the old Doso appeared right next to her with her two children carried in each of her old wrinkly arms.

"There are my two strong sons!" King Celeus suddenly beamed with joy.

Doso drew nearer to the man and placed his newborns on his laps.

Metanira's husband wasn't as different as Zeus was from the tiny eyes of Doso. Their heights were roughly the same, their manners were quite similar too, and their sudden love for their flesh and blood—the continuation of their lineage—and their desire to take care of them became the same.

All the most powerful mortal men were fashioned from the same mould as their ruling gods. They were the men in charge and in control. The men who challenged and fought to humiliate other men, those bred to be chieftain from a large fertile territory of submissive women.

"Metanira, please make all the arrangements for my sons' Dekate. Make their celebrations the largest of all. I want everyone to be there."

This was King Celeus' order to his wife over the cooing of their newborns. They all choked on her disarmament, and Metanira could only nod her head in agreement. While Doso stepped down and tried to eclipse herself but Metanira held her nursemaid's arm back.

"Don't you ever dare do this to me again." This was her whispers in answer to her humiliation—the retaliation on the lesser to her. It was the gratitude of an overwhelmed woman that Doso forgave without hesitation. "I meant it." Metanira reiterated, dragging Doso closer to her narrowing eyes. "If I ever doze off again, please wake me up even if you have to slap me in the face because I want to know everything there is to know about my two sons."

After a bow, Doso retrieved her arms and left the family to themselves. Crouched behind a thick pillar, Doso still peered at the happy family with envy. She saw herself as Queen Metanira and Poseidon as King Celeus and there between them was a newborn Persephone instead of two boys.

Wherever and whoever Demeter was, she couldn't forget her only child.

The memories of her firstborn son's gone-too-soon also lingered in the back of Metanira's head. She recalled the several nursemaids removing her infant from her arms so she could get some rest. Her hands still trembled at it. She had never truly forgiven herself when she left him to be fed by the so-called wet nurse.

Those chosen women based on their moral and physical qualities in relation to their health record, number of deliveries, and gender of their offspring. Most importantly, they were picked for their young age, but none of that rigorous selection had saved her son.