II

CHAPTER TWO

THE WORTHY SUITOR//

Ares arrived with the splendour of a thousand kings.

White horses pulled a sleek chariot of gold engraved with details so finely etched that Persephone had to squint her eyes to see that they depicted a scene of a battle, the curves of fallen bodies and faces filled with anguish gleaming in the light of the setting sun.

She stood by her mother near the entrance to their home, with her hands clasped in front of her in a gesture of false demureness. She could feel her fingernails digging half-moons into her hands when her mother pressed a hand to her back, a reminder, a warning, to act like the perfect maiden they all thought she was.

The door of the chariot flew open and a flash of brown feathers flew out and soared into the air. The falcon circled high above them and let out a piercing caw, the shriek like a fevered prayer, before landing on one of the metal spires that protruded from the chariot's roof.

"She's been dying to stretch her wings." A leather boot stepped out of the chariot, and Ares stood before them, towering above both Persephone and Demeter. "She made such a ruckus on the way here I was tempted to shut her up for good," he continued, patting the hilt of the sword strapped to his hip with a calloused hand.

Persephone felt a shudder pass through her body, and even Demeter's face held a shadow of horror before she bowed her head in greeting.

"Ares," she said, lifting her head. "How nice to see you again. I trust your trip here was pleasant?" Her hand was still pressed to Persephone's back and she could feel her mother's fingers curl into her skin. She hastily bowed her own head, and Demeter's grip loosened infinitesimally.

The god of war gave a dismissive hum. "Yes, yes. It was pleasant enough."

Persephone peeked up from behind her eyelashes. He was staring at her, a leer chipped onto his face, twisted and unnatural as if the sculptor had been using a blunt chisel when carving out his smile. Blunt described Ares well. His face was full of hard planes and crooked lines, nothing smooth and continuous. He looked like a project abandoned by its artists, still in the rough sketch stages.

"Persephone, how lovely to see you again." His lips were still twisted into a grin. She wondered if he knew what "lovely" meant. He looked like he had never encountered any semblance of lovely before in his life, the word coming out harsh and jarring.

Lifting her head, Persephone curved her lips into a crescent smile. "It is quite lovely to see you again as well, Ares." She unfurled her fingers from their position clasped in front of her and sank into a curtsy.

She felt his eyes rake down her figure slowly and back up. "Still as beautiful as ever. Pretty as a flower." He gave a throaty chuckle that sounded more like a growl, amused with his own cleverness. Revulsion rolled in Persephone's stomach. From all the suitors that had visited her, he was the worst so far.

As they turned toward the villa, Ares and Demeter deep in conversation, Persephone gazed at the falcon who was still perched on the spire, regarding them with an eerie silence. It was a beautiful bird, an emblem of Ares' power, and she could see the pride in its luminescent eyes. If Ares could cage his own symbol with such flippant cruelty, Persephone didn't want to find out what dungeon he would lock her away in, if he would slit her throat over and over again until she too would thirst for the rare opportunities to cry out a prayer, the shell of the goddess she once was.

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Persephone prodded at the food on her plate listlessly, listening to her mother and Ares discuss the latest news from Mount Olympus with half-hearted interest. She was growing impatient, tired of the high-pitched laughter her mother emitted after each sentence, and how the dining table shook each time Ares slammed down his fist in animated earnest of his own undoubtedly fascinating stories.

She reached for her cup of wine. Demeter usually didn't let her touch a drop of it, but when guests were over, she was all doting simpers and generous gestures. The heavy scent of spiced wine filled her senses as she took a sip, bitterness coating her tongue. She didn't even like the taste, but she wanted to take every advantage of her mother's desire to maintain their façade.

"Isn't that right, Persephone?" Demeter turned toward her, her eyes wide and piercing. Persephone had stopped following their conversation and could only mutely nod in agreement of whatever her mother said.

Ares took a swig from his goblet. "You've raised her well, Demeter. You see, I never understood why some women insist on being so headstrong. My sister, Athena for example, you try to reason with her about war tactics, she'll cut you through with her sword." He shook his head. "As if she could know more about fighting and battle formation than me, the god of war!" He harrumphed, and Demeter laughed in agreement.

Persephone hoped very much that Athena would indeed run him through with her sword.

"Well, my daughter doesn't care for any of those distasteful things. She's a lady. The goddess of flowers has no need for filling her head with such unpleasant knowledge."

Ares stared at Persephone and she could see the alcohol swirling in his eyes. They glinted in the candlelight, and she wondered if the monsters he slew taught him that look before he spilt their blackened blood with the sword that hung at his side.

"She is very beautiful." His pupils dilated and darkened. The monsters did their job too well. "How many suitors does she have?" He had finally stopped beating around the bush.

Demeter looked delighted. It was the look of a siren before she pulled victims below the icy waters. "Why do you ask, Ares?" She knew full well why he was asking. Her mother wanted to hear the words for herself, savour them like they were ambrosia and nectar, granules of sugar on her lips.

"I want to make sure I'm on top of that list," he answered gruffly. He let out a sigh. "By the gods, she is beautiful," Persephone wanted to roll her eyes. He was so eloquent. Was that the only compliment he knew? At least Apollo had spouted poem after poem dedicated to her beauty and grace. It seemed that war had sucked all the romance out of Ares.

A look of feigned surprised passed Demeter's youthful features. "Oh, I hadn't realised..." she trailed off. "They all brought gifts, you see, to express their interest so I just assumed that you wouldn't⎯ "

Ares snapped his fingers and a nymph rushed over. She handed him a spear and a piece of armour. He held them out proudly. "Here are my gifts to Persephone."

Persephone stared at the gifts, dumbfounded. He had clearly voiced his distaste for women interested in unfeminine things, and now he was offering her weapons? Did he know that he was handling her an invitation to stab him with the same spear that he held out to her?

Maybe it was a good thing woman were kept from weapons. They could wreak havoc with only a shard of glass in their hand.

Demeter's expression had soured. She eyed the offered gifts with distaste, lips curled in barely concealed disgust. "Oh, how...how thoughtful of you."

For once, Persephone could sympathise with her mother. Apollo had given her a golden lyre, strung with the holiest of cowhide, he had assured her. Hermes had gifted her a sleek and elegant caduceus, useless but engraved with beautiful detailing. And Hephaestus had fashioned a necklace out of gold, her mother's personal favourite. Ares' gifts were...lacklustre in comparison.

Persephone reached out to accept the gifts. "Thank you, Ares. What a glorious example of your might." He beamed back at her. "Of course, I would never expect you to use them, you probably don't even know how to hold a spear correctly, but they are a symbol of my power."

So, they were like a branding seared onto her, declaring who she belonged to. Persephone looked at the objects in her hands. The spear was long and thin, the end sharpened into a deadly point. The cuirass weighted heavy in her hand and the armour had been fitted for her figure.

Maybe they would be useful someday. If her mother didn't throw them out the minute Ares walked out the door.

Dinner soon ended, Demeter silent and sullen for the remainder of it. What did she expect? He was the god of war.

Of course, she never intended for Persephone to be married to any of them. She liked flaunting her beautiful daughter around, eager for the hunger in the god's eyes. But only to look at, never to touch.

She supposed that she should be grateful at least a little. She didn't want to be married to any of them, but her mother never gave her a choice. Immortality was a curse if she had to spend it in captivity.

After Ares had stepped into his golden chariot with his falcon in tow and rode away, Demeter turned to Persephone. They were still standing outside, and the sun had been completely swallowed by the horizon. Usually, crickets chirped, and the fields rustled in the dark, but tonight was silent.

"That makes four now, doesn't it?" Satisfaction dripped from her voice, as thick as the syrup that dripped from the honeysuckles. "Too bad none of them will have you, you're mine, dear. Mother's here to protect you forever." With a last pat to her cheek, she left Persephone standing alone in the dark.

Marriage was her only way out of her mother's clutches. But Ares loved war more than he could love any woman. Apollo would burn her if she drew too close to the sun. Hephaestus lived in recluse and ridicule from the other Olympians. Hermes, as the messenger god, travelled everywhere but home. None could offer her love, much less the power and freedom that she deeply hungered for.

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