The Goddess Test Boxed Set by Aimee Carter
He would give Diana this chance though, because he loved her, and because she had been through enough already. She deserved this as much as he deserved his own choice, and it was the least he could offer her before he succumbed to oblivion.
Ingrid
For three years, Henry waited.
He knew a girl was coming; Diana was relentless in scouring the world, and it would only be a matter of time before she found someone for him. And while he waited, he dreamed of who she might be. Young, old, funny, stoic, happy or as miserable as he was—anything was a possibility, but whenever he tried to picture her face, he only saw Persephone’s.
Was it even ethical to ask a mortal to be his queen? To put her through the test and demand she give up half of eternity if she passed? And what would happen if she failed? Diana had sworn he didn’t need to worry about any of it, but of course he did. If he was going to be the reason this girl, this woman, left everything she knew behind, then he had no choice but to give her a happy ending one way or the other.
At last Diana came to him early one evening, while a few souls still lingered from the latest batch James had led in. It’d taken him three days to get through them—two days longer than it had only a millennium ago, and he couldn’t bear to think of how many souls were out there waiting for him to get to them. There was no hurry, of course, but he was miserably behind. And they deserved their eternities.
“Brother,” she murmured, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “You look well.”
That was a lie and they both knew it, but he allowed her that much as he kissed her in return. “As do you. I assume you bring news?”
“I do.” She stepped back enough to look him straight in the eye, a mischievous smile dancing on her lips. “I found her.”
For a long moment, Henry was quiet. He’d known this was coming, of course, but to hear her say it—to acknowledge the fact that there was a girl out there who Diana thought would be a match for him…
“Who is she?” said Henry at last, and Diana squeezed his hand.
“Her name is Ingrid, and she’s beautiful. She has an easygoing temperament, she’s loving, cheerful, and Theo is certain she’s the one.”
Theo, Apollo, who had access to the oracles of the world. If Theo thought she was the one, then not even the Fates could argue. “Very well,” said Henry. “Will you be bringing her down here?”
“You will be meeting her up on the surface,” said Diana. “At an orphanage in New York City.”
His eyebrows shot up. “An orphanage? Is she a patron?”
“No, she’s a resident,” said Diana with the patience of a mother explaining something quite simple to her son. “And she has no idea you’re coming.”
A resident, which meant she was an orphan—a child. His sister was setting him up with a child. “How old is she, exactly?”
“She turned seven last week.”
“Seven?”
“Naturally I am not suggesting you begin courtship immediately,” she said. “Until she’s of age, at the very least. But I thought perhaps if she grew up knowing you, if somehow you were able to work your way into her life—”
“As what, an uncle? A father figure? Perhaps that sort of relationship is acceptable within our family, but for a mortal child—”
“Would you allow me to finish before you interrupt?” said Diana with a huff, and Henry scowled, falling silent. “Thank you. Now, James will cover you down here. And don’t give me that look—he’s the only one who knows the Underworld well enough to do so. Besides, he needs the practice, in case we fail.” But from her tone, it was obvious she didn’t think they would. “In the meantime, I thought perhaps it would benefit you best to integrate yourself into the orphanage, as well. As a child.”
He narrowed his eyes. She wanted him to start a relationship with a lie. He should’ve expected nothing less, but the thought of manipulating a child into loving him, only to snatch her away from the surface when she was old enough to marry…perhaps that was something Walter would have done, but Henry liked to think he was better than that. “And what is the harm in waiting until she is older?”
“By then, she may have found a reason to turn you down,” said Diana. “And rather than take that chance, it wouldn’t be such a terrible thing to befriend her, would it?”
“I would rather not,” he said flatly.
“You promised you would try, and that’s all I’m asking of you. I’m not suggesting anything salacious or immoral. I’m merely suggesting you give her a chance as a friend,” said Diana. “I’m a mother myself, if you care to recall, and I would never condone you taking an interest in a child. But I also know you would never do such a thing, and I realize there is a distinct possibility that even if I do find you a queen, she may be nothing more than a friend to you. I am willing to take that chance. A queen and a simple confidante is better than no one at all.”
He sighed. “And you swear that if she and I do not get on as friends, you will not pressure either of us any further?”
“I swear.” She squeezed his hand. “Now come. Let’s go meet her.”
The trip up to the surface was nothing special, but as they appeared in the streets of New York City, panic began to spread through Henry, numbing his entire body. The streets were crowded with the bustle of men and women going about their day, avoiding the horse-drawn carriages passing them by at alarming speeds. And—Henry blinked—horseless carriages that seemed to move of their own accord. Despite his wonder, he couldn’t stop and enjoy it, not today. Swallowing his nerves, he took the form of a boy not much older than Ingrid, and Diana held his hand as a mother would.
The orphanage wasn’t far, and soon enough they entered the narrow building. Squished between two other dwellings, the only natural light came from small windows in the back and front. The rest was lit with a type of lamp Henry had never seen before.
“Ah, Diana,” said a woman’s voice from the floor above them. Henry craned his neck as a matronly woman who reminded him of his sister Sofia descended the stairs. “Is this the boy?”
His sister nodded. “His name’s Henry. He won’t tell me anything more than that.”
“Oh, my dear.” The woman knelt in front of him, and Henry eyed her, shuffling his feet in an attempt to adjust to his new body. He’d changed forms before, of course, but never with this level of deception in mind. “You look half-starved, you poor thing. I’m Matilda. Why don’t we get some warm bread in you before you join the other children?”
As she touched his shoulder to guide him up the stairs, Diana let go of his hand, and Henry scowled. Is this your plan? Leave me here as one of them?
I don’t see you suggesting anything better. He could hear the smugness in her tone, and he sighed.
How will I know which one she is?
Oh, you’ll know. If you have any questions, dear brother, you know where to find me. And before you immediately reject her, do yourself a favor and give her a chance. You never know what might happen.
Henry may not have had access to an oracle as Theo did, but he was relatively sure this was little more than a stab in the dark. To say a little girl would be compatible with him was madness, and though he understood his sister’s desperation, this was taking it too far.
He would leave—he’d be doing her a favor, really, allowing her the chance to live her life as she should have, without the heartache an eternity with him would bring. He had promised Diana he would try, but to what end? To t
Matilda led him into a room with two neat rows of a dozen beds pushed close together. “Here are the others your age,” she said. “Why don’t you join in while I find you something hot to eat?”
Henry didn’t reply. Instead he scanned the other children, searching for a girl who might be called Ingrid. A few of them stopped playing to stare at him, both boys and girls, but there didn’t seem to be anything extraordinary about them. And Diana would choose someone special, of that Henry was certain.
But they all looked ordinary. Clean, well cared for, certainly, but no one stood out. They played in three groups, each having claimed a third of the room, and none of them asked him to join them. Not that he needed their permission, of course. It was ludicrous to think that he, Lord of the Underworld, could be bested by a roomful of seven- to ten-year-olds, but here he was.
“You’re Henry, aren’t you?” A high, almost musical voice sounded from the doorway, and he turned. A girl with two blond braids stood behind him, holding a bowl of something that smelled like broth. And though he’d been looking for her, the shock of seeing her for the first time made the blood drain from his face.
This was Ingrid. He knew it as well as he knew himself, and though she didn’t appear to be anything but ordinary, everything about her called to him. The kindness in her blue eyes, the bashfulness in her cheeks, the way her small size made him want to protect her against every bad thing that had led her to this place. In her he saw something—something wiser and deeper than the others, something he couldn’t explain. But it was there. That much he was sure of.
“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?
Once she’d finished, he told her the real story, every last painful moment of it. From agreeing to the arranged marriage to their disastrous wedding night to Persephone’s affairs. Especially with James.
And rather than ask question after question as she usually did, Ingrid remained quiet. He’d never told anyone before, not lik
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “It’s terrible, what you had to go through.”
“I’m afraid I brought it on myself,” he said with a small, sad smile, and Ingrid furiously shook her head.
“You’re crazy. Of course that isn’t your fault. You were as much a victim as she was, and you didn’t—you didn’t do anything wrong. She’s the one who broke your heart.”
“I am the one who forced her into marriage to begin with.”
“No, her mother forced her into marriage. You did everything you could to make an awful situation livable for both of you.” She shifted closer to him on the bench, her hand sliding up his arm to settle on his shoulder. “I get why you don’t love me the way I want you to, and I won’t ever pressure you, I promise. But do yourself a favor and at least try to move on, would you? Even if we’re only ever friends, we could be happy. Really, really happy.”
“I would like nothing more,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Persephone is my past, one I cannot ever forget. But you, Ingrid, are my future. And for the first time in an eon, I do not dread it.”
Ingrid leaned toward him, brushing her lips against the corner of his mouth. It was such an intimate gesture that Henry nearly moved back, but he couldn’t. Not when it could mean losing Ingrid. “You better not,” she murmured with a playful smile. “We’re going to be happy together—you know that, right?”
“I do.” Or at least he hoped so.