Thanatos brings me a just-awakening sapling of a lemon tree.

   "Here," he says, "I think you dropped this."

   "Very funny."

   He never lets me forget the time I tripped on my way to the throne, when he helped me up and handed me my crown. It's an old joke now.

   He grins, pleased with himself, and the stark planes of his face burst into light. He's a handsome fellow. His muscled shoulders shine almost as brightly as his breastplate, and the legs under his short tunic are strong, like those of a warrior back from months on the march. That's not why the calves behind those bronze greaves are so shapely, though. After all, he flies everywhere. Wings like an eagle's fold gracefully behind him.

   "Do you like it?" he asks.

   "I love it. It's lucky for me you get to travel between the worlds. And that you're so thoughtful."

   Thanatos. His name means death. Mortals know all about him, how he frees the soul birds to fly from their earthly bodies and introduces them to Hermes, their guide to Charon's boat. But do they know what a handsome man he is, or how eager to be helpful?

   Come to think of it, they probably wish he were a little less helpful.

   He gazes approvingly at my garden, now densely carpeted with thyme and chamomile. The fountain burbles in the center, spilling water onto mossy rocks, and reeds sprout from a small pool.

   "Isn't it time you took a rest, Persephone? You're always working out here in the garden."

   "This isn't work. This is my idea of fun."

   "All right. Just so you don't go collapsing from exhaustion," he says. "Wouldn't want to have to pick you up."

   "Ha-ha."

   He grins and turns, raising a hand in farewell.

   "And Thanatos—thank you."

   "It's entirely my pleasure."

   His easy stride swallows up the path to the castle. He's probably on his way to give Hades another report about conditions on Earth. Apparently it's a very dry season and harvests are so scanty, people don't have enough to eat. There's more sickness, even starvation. When I first came, I was in the throne room once a week, dressed in an elaborate chiton with the jeweled crown perched on my head. Now it's twice as often, and so many shades are coming, they pack the room from wall to wall.

   The weird thing is that Hades doesn't seem tired by the extra work, or cross to be called away from his horses. He actually seems invigorated by the hordes of new arrivals. I try to follow his lead, but there's a part of me that keeps getting stuck. Maybe it's because I know what it's like to leave something behind forever. Every time I look out over the throne room, I think, each one of these shades misses someone, and is missed in return.

   I hope the dry season ends soon.

   I look at my rosemary bush; it's already waist-high. When I first got here, it never occurred to me that the underworld could be greener than Earth. But my garden is thriving. Everything I plant seems to sprout and spread the instant I put it in new soil.

   I worried for a while that I was being selfish, making this as a refuge for myself, some kind of greedy pleasure. But then I realized the garden isn't just for me. It helps everyone in the underworld. I've put a bench in a private little spot near lavender bushes. Shades come wandering over and sit, resting. I can see the pleasure on their faces and how relaxation softens their shoulders. They find peace in my garden, without having to lose themselves in the Lethe. It's good for them.

   And it's good for me, too. You see, people only realize I'm a queen when I'm wearing my royal regalia, as if they're honoring the trappings themselves: Hail to the golden bracelets! Bow before the purple chiton! That's why everyone is so stiff and formal in the throne room. But out here I work quietly in my plainest clothes and people ignore me, talking with each other and saying what's on their minds. I'm finding out a lot about mortals this way.

   Like yesterday. I was weeding on the far side of the lavender bushes when an old man pulled a younger man down beside him on the bench.

   "Sit," he said, "and tell me what brought you here before your time."

   The younger man mumbled something, and the old one shouted, "Speak up! I could have sworn you said something about birds."

   "You heard me right!" shouted the young man. I could have been halfway to the palace and still heard him. "Birds!"

   He then related the strangest tale. He'd saved a little grain, he said, and decided to sow it even though the soil was bone dry. But no sooner did he toss out a handful of seeds then crows swooped in and started pecking. Flocks of songbirds fluttered down to join them. Dark clouds appeared on the horizon, and he thought, Rain! But no, it was clouds of seabirds swarming inland. Soon the soil was seething with birds, their claws digging up the dirt, their beaks remorselessly plucking out every last seed.

   And birds kept coming. They landed on the plow, and the shed, and then finally all over the young man himself, digging their claws into his flesh. He tried to run; wings blinded him and he tripped, striking his head on the plow.

   "That's the wildest story I ever heard!" shouted the old man. "What a way to die! Sounds like you could use a good game of dice to distract you!"

   Grasping the young man's arm, he hoisted himself, and they headed downhill toward the green grass, where a lively game was in the works.

   So you see? I wouldn't know any of this if it weren't for my garden. Or if I told everyone who I am. The more I hear people's voices, the better I understand them.

   I have to wonder about that young man. He must have done something outrageous to anger the gods or why would they punish him in such a bizarre way? All right, not just the gods in general. My mother—because those birds made sure he'd have no harvest. And she always said mortals are like children, needing us to show them right from wrong. I wonder what he did.

   The whole thing is making me uncomfortable somehow. I cross my arms, warding off the sensation. It's probably just that I'm thinking about it from down here, and it's a new perspective, so everything looks different. That's all. Like lying on your back and staring at the sky, dizzy with the feeling of falling into the clouds.

   I shrug my hands back down and set about planting the sapling. Earth is in other gods' hands. I live here now.