Daughter of the Underworld

Daughter of the Underworld Jenn Lynn Adams Copyright © 2023 Jenn Lynn Adams This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review. For permission requests, email the publisher at [email protected] ISBN: 979-8-9869860-1-2 (paperback) ISBN: 979-8-9869860-2-9 (hardcover) First edition, February 2023 Edited by Anna Corbeaux © Cover design: Franziska Stern www.coverdungeonrabbit.com | Instagram: @coverdungeonrabbit www.jennlynnadams.com All rights reserved. To the girls who chose to read over playing in the pool, and the women they've become. Prologue My hands tremble as I pull out each bottle, glancing at the label before returning it to its rightful spot. No, no, no, I mutter as I come across the wrong ingredients. Yes, finally! No, no. Aha! Yes. The basket at my side fills with the pots and potions I’ll need. Most of the ingredients I have here in my small hut. The blood of a host. Candles. Some, I’ll travel to the Land of the Living to obtain. Milk from Helios’s cows. A dram of Dionysus’s most flavorful wine. One, in particular, will require extreme caution in collecting. Water from the Lethe, the river of unmindfulness, which flows through my home, the Underworld. It’ll be days before I’m able to fully prepare for the spell I seek to cast. The most challenging and dangerous incantation—a bloodline possession spell. I glance at the scroll in my hand, the enchantment written out in my scrawly handwriting. Having it on my person, reading it over and over, touching it, eases my fears. Agapití kardiá . . . énas ángelos pou koimátai. Sikotheíte apó ta vathiá sto fos, xýpnioi apó ton vathýtero ýpno. Anadýetai apó to neró pou anavlýzei, eínai sto fos tou matioú! Ela piso! I read the scroll, careful not to let the words pass my lips until the right time. I can’t mess this up. There will be no second chances. This has to work. “Now plain to the eye, now shadowy, now shining in the darkness.” -hymn to Melinoe Melinoe “Again, Princess,” Hermes roars. My fingertips are blackened and my arms are shaking. Despite feeling drained, I squeeze my eyes closed, clench my fists, and contort my face into a grimace as I attempt to channel my magic toward the caged crow before me. “Tha se vasaníso. San stáchti mazí sou! Tíko!” The crow cocks its head and caws, its shiny black beak mocking me. I grind my teeth. A headache begins forming along my temples, the pain sharp and stabbing. Yet again, I have failed. “You have neither tormented, disintegrated, nor liquefied the crow.” Hermes sighs heavily, annoyance tinging his words. I’ve been at this for weeks, still unable to summon my magic for anything more sinister than putting birds to sleep with boredom. My blackened fingers are a stark reminder of my stilted abilities, as though the power within has tried to escape but remains stuck. I watch as Hermes languidly approaches the cage. He flicks the lock and the crow hops out, moving up his arm to his shoulder. “I’m sure Pan is happy not to be violently destroyed, but you must work harder, Princess. Your mother returns from the Land of the Living tomorrow, and your life is bound to change with your coming birthday. Your magic must appear in order for you to succeed at your Underworld duties.” My body stiffens, but I nod tightly, holding back, and carefully control my tone. “Yes, sir,” I say flatly. Hermes holds up a hand filled with birdseed, and as Pan pecks happily, the cracked shells fall to the floor. Moving away, I surrender to the worn leather chair in the corner of Hermes’s hut, my limbs heavy. The fire crackles in the hearth, warming the cottage, while a book sits open on the side table. I pull it to my lap and begin mindlessly flipping the pages. “If only magic were as easy as understanding the laws honoring the dead, Hermes.” I can describe the three parts of a burial ritual, move seamlessly into the Land of the Living to collect offerings to the dead, and recite the “Codes of Justice for the Deceased,” but I am still unable to magically summon the corpses who have been dishonored, my formal duty as heiress to the Underworld. “I think that’s enough for today, Princess.” Hermes flaps his hand dismissively as he takes the book from my lap and begins to tidy the small cottage. I rise from the chair and head toward the door, knowing that my lesson was a complete failure. “Please, Hermes. Please don’t give up on me yet. We can try again tomorrow.” Distracted, he doesn’t meet my pleading eyes. “Princess, you’re almost out of tomorrows." The next morning, I blink sleepily, confusion knitting my brow as my dreams disappear before I can catch them. They’re smoke and mist seeping through my blackened fingertips, refusing to be recalled. Frustration propels me out of bed, the rust-hued dawn peeking through my window. As I inhale and stretch my arms overhead, my mind finally sparks awake, and I remember what day it is. Foggy thoughts suddenly forgotten, a smile stretches wide across my face. Just then, my handmaiden enters the room. “Good morning, Selene,” I crow from the window seat. “Good morning, Mistress,” she replies, indicating I should take my place at the white marble vanity. “Is there a particular reason why you’re so eager to get up this early? Normally you’d be in bed until midday.” Her mouth quirks up at the corners as she winks. We both know I would never sleep past dawn. My rigorous