Listen to the mustn'ts, child. Listen to the don'ts. Asterion had been doing this regularly, ever since his return from the Underworld. He would step into a chapel, a church, a town hall, or any other place where weddings were often performed, and he would pray to her.
His prayer never included threats, nor did they include promises. They were not worship; they were simply him reaching out to the goddess he had seen grow, the goddess he had loved all of her life, whose choices he hadn't always supported but who he had always supported.
Today, he had lit a candle in a small Catholic church in Boston, by far the Blacker of any of the people present in the church as he found a seat and reached out for Hera, directing a steady prayer asking to see her. Maybe today would be the day.