CHAPTER SIXTEEN
DESPITE MY LATE NIGHT, I wake the moment the sun crests.
I always do – Phaedra and my mother too, so the rosy-fingered dawn always makes me think of them.
I never made the connection with Helios before, but I think of what Dionysus said.
Just how much attention has he been paying to me to notice such a thing?
And is this truly a habit from my grandfather?
I always thought Circe and Medea were the only ones with any hint of his legacy, but maybe there are other ways immortal blood runs through.
‘If it is you, Grandfather,’ I say to the melting sky, ‘please know it has been noted you sent a chariot to aid Medea’s escape from Corinth but decidedly did not help me off this island. Your favouritism among your grandchildren is quite clear.’
‘Oh, I don’t know about that.’ I turn to find Silen crossing the beach just below the outcrop I’m perched on.
‘We sailed here from Kalymnos, to the east – quite literally chasing the sun across the horizon.’ Even though Silen doesn’t have goat legs to match their horns like some of the satyrs, they still have no trouble climbing up to me. ‘Maybe Helios sent us.’
‘Did he send you now too?’
‘No, that would be Dionysus informing me of certain developments.’
‘Right, those.’
‘Well, you don’t sound particularly pleased, so I suppose I can cross manipulating him to secure his hand off my list of concerns.’
‘Oh, please do. Anything else on the list?’
‘You being as impulsive as he is? I never thought anyone would be able to match it. How are there two people in this world who would hatch an engagement plot in an evening?’
Well, I cannot particularly argue with that one.
‘Look, Ariadne,’ Silen sighs, and comes to sit on a rock opposite me.
‘I’ve known Dionysus since we were children.
He’s not had the easiest life. Most of it was spent tormented by Hera and it wasn’t always Dionysus bearing the brunt of her punishment.
She’d curse the caregivers, sometimes even kill them.
Hermes would swoop in on his father’s orders and shuttle him to the next.
All rather turbulent and painful. Dionysus says this marriage is partly for your protection, but it’s been the people closest to him who have consistently been hurt. ’
But it’s not me I’m concerned for in that. It’s him – as he said, freewheeling god of revelry and fun, and, the way I’d always suspected, it was to avoid something harrowing.
‘He explained the … particulars of his powers, didn’t he?
’ they ask, and when I nod they add: ‘It’s not that I think he’d choose mortality.
He loves life and, the Fates only know, he’s fought for it.
And it’s not like immortality is all that rare – most satyrs on that beach, myself included, for instance.
But godhood is particular. He sees it as a sort of duty.
He thinks that if he can rebuild the world, he might one day feel worthy of all that power thrumming in his veins. ’
Something in my chest tugs. How did I ever compare him to Theseus? To any of those entitled heroes? Dionysus who sees godhood as a gift to dole out in turn, as a responsibility to those around him?
I could believe in him, I think. Not as a god. Not as a being to worship. But as a person. As Dionysus.
Silen stares off across the ocean. ‘It’s not just Hera.
Most kings rule by fear. Dionysus heading into their lands to replace that terror with joy might gain him popularity with the masses, but it’s also earning him enemies among those with power.
Right now, the only place more dangerous than where Dionysus stands is by his side.
Risks are coming from the Heavens and the lands and Fates only know where else, and you should know all of that before you agree to this. ’
‘You’ve stayed,’ I say. Because even if this is a greater risk in the long term, for now it’s protection from my father and Theseus for long enough for me to persuade them not to hand Phaedra over – and that’s all that matters.
‘My father, Silenus, was his – our – tutor. Taught all the kids in our village – and the human children too. I didn’t know Dionysus was a god for a long time.
But I knew he was kind, and funny, and an outcast who clung mostly to himself.
Which was me too, back then, while I was figuring myself out, just as he was – I think I acknowledged I was some third gender the same week he realized that he didn’t have one at all.
And when you’ve become yourself alongside someone …
Well, I accepted a long time ago that by his side is a risky place to be.
But it’s where I’ll choose to remain for the rest of my life. ’
I nod, softening. It is good to know Dionysus inspires such fealty. I may be confused by the number of his followers, but the loyalty I understand.
‘Thank you for letting me know.’ I look back out towards the horizon, and those waves seem calmer. Everything does. ‘But some things are worth the risk. And I think he’s one of them.’
The girls find me soon after.
‘A wedding!’ Myrto exclaims, grasping my shoulders as though if she shakes me enough, some sense might fall through. ‘I have a day to plan a wedding? One singular day! How could you do this to me?’
I wince. ‘Sorry.’
‘No, no, I’m sorry.’ Opora pushes Myrto aside to throw her arms around my neck. ‘I had no idea I was talking about you last night. I never would have –’
‘I know! It’s fine! I’m sorry for ever lying to you all. I just didn’t want word reaching my father.’
‘Oh Fates.’ Myrto claps her hands over her mouth. ‘No, Ariadne, I’m sorry. I can’t believe I yelled at you for your sudden engagement when this is much more important.’
Calybe’s hand shoots up. ‘To confirm, is there anything I need to be apologizing for?’
We all fall quiet, considering.
‘I lent you my favourite chiton and you stained it,’ Opora finally determines.
‘You gave it to me stained!’
‘I did not!’
‘Sisters,’ Myrto says with an eye-roll. ‘Glad I never had one.’
In my pocket, I run my thumb over the grooves of Phaedra’s aulos.
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘They’re certainly a great deal of trouble.’
Marriage has always been a practicality for me. I imagined fielding proposals like sifting through the very grain the princes would probably offer in exchange. Theseus was a desperate grasp and a hasty deal. This is much the same, isn’t it? Dionysus’s hand for his protection. Mine for his legacy.
But it doesn’t feel the same.
He unsettles me. I trust him but I never know where I stand with him. He’s unpredictable and erratic and motivated first and foremost by his own desire for a good time, which frankly is not a firm enough foundation for me to entertain.
‘What are you doing?’ I ask as I sweep into his tent – and I fear how many times I will ask that over the course of our marriage, with just as aghast a tone.
‘Making a headpiece for our wedding,’ he says, glancing up from the littered craft table. ‘I’m thinking horns to pay homage to both the satyrs of my thiasus and the bull of Crete – the only thing I could think of that we might have in common.’
‘You are not wearing fake horns on our wedding day.’
‘Well, we hardly have the time to secure real ones.’
I pinch the bridge of my nose.
‘We need to talk.’
He sighs and reaches to pour me a drink. ‘We haven’t even exchanged vows yet.’
‘Precisely,’ I say, taking the cup, startled to find it warm. I look down at the nettles curling within. ‘This is tea.’
‘I don’t only drink wine, you know.’
I stare, clutching the warm cup uncertainly.
‘And I originally invented that because it’s safer than most water sources. If you do have access to fresh water, my official advice is to water the wine down. Revelries are fun, I’ll grant you, but it’s about feeling as much as you can and enjoying it, not trying to numb yourself.’
‘Alright,’ I say, taking a sip. I have to remind myself I’ve only ever known these people on Naxos, which they themselves admit is where they come to party. ‘So,’ I start. ‘Marriage.’
‘Yes. A union between two people for the purposes of procreation and political leverage. Traditionally arranged by the parents, but I suppose we’re skipping that and –’
‘Condition number one: political leverage, yes. Procreation certainly not. Sex is off the table.’
‘Frolicking on the floor only, got it.’
I know he’s not being serious – he might perish if he even attempted such a thing – but it’s a considerable effort to squash the urge to throw something at him.
‘I’m not interested.’
‘Are you sure?’ he asks, arching a brow. ‘I’m awfully good at it, you know.’
‘I’m better,’ I counter, meeting his gaze and watching as he swallows, that slow rise and fall in his throat.
This could be fun – seducing him and denying him.
But I break the challenge early – not sure that I like my odds.
Dionysus is irritatingly beautiful and far too aware of it.
I’m half tempted to offer it – that yes, we’ll consummate the marriage, just the once, so we don’t have to wonder what it would be like.
There’s nothing so enticing as a mystery, after all.
But I remember the sting of waking up alone. Of watching that ship sail away and still being able to feel Theseus’s hands on my skin days later.
I don’t want anyone touching me who won’t beg to do it again and again and again.
‘Very well, Ariadne. As surprising as this may be, I prefer my companions pleading for my touch rather than declaring they don’t want it. No sex. But if we want anyone to believe this is real, it would be better if there was a degree of physical affection between us.’
‘I agree.’
I didn’t think this would be an entirely chaste endeavour.
He smiles and it’s thoroughly wicked. ‘So where can I touch you?’
‘That’s dependent on time and place. On Crete? My hand.’
He gasps. ‘In public? How indecent.’
‘We can kiss. You can touch my waist. My arm. My hip.’
‘Could you label them? Maybe wear green where I’m allowed and red where I’m not.’
‘And outside Crete … at your revelries or where it’s appropriate …’ I look right into his eyes and note that they are sparkling with amusement until the moment I say: ‘You can touch me wherever you like.’
Then they flare with a touch of panic, and a flash of desire.
‘And you?’ I ask.
He presses his lips firm. ‘Likewise.’
‘And finally,’ I say, ‘if we’re to do this –’
‘Trying to back out of it already?’
‘You need to take my recommendations for your worship seriously. If I’m tying my life to yours, I’m unfortunately becoming rather invested in your continued survival.’
He places a sardonic hand over his heart. ‘You do care about me.’
‘Yes, I do, actually.’
He stares, brow softening, and it’s difficult to ignore how lovely he is like this, clutching a cup of steaming tea, his curls held back by a golden clasp, framed by the soft lantern light and the technicolour glow of the sheets hung about us.
If I were marrying him in truth, that’s how I would want him: at ease and open, not hiding behind that incessant smirk or curt brows.
‘I don’t think I like that.’
‘Good. If me caring about you prevents you from doing something foolish like falling in love with me, that serves us both. You can keep chasing after those you push away. But I’m close, Dionysus. And after we take those vows, I’ll be even closer.’
His eyes dart across me like he’s looking for some indication I’m lying.
‘I wouldn’t recommend it,’ he says softly. ‘Loving me.’
‘I didn’t say I loved you.’
‘I’m not talking about what you’re saying.’
My jaw clenches. Though I’m not sure why the accusation feels so inescapable.
‘I don’t love you,’ I insist.
‘No,’ he agrees. ‘But you could. You will – I know girls like you, Ariadne. They love broken things.’ I scoff and it seems only to spur him on. ‘You’re not my saviour. You’re not my redemption.’
‘Come tomorrow, my destiny will be entwined with yours. And I will not let you bury me with you. I love me, Dionysus. So I’ll save you too if I must.’