CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
AROUND ME, MAENADS BEGIN WHISPERING – and I can feel Hermes attempting to catch Dionysus’s gaze.
But he clutches me tighter, like he senses the moment the ground slipped beneath me and he would hold me firm instead.
But whatever this is, I want it handled, quickly and quietly, and so I detangle myself from Dionysus’s taut limbs and stride forth, down the gangplank.
‘What do you mean?’ I hiss before I reach Theseus – that smile feels so smug and every bit as pointed as the blade he held to my side on these very docks. ‘You abandoned me. I watched you sail away, I –’
He reaches for my hand and I flinch back so violently my heels hit the wooden plank of the boat.
‘You died,’ he says. ‘I saw it. It must have been a vision – sent by your husband, perhaps, to claim you as his own.’
My heart is thrumming in my throat, and it takes all my resolve to meet his gaze.
Part of me wants to throttle him. But a larger part wants to hide. Within, I am still bleeding, still wounded by his lies and his touch and his betrayal. And now here I am, giving him the opportunity to twist the blade he never bothered to prise out.
‘No, that’s not –’
‘Or Artemis, who wished to offer sanctuary to so pure a maiden.’
His words are pointed – and heavy enough that I hesitate, looking up at him. Wondering if, just for a moment, this is true. That he really thought I’d died.
But then he leans forward and lowers his voice. ‘Come on, Ariadne, this is the story that works best for us both. The real one would ruin you and tarnish me, so why don’t you smile and wave and I’ll explain everything later?’
I feel as though the path ahead has suddenly veered, perhaps caved in altogether, and, in my hesitation, anger flashes across his eyes. ‘You think they’ll believe a lying little slut anyway?’
I wince, which of course he catches – and his eyes spark with a familiar sort of glee. The same that lit them whenever I thought we were growing closer, whenever I shared some part of myself or whenever I showed my affections.
It is delight at winning a game.
Twitching at his hairline distracts me and at first I think there’s an insect caught in the edges of his hair. But then it bursts free and it’s not an insect at all but two curling tips extending from either side of his head.
Olympus above, I’m so glad I married that man.
I bite back my laugh. Instead, I meet Theseus’s gaze and keep my voice just as low. ‘You’re not dictating this story any more. I think it’s time to give voice to my own account – and make no mistake, in that you are unequivocally the villain.’
By the time I’ve finished speaking, the ass’s ears have fully sprung on either side of Theseus’s head and the god who summoned them has reached me, his hand falling to the small of my back.
I turn to him. Mischief sparks in his eyes but it’s a simmering sort of blaze, masking something fiercer beneath. Something that has his jaw tight and his arm firm about my waist. He draws me in so assuredly my breath catches, and suddenly my body is flush against his.
When he kisses me I forget about Theseus and the watching maenads. I forget the ruse altogether, may even forget my own name, anything that isn’t him, because his lips are all-consuming and his touch is like stumbling from the ocean waves and finding myself at last on solid ground.
I break off, gasping for breath, and he smiles.
‘Darling,’ he says, like his lips are not swollen with the taste of me. ‘Aren’t you going to introduce me to the man who abandoned you to your near-certain death on a half-deserted island?’
Theseus’s posture is rigid, his hand darting a little too close to the blade strung at his side, and his narrowed eyes fix on Dionysus’s hand still resting on my hip.
But he forces his ire down, and attempts a jovial nod.
‘Ahh, so you’ve fallen for her lies too,’ he says, reaching a hand out like they might clasp arms. Dionysus pointedly ignores it but Theseus is undeterred.
‘Careful, friend, that beautiful face hides a desperate need for attention and a proclivity towards hysteria.’ His right ear twitches to bat away a fly.
I’m still not sure he notices. ‘You are Dionysus, yes, the one claiming to be a god?’
‘Oh, I think my deific power is quite clear for all to see.’
‘Well, then, we should speak later. I am certainly interested in exploring how Athens might celebrate you. A temple, perhaps? And I can tell you the truth behind the tales you’ve been told.’ Theseus claps Dionysus on the shoulder like some sort of brotherly camaraderie has been earned.
He turns back to me and flashes a quick grin that is nearly all teeth. ‘I’m willing to lie for the sake of your honour – you need only calm down and consider the shame you would otherwise bear.’
Then he turns and walks away.
Hermes comes up beside us and flicks his hand.
Just before Theseus rounds the corner, a tail bursts from the back of his chiton. From his startled screech, he notices this time.
Hermes grins, delighted. ‘I felt it was missing something.’
We leave the thiasus in town readying themselves for another revelry – or, rather, sharing the joyful news of Dionysus and his rites. It is one thing to miss out on such a party. Another to instead be dining with my parents.
If my father doesn’t order my immediate execution, of course.
When we round a corner, the palace walls jut up. We stumble to a halt. On top of each post is a cage, birds clinging to the bars and feasting on the slumped corpses within. They are still decked out in guards’ armour, slivers of skeleton shining beneath the leather plates.
‘That’s barbaric,’ Hermes says – as though the gods themselves have not been known to flay adversaries alive or embed them within flaming wheels.
‘I imagine they’re the guards who were on duty the night I escaped with the Athenians,’ I say, hugging my arms close.
I count the corpses: thirteen of them. Add to that Asterion and the guard Theseus killed, and that is more corspses than there are rescued Athenian tributes – but in my mind the walls of the labyrinth surge around me, insisting on a way forward.
This is not my fault, a small, tiny part of myself insists.
But it’s difficult to believe.
The only relief is that none of those figures wears the robes of my tutor Daedalus. So maybe my father doesn’t know he let us go.
‘Come on,’ I say, because I cannot face it another moment. ‘Theseus isn’t in one of those cages, so my father’s temper has been assuaged for now.’
Neither of them speaks and, past the gates, they are still silent until the moment Hermes trips over the near-hidden hatch that allowed food into the labyrinth.
He curses, his sandals shedding feathers through the slats of the grate into the pit below.
Only one remains clinging on, and it flutters almost half-heartedly.
‘Damn this place,’ he hisses.
‘Hermes,’ Dionysus starts, but his brother looks at him sharply.
‘You feel it, don’t you? The evil here?’
My stomach clenches, and I am looking past him at those cages again. Those bodies rotting within.
Dionysus nods, tersely. ‘It’s hard not to.’
Even the gods feel it? And they’re not looking at the corpses – no, they’re kicking at the ground, skirting the grass … staring past it to the labyrinth. The misery steeped into this palace’s bones – and into mine, of course, born and reared in its embrace.
‘Maybe there’s something else you could do to help,’ I say, lighting on the idea. ‘My father might be less inclined to accept Theseus’s offer if he had some others. We meant to discuss it with him but given Theseus is already here … well, maybe we should have some other proposals in hand.’
Hermes nods, slowly. ‘I can think of a few princes who might be interested.’ But he glances at Dionysus, like he’s waiting for permission.
‘We’ll be fine,’ Dionysus says, flicking his fingers.
‘I probably couldn’t transform the whole palace into dolphins but I’ve got enough power to keep us from getting killed – though if you wanted me to have more, you might tell the tale of our marriage while you’re spreading the word of Phaedra’s eligibility. ’
Hermes beams. ‘A brilliant idea – for you, brother, I shall indeed nobly and selflessly spread gossip. It’s a moral duty. An imperative.’
‘Life or death.’ Dionysus nods.
Hermes fakes a salute then kicks up. That one last feather flutters feebly. Then he groans and says: ‘I’ll get these fixed first.’ And sets off on foot the way we came.
Dionysus reaches for my hand. ‘You and I, then,’ he says. ‘Into its dreaded heart.’
A retinue of soldiers waits for us at the palace.
One steps forward. ‘The king has ordered you be taken to your old quarters. He has invited you to dine with him this evening. He also formally requests that you … um.’ He cuts a glance at one of the other guards who has struggled to keep a straight face and now stands to attention as though his snicker never happened.
‘Rectify your adjustments to the King of Athens before it can be seen as a slight upon his own hospitality.’
Dionysus bows. ‘Of course, I would be honoured to bestow such a gift upon our gracious host.’
Xenia – gifting and hospitality. Laws that ought to bind and keep us safe here – and here is Dionysus reminding them of that.
But it didn’t save me from Hera. And it didn’t save me from Theseus either.
I cling a little closer to Dionysus as the guards usher us through the doors and lead us through the halls, back to my room. Back to the life I ran from.
It smells very strongly of vinegar, as though an attempt has been made to scrub any trace of me from it.
Or perhaps someone was looking for evidence against me – because none of my belongings are precisely where I left them.
Fresh linens have been hastily tucked under the mattress corners, like a servant rushed to do it at the first notice of our approach.