CHAPTER THIRTY #3
‘You.’ My mother turns on him – radiant ferocity in her eyes.
‘How could you?’ Phaedra cries, and her … her eyes are burning too. She reaches an arm about me to steady me – and I see those walls again, so faint this time, a sort of haze. But they are moving – no, crumbling. Brick by brick.
I look past them to my father and for the first time in my life he looks small.
My throat pulses as the wound bleeds, but let it.
It is proof I survived. Again. Theseus might have stabbed through my flesh but it was my father championing him.
It was he ordering his archers on the docks.
And it was he who decided I was of so little value that Theseus thought he could leave me on that island.
I feel my fury spark, the flames burning.
My mother steps forward – and Father glares her down with the sort of hostility that would halt whole armies in their tracks. But Mother does not cower – she does not even blink. ‘I will not lose another child to you.’
‘Be quiet, woman. You forget who –’
‘No, you forget who. You rule by my blood. By my power. Maybe my sister isn’t the only one with talent – perhaps it’s time to see if I too can turn men to pigs.’
Father’s jaw twitches, his vehemence a silent creeping thing that has his every muscle tensing.
‘Ariadne may visit whenever she wishes,’ Mother says. ‘We’re going to host more banquets. And we’re going to start with one for each and every man offering his hand to Phaedra and then she is going to choose whom to wed. If she wants to wed at all.’
‘That is not your decision.’
‘I am queen.’
‘That is nothing to a king.’
‘Is that so? I think you’ll find the people of Crete believe differently.’
‘They believe,’ he sneers, ‘that you fucked a bull. That you’re a dirty, depraved whore. Try me and you will find that is not the worst rumour I can spread.’
My mother flinches – her resolve, for the first time, wavering.
My father spread that rumour – gods, of course he did – covered his own failure by shattering the only thing she had – all they would have us believe any woman in this world has: her reputation.
Theseus and Minos – they are nothing. Two men in a world filled with dozens just like them.
Men consumed with how the world will see them and how their stories will be told.
But us? Our reputations are not ours – they are things imposed upon us.
What do they matter to the here and now and the people within our grasp?
My mother looks at us, her eyes still bright, her power radiant.
‘It is my emblem on the palace walls. My family’s sun that crests each morning.
’ The guards inch a little closer to her.
Taking up a position on either side. ‘You can lie to the people, if you wish. But do not take their pretending to believe it as proof of your own genius. And don’t think they wouldn’t care just as equally for the truth.
You believe brutality is a strength and affection is a weakness – but shall we see which they follow: the ruler who terrorizes them or the one who cares? ’
One of the guards’ hands falls to his sword, as though he would take up arms in an instant – and my father catches it.
I think of the revelry in the town and the dancing that swept through these very halls last night, and cannot help but wonder if their loyalty is, in part, to a queen who might make the world a little bit more enjoyable.
‘Very well,’ he agrees, and storms from the room before she can demand anything else.
‘Thank you,’ my mother says to the men behind her. ‘Would you stand guard at the doors?’
The moment they are gone, my mother, sister and I crush into an embrace, you were great and you saved me and thank you thank you thank you issuing from all around.
‘You’ll come back. You’ll visit,’ my mother insists.
‘I will,’ I promise. ‘I have so many more dances to show you.’
‘And I want your thoughts,’ Phaedra says. ‘On each and every one of those men.’
I nod. I clutch them each close. And I force smiles – trying to ignore the dread curling in my gut.
Dionysus.
Where is he? What happened? My exhaustion is thick, the world sluggish and impenetrable. I thought the dizziness the shock of it all – being thrown to the ground, the air crushed from my throat. But it is only getting worse – and as I say my goodbyes, it is harder and harder to ignore.
The labyrinths. They’re what drained me.
I think of Dionysus collapsing on the boat after the fire and, gods, I need to find him.
With final hugs for my mother and sister, I set about locating Dionysus – my only comfort is knowing that if my father had done something to him then he would surely have bragged about it.
‘Ariadne!’ a voice calls as I emerge from the palace.
I turn to find the man from Cabarnis.
‘You’re leaving,’ he says. ‘You shouldn’t be doing that alone.’
‘I’m fine.’
He arches a brow. ‘You’re bleeding. Right now.’
I bring my fingers to my throat, where the pinprick clots.
‘Every guard in the palace is rounding up Athenians. You wouldn’t want one of Theseus’s men or perhaps King Theseus himself to find you and take his vengeance on Cretan royalty out on you.’
Fates, that’s true. If Theseus finds me now …
The man smiles – irritatingly smug – and gestures forward. ‘I’ll escort you to the docks and you can introduce me to your husband. That’s a fair deal, is it not?’
I sigh. ‘Very well.’
I doubt Dionysus will entertain this man much anyway – perhaps give him permission to start that temple and be on his way.
If he’s on the boat at all – because, oh gods, what if he’s not?
I spend most of the journey through the town distracted, worrying at all the possibilities. My eyelids feel too heavy. My limbs clumsy. At the very least I need to find the thiasus, tell them Dionysus is missing – let them find him before I pass out entirely.
‘This way,’ the man says. ‘There’s a shortcut.’
But I pull back – no, there isn’t. Power over labyrinths – and, apparently, never getting lost.
‘It’s this way,’ I say – turning towards the mouth of a different alley.
The man sighs – and then, before I know what is happening, there is a sword at my side, right where Theseus once pressed a blade.
‘This way, Princess,’ he says – gone the self-satisfied grin. He is harsh. Commanding. ‘And please do remember that I asked nicely.’