CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
IWANT NOTHING MORE THAN to run up and hurl myself at him.
Instead I clap my hands over my ears, screw my eyes shut and summon everything I have discovered about my power and easing myself into reality. Show me the way out of this. Lead me to the entrance, the exit, past the things that haunt me.
‘Ariadne,’ Dionysus says again, closer now. And then his hands are prising mine away from my head, refusing to allow me to block him out. He entwines our fingers, draws me close and, in surrender, I open my eyes.
If this is a conjuring of the Underworld, then very well.
But if he is something of theirs – some remnant of paradise come to guide me there or some luring temptation of Tartarus reaching out to claw me back – then why are his eyes so heavy, his cloak tattered, his hair scraped back and bound, frizzing at the edges.
I reach a shaking hand out to that face, feeling the warmth of his skin, the slight stubble at his jaw, the escaped strands of hair.
‘Tell me you’re real,’ I beg. I’m not even sure I would believe it, but I need to hear it.
He scowls.
‘I came all this way to yell at you for making me kill you – not to defend my own existence when you’re the one who’s translucent.’
I drop my hand. ‘I didn’t make you kill me!’
‘So you didn’t drag me round to face you while I unleashed my true immortal form?’
‘I … Yes, but only so you weren’t looking at the head of a gorgon. You’d just said monsters could kill gods.’
‘The ceiling was an option. The floor. You could have just told me to shut my eyes. A variety of options that weren’t killing my wife!’
‘You were in danger! My only thought was to save you.’
He snatches my hand back and pulls me closer, his other hand at my jaw, tilting me to face him when he says: ‘You do not save me by putting yourself in the firing line. Forget gorgon heads – that is the swiftest way to destroy me.’
He is sudden and intent, his gaze darting across me as though daring me to argue, to refute his suffering. But I catch on the freckles specking his cheeks – each precise dot, each distinctive mark.
Even my own mind could not so perfectly replicate those.
‘You’re real,’ I breathe.
‘I’m real,’ he confirms.
I launch myself at him – flinging my arms about his neck, drawing him close, pressing my mouth to his so firmly he chuckles against me before kissing back. His lips are firm, solid, gloriously real and when his breath hits my lungs it feels like the first I have taken since my last, dying exhale.
When I draw back, he’s smiling so unabashedly my stomach flips.
‘I love you,’ I blurt. His brows lift, and perhaps it’s not the sentiment he’s surprised by but the way I declared it – suddenly and loudly, like it could no longer be contained. ‘I do,’ I say, quieter. ‘I love you. I can’t believe I died without saying it. I love you.’
He looks at me a moment, his eyes shining, bright, and I cannot imagine a world where I never saw him again and those words died with me.
He encircles my waist and buries his face in the crook of my neck, inhaling deeply like he needs to know I’m real too.
‘No need to say it all at once,’ he says. ‘I plan on having a very long eternity to hear it over and over.’
‘An eternity?’
Has he found some way to visit me here? More than just this once? Would I want that? He is so vibrant, so alive, that I want him to live in each glorious minute – not to trek to the depths of the Underworld to be with me as I fade.
He grins, a little crookedly. ‘What are your thoughts, my love, on breaking out of the Underworld?’
My eyes widen. I might have considered looking for an exit but that was me sneaking out. This? A god tearing down into the Underworld to liberate a soul? That breaks the laws of their courts. It would be making enemies of the rulers of the Underworld, perhaps even fostering war with them.
I grip his hand tight. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Believe it or not, Ariadne, I did not actually come all this way just to yell at you for making me kill you.’
‘I didn’t make you kill me,’ I grumble. ‘But yes, let’s go – I’m not quite sure I fancy another dip in the Phlegethon, though.’
His jaw tightens. ‘You did what? I swear, when we reach the other side of this, I’m binding you to my tent where you can stop throwing yourself into pain and danger and misery.
Maybe not my tent, actually. Perhaps a craft table.
I’ll have you gluing pine cones to sticks for the rest of eternity until you learn what fun is. ’
‘Oh yes, that sounds delightful. Look, I’m thankful for the coin but I gave it to Icarus so I had to find another way through.’
‘Coin? What coin? Oh, those bastards.’ He glowers at the sky.
‘I was very much not giving you burial rites – I figured you’d be easier to liberate from near the exit.
One of the thiasus must have snuck past while I was searching for an entrance to this realm.
Not that it matters, I should have known I’d find you torturing Theseus –’
‘I wasn’t torturing him,’ I protest. ‘I was giving him a fresh start and a magical lesson in self-improvement. Besides, I noticed Perseus wasn’t in the Underworld, so what exactly did you do to him?’
‘Of course he’s not here! I couldn’t send him here, where you are.
Which was very irksome because I’d have loved to kill him.
Instead I had to settle for putting him somewhere he’d never bother us again, a place he could stew in the regret of what he’s done, where no one would ever think to look for him and –’
‘He’s a dolphin, isn’t he?’
‘Yes, he’s a dolphin.’
I tip my head forward until it rests against his, both of us laughing until I worry I’ll never catch my breath again. My chest feels as though it might burst. Is this how the gods feel? When their radiance shines through? So elated they cannot contain it?
‘I don’t actually know the way back out,’ he admits. ‘This place is a little disorienting. But I was hoping you might be able to help with that?’
No, I go to say. Because I have tried for an exit – but something sparks now where it didn’t before.
This way. Along the river.
I am confused until I glance down, and spy wings flapping at Dionysus’s feet. An escape now viable.
I groan. ‘You know, if they fail us again, we’ll go plummeting straight back into the Phlegethon.’
He grabs my hand. ‘You’ve done it before so I can just use you as a raft. Come on, let’s go break a few dozen laws.’
We make it perhaps a mile on, past the Phlegethon, back towards the Acheron, where asphodel flowers spill from across the banks, when out of their dark mass shadows rise and solidify.
A figure steps forward, still wreathed in shadow. He is tall, broad-shouldered, his cloaks finely crafted and so dark they melt into the shadows. Fear spikes with blistering cold and I step back, like it might protect me from the sceptre he lifts: gold, tipped with a sharp-beaked bird.
And, of course, the crown – twisting shadows of its own, smelted into being.
Hades. King of the Underworld.
His gaze catches on Dionysus – and then his displeasure shifts to rage.
‘An Olympian trespassing in the Underworld? I had no idea you so readily courted war.’