EPILOGUE
ON THE DAY WE FINALLY escape Olympus, Dionysus presents me with a thread.
‘Not quite the diadem you last gifted me,’ I say, reaching to ensure the tiara is firmly positioned on my head because I’ll be furious if it falls off mid-chariot ride.
‘It’s so we can always find our way back to one another,’ he says, tying a length of it around his wrist. ‘No matter the labyrinth.’
My heart tugs. He breaks the thread and holds the other length out for me. I give him my hand, feeling his thumb glide over the pulse in my wrist as he ties the knot.
‘I love you,’ I say.
‘Who knew it was so easy.’
‘This has been decidedly not easy.’
Finished, he squeezes my hand before he lets go.
As he does, those labyrinthine walls rise, translucent but gaining shape.
‘Are you alright?’ I ask.
He shrugs. ‘A few hallucinations but not a full break from reality. I suspect this might always be something for me to manage. But I am – managing, that is. Talking is helping. Those potions are helping. I’m helping.
It doesn’t scare me like it once did. And I know it will never be as it once was – running across oceans, alone. ’
‘No,’ I agree, drawing him closer. ‘You’ll never be alone again.’
His lips are soft, the kiss as much exhalation as promise.
I can still taste him as he readies us for the journey. He checks Sterope’s reins, ensures our bags are secure – and I climb into the chariot that will race us to the thiasus. A revelry! Fates, I can’t wait.
We soar through the icy air – sun-drenched days and sweat-soaked revelries a distant memory.
But it makes the night crisp and clear. I want to dance around the bonfire, huddle close with my friends, warm the wine over the flames and sip it long into the night.
As we near, I see rows of torches burning on a beach. Enough to see the outline – though it takes me a moment to recognize it still.
‘Naxos,’ I say.
‘Naxos,’ Dionysus agrees – an impish smile on his face that does not bode well.
‘I am not above throwing you out of this chariot if I don’t like whatever it is you’re planning.’
He presses his lips thin. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’
But he lands perfectly among those trailing lanterns and I realize that is precisely what this is. A trail. A path to follow. And where I’d been expecting screaming maenads to surround us the moment our chariot appeared, they all seem to be waiting, quite calmly, up ahead.
I squint. Yes – Charis is right there in the centre, not running up to me for our gleeful reunion, which will surely come later.
Myrto and Zosime are beside her, Calybe is chatting with a handful of other maenads and I feel an ache in my gut that Opora is not there too.
But she’ll be reunited with them some day; it is only the immortals who –
Hermes is right beside Silen in the front row.
Because they’re in rows. Next to him is Leto – the mother of Apollo and Artemis – and beside her Semele, the two having bonded over the shared trauma of having children with Zeus and then facing Hera’s wrath.
There are more gods too – the friends Dionysus has made and then –
I startle at the familiar golden curls and grey-streaked knots. My sister. My mother. Perhaps even – it is difficult to tell from behind – Medea beside them.
I turn to Dionysus, expecting my own confusion to be mirrored. Instead he’s holding out a veil.
‘I think traditionally you’re supposed to wear this.’
I take it, laughing.
‘You do know we’re already married.’
‘Yes, I recall,’ he says wryly. ‘But that was a different body. It was also a ruse. And, perhaps most importantly, I remember someone tearing our stars from the sky and I’d quite like the opportunity to replace them.’
I reach up a hand for my diadem. ‘I don’t get to keep this one either?’
‘Sorry. I’ll make another. Perhaps I’ll even throw in some pine cones this time.’
‘No, but do feel free to cast all of those into the sky.’
‘So …’ he begins, and I take the veil from him. ‘Are you willing to do this all again?’
I secure the veil to my hair but can’t bring myself to draw it over my face – to dim even one moment of this.
‘Perhaps not all of it,’ I say, reaching a hand out to graze down his face, savouring every aspect of the touch: the ridges of his cheekbones, the hollows beneath, the edge of his jaw and the way he tilts his head, leaning into me like each caress is a thing to savour.
‘But I am certainly willing to do this part as many times as you’d like. ’
His eyes spark. ‘Oh, you may regret that, my love.’
I pull him closer. ‘As may you. Think how many times I can marry you in all of eternity.’
‘It’s certainly on my mind,’ he says, curling an arm about my waist and closing that final breath between us.
There is a moment – before we collide – when I see his gaze drop to my lips, and he is utterly disbelieving, like kissing me is the miracle in all we have survived.
When our lips touch, he is fervent and desirous and utterly jubilant.
And when we part, it feels as though the rest of our lives might be measured in the time between each touch – as though it is the only thing worth counting.
‘Aren’t we supposed to get married first?’ I ask.
He shrugs, pulling me in again. ‘We’re already married.’
We kiss for only a moment before there are euphoric cheers from the crowd, and a few entertained heckles – I think Charis even whistles.
And, never one to disappoint a crowd, Dionysus laughs and holds his arm out for me to take. ‘Alright, let’s walk down the aisle before we have a riot on our hands.’
‘Oh no,’ I say. ‘I didn’t walk down the aisle, you’ll recall. I danced.’
His eyes glint. ‘Of course you did.’
He takes my hands instead, slotting them together like this shore was made for us to dance upon it, each wave an exultation, each dip an arcing beat. It’s not quite to my usual standards – a step out of time, a touch clumsy.
But that’s alright. We have an eternity to improve.
We’ll dance on thousands of beaches. A little ridiculous sometimes and perhaps a bit too raucous. But it is what makes the sunsets worth chasing: the pursuit of this happiness, each smile, however fleeting, knowing that a new sun will break over the horizon.
And that we will find joy again.