Page 106 of This Divine Revelry

This is not only my cousin but the woman at the centre of half the stories my mother told me as a child. This is the hope I clung to, manifest.

‘I think I might be able to wield some sort of power,’ I admit. ‘But I don’t know how to practise it or summon it or control it.’

‘The women of our family are often capable of great magic. The sun becomes energy and energy becomes … potential.’

She stands and holds a hand out expectantly – and I do not stop to contemplate what blood might stain it, because then she might pause to wonder about the rumours circulating about me too. So I take it.

I feel something skirt along my skin, some ghostly touch that freezes me in place. Her magic is cold and precise, probing like Myrto testing for broken bones. Medicinal.

‘Oh yes, I can feel something here.’ She shuts her eyes. ‘Like a path, a maze.’

‘A labyrinth,’ I say dejectedly. I had been hoping that power might have been an entry into something more useful rather than its entirety.

‘That’s it,’ she says, nodding. Her eyes open. ‘I can’t help you.’

She lets me go.

‘What? Why?’

‘Magic is emotion; it is feeling.’ Her voice is low, heavy. Like a part of her is sinking with every word. ‘Anger is all I know to channel. But my life is ruled by vengeance and yours is not.’

‘That’s not true! All I want is revenge. It’s the thing that drove me here and –’

I break off as she shakes her head and smooths down the folds of her chiton. ‘Perhaps once. Not any more. Your rage is fading. I could teach you my ways. Have you come into your powers snarling your demands for retribution. But I won’t.’ Her fingers fist in the fabric. ‘Everything has been taken from me, Ariadne. My fury is the only thing keeping me warm, but you – you have other suns blazing within. Discover what makes you burn. That is the key to your magic.’

The pain lacing her words is so intense I take a step back, almost … almost a little afraid.

But she is here. And if she will not teach me to wield my powers, there is still one thing I must ask of her.

‘Very well,’ I say. ‘But I’m not the one who needs your help.’

On a beach a little way from the docks, the thiasus are already setting up their camp. Sheets flutter along the length of the sand. Zosime’s sharp, curt laugh cuts above the chatter so I begin following it before hearing Myrto’s soft, melodic tones answering back. Which is definitely not something I want to interrupt – and evidently they aren’t the only ones, because Calybe sits a few tents over.

‘Hermes set Dionysus up over there,’ she says. ‘Do not go that way. Opora and Silen have our tent and even for the cult of Dionysus the noises coming out of there are … Well, the sex I can at least mock her for. The fevered declarations of love, however, are stomach-churning.’

‘I can quite imagine,’ Medea mutters, the corners of her lips turning down.

I spot Dionysus’s usual cylindrical shelter in the centre – the bright green and orange sheets sprung like flowers in a meadow.

Inside, Dionysus is arranging his craft table – his hair in wet ringlets that suggest he’s attempted to shock himself again. He greets Medea politely and pours out wine for us all and though he’s mostly alright – one of his better moments – he still has that quick, frantic pace to him as he relays the tale of our escapades in Crete. There are the halted sentences. And there are the times he breaks off to look at something none of the rest of us can see.

Medea draws me aside, and I make some excuse to speak with her outside.

‘It’s not the curse of a god,’ she says. ‘So I can’t lift it.’

I’d been so afraid she would say that. But hearing it … it’s not quite the fearful plummet I had expected. Alright, so Dionysus will remain ill. We can cope. I am far more interested in halting his suffering than curing the illness itself. The hallucinations would not be so awful if they did not strike such fear within him.

‘Is there anything you can do?’

She shrugs. ‘There are potions I could brew. Concoctions. Things to help him sleep better. Something to bring the chemicals firing in his mind into better equilibrium. He’d need them daily and the ingredients are difficult to source, though with Hermes on your side I’m sure we could manage it. But I’m not sure we need to – not when we have you.’

‘Me?’

‘You’re in a unique position,’ she says. ‘Him suffering like this, and you having powers that pair so suitably. I suspect this is what you can do: help others find the way out of their own labyrinths. Be the string to guide them.’

‘But how? I don’t want to get this wrong, he’s too …’

She places her hand over mine. ‘You won’t get this wrong. You’re not a healer, Ariadne. This isn’t a cure. It’s a way forward. It’s the next step.’