Page 124 of This Divine Revelry

I nod because I understand in a way I can’t quite admit. ‘But you’re not at risk of a true immortal blaze again?’

‘Not unintentionally.’ Dionysus splays his fingers, seemingly concentrating. And I watch as the tips of his nails begin to glow. Even diluted like this, I wince and he lets the radiance fade. ‘It’s quite simple, it turns out. The same magic that allows me to transform.’

‘And how often do you do that? Is this even the real you, or are you determining how you appear to me?’

He smirks, gaze flicking up and down me. ‘This is all natural, darling.’

I laugh, but can’t pretend my pulse doesn’t skitter. ‘Do you ever think about transforming in other ways? If gender is all performance to you?’

‘There’s a lot of variety among us non-conforming folk. Me personally? Gender and my body have very little to do with each other,’ he says. ‘If I wanted to dip in and out of such a thing, I simply would – no need for godly transformations. So I’m not sure I’d alter my body for that reason. But there are others … Different shapes are fun to play with sometimes.’

‘Play with?’ I ask, brows quirking.

He grins, utterly wickedly. ‘Any time you like, my love.’

‘Hmm. One day, perhaps. For now I’ll take the natural version – in whatever gender you’re currently projecting but never really connecting with.’

‘Ahh, the pine-cone theory is finally breaking through.’

He puts his wine down and holds his hand out for me. His eyes flicker with amusement, but something else too. And maybe it’s the outstretched hand, but he seems so very open, like the layers of him have been stripped back, leaving something warm and tender and wonderful.

I let him draw me forward until I am straddling him, the bones of his hips digging into the soft flesh of my thighs.

He takes my hand, folding it over itself, and I feel a stone materialize within it. I do not need to turn it over to know it is another amethyst. His love, crystallized.

‘I never feel more myself than when I’m with you,’ he says, his fingers pressing into my hips, and I lean closer, into him, until our lips finally touch.

He kisses me like he is making note of each precious remaining moment. Like each beat of his life will be counted in the pulses of mine.

‘I love you,’ he breathes against my collar. ‘I love you,’ against my throat. ‘I love you,’ against my lips, as he claims them again.

I answer with caught breaths, with shallow gasps, with curling fingers pulling him nearer and my own kisses in response.

But I catch him looking at me, lingering, and my own squirming need radiates back. There is a question in his gaze, noting that I do not say it in return. I can’t. Not because I don’t feel it – I’m not sure, not entirely, but I can sense the warmth in my chest, the threads lacing us together, the way his gaze buries itself a little deeper than my skin and how every one of those knots he drew tight within me unravels under his touch.

If this isn’t love, it is my undoing, because this heat will surely consume me one way or another.

But it is the last vulnerability, the last part of myself to hand over and I just can’t form the words, not right now. I could maybe manage me too or and I you but not the full shape of I love you, breathed in answer.

I am not, perhaps, fully healed.

But I’m getting there.

I just need a few more sunsets.

CHAPTER FORTY

WE DRAW UP TO THE docks when it is still early – the air crisp and cold and sudden. Tiryns is nestled on a gulf in the mainland. We pass towns and villages, sail past fishermen and merchants and then, the moment we must cross into the waters of Argos, everything falls quiet. The few settlements appear abandoned – though I spot a shutter quickly drawn or a shadow flitting into darkness.

The port is empty – no people, no boats. And I wonder if Perseus burned Naxos not only to weaken Dionysus, but as a declaration of war – to lure him here. To his lands. Where he might stand a better chance.

Dionysus must feel it too, because he comes up behind me as we unload our supplies from the ship.

‘Stay close to me,’ he says. ‘I am prepared for almost anything, but if Perseus attempts to leverage you, then, well, this may all come crumbling down.’

‘Dionysus,’ I say, turning. ‘You can’t –’

‘Too late, I’m afraid. I may be immortal but my heart is not, and as you are the one encasing it, I’d appreciate it if you’d protect it.’