Page 61 of This Divine Revelry

We rifle through curses. My emotions surge in waves. Then shut off completely. But mostly, the gods’ curses centre on crafting what is not there. Voices call my name. Hands close about my throat. Figures rise up out of nothing.

But they are all hazy and insubstantial. All a quiet whisper. All readily shaken off.

The stubborn ones linger – but I think of the labyrinth’s door, its smooth, barely discernible crack. And I demand it opens.

The visions shatter.

‘It’s definitely this,’ Hermes says. ‘Mentality or …’

‘Labyrinths.’

Hermes and Dionysus look at me sharply. I don’t know how I know – there could be any reason why that is the image that returns to me. But I know.

‘I grew up above one, raised on the fear of it. If I had some innate magic, the sort of thing that wouldn’t manifest without training or opportunity – it would make sense that it latched on to the thing I knew best.’

It is my childhood, isn’t it? Not just the breathing below the tiles but the winding path beneath. My own steps, spiralling in and out as though somewhere deep within I knew. Like it called to me.

The labyrinth. One long winding road. It is fate. It is inevitability. It is all paths to the centre and all paths out.

‘There’s no truer labyrinth than the mind, I suppose,’ Dionysus allows. He lets go of my hand. My palm is clammy, having gripped his for so long.

I feel the loss suddenly and heavily.

‘Excuse me,’ he says.

He doesn’t look back as he turns and retreats into the darkness of the ship.

‘Crete on the horizon!’ a maenad calls from the edge of the boat. It is difficult to recognize the approaching landmass as my home. Its arches unfamiliar, its rivers and valleys things I have only ever seen on a map.

But even from here, I can see the red towering pillars of the palace of Knossos.

There is no escaping this labyrinth – only the path drawing us to its centre.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

IRUSH PAST EVERYONE AND down into the innards of the ship, hurling myself so quickly I trip on the final stair, catch myself on a hanging sheet and clip my shoulder on the doorframe.

‘We’re nearly at Crete,’ I say, as I burst through.

Dionysus is sitting upon one of the crates, a cup of wine untouched on the table, his head resting on his hand. But he moves now, nodding and forcing a smile. ‘Alright, I’ll take Sterope to Silen and gather my belongings.’

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Oh, just preparing myself for several days of being madly in love with you.’

I shut the door firmly behind me.

‘I’ve allowed you not to talk about this,’ I say. ‘But you don’t get to lash out at me because of it.’

He regards me with tired eyes – and I doubt it was our early morning. ‘I’m jealous. I don’t even know how to look at you right now and I know – I know that’s not fair and it’s entirely my problem but I’m so fucking envious of the power you just displayed that I …’

He reaches for the cup before him and my hand shoots out, stilling his.

‘No,’ I say firmly. ‘Talk to me.’

‘The wine would make that easier.’

‘I don’t care for easier. I know it’s difficult. Do it anyway.’