Page 65 of This Divine Revelry

‘Hermes,’ Dionysus starts, but his brother looks at him sharply.

‘You feel it, don’t you? The evil here?’

My stomach clenches, and I am looking past him at those cages again. Those bodies rotting within.

Dionysus nods, tersely. ‘It’s hard not to.’

Even the gods feel it? And they’re not looking at the corpses – no, they’re kicking at the ground, skirting the grass … staring past it to the labyrinth. The misery steeped into this palace’s bones – and into mine, of course, born and reared in its embrace.

‘Maybe there’s something else you could do to help,’ I say, lighting on the idea. ‘My father might be less inclined to accept Theseus’s offer if he had some others. We meant to discuss it with him but given Theseus is already here … well, maybe we should have some other proposals in hand.’

Hermes nods, slowly. ‘I can think of a few princes who might be interested.’ But he glances at Dionysus, like he’s waiting for permission.

‘We’ll be fine,’ Dionysus says, flicking his fingers. ‘I probably couldn’t transform the whole palace into dolphins but I’ve got enough power to keep us from getting killed – though if you wanted me to have more, you might tell the tale of our marriage while you’re spreading the word of Phaedra’s eligibility.’

Hermes beams. ‘A brilliant idea – for you, brother, I shall indeed nobly and selflessly spread gossip. It’s a moral duty. An imperative.’

‘Life or death.’ Dionysus nods.

Hermes fakes a salute then kicks up. That one last feather flutters feebly. Then he groans and says: ‘I’ll get these fixed first.’ And sets off on foot the way we came.

Dionysus reaches for my hand. ‘You and I, then,’ he says. ‘Into its dreaded heart.’

A retinue of soldiers waits for us at the palace.

One steps forward. ‘The king has ordered you be taken to your old quarters. He has invited you to dine with him this evening. He also formally requests that you … um.’ He cuts a glance at one of the other guards who has struggled to keep a straight face and now stands to attention as though his snicker never happened. ‘Rectify your adjustments to the King of Athens before it can be seen as a slight upon his own hospitality.’

Dionysus bows. ‘Of course, I would be honoured to bestow such a gift upon our gracious host.’

Xenia – gifting and hospitality. Laws that ought to bind and keep us safe here – and here is Dionysus reminding them of that.

But it didn’t save me from Hera. And it didn’t save me from Theseus either.

I cling a little closer to Dionysus as the guards usher us through the doors and lead us through the halls, back to my room. Back to the life I ran from.

It smells very strongly of vinegar, as though an attempt has been made to scrub any trace of me from it. Or perhaps someone was looking for evidence against me – because none of my belongings are precisely where I left them. Fresh linens have been hastily tucked under the mattress corners, like a servant rushed to do it at the first notice of our approach.

Dionysus traces a finger over the murals etched in panels on the wall. He must feel the raised bumps of the paint, the gold curl of the apple Atalanta reaches for. Then he surveys the rest of the room.

I realize I’m holding my breath, watching him react to me. To the world of the girl who I thought I’d lost somewhere between Theseus’s ship and the sands of Naxos, but now, with him sifting through her, I wonder if she might just be buried. If I can get back more of what I lost than just the chitons and jewels I left behind.

‘I can’t believe you ever denied us,’ he says gently. He nods to the paintings swallowing the room. ‘This is you. Chaos and joy and beauty. I’m glad we found you.’

‘We?’ I push.

‘I,’ he amends. ‘I’m glad I found you.’

He looks back to Atalanta, reaching for that golden apple. ‘Did you draw these horns too?’

‘Yes,’ I admit – a defiant reminder of who mattered.

‘Aha! And you mock my crafts.’

‘That’s different.’

He turns back to me, stepping closer, and for a moment I think he’s going to reach for me. To hold me. From the way his hand stills at his side, maybe he thought that might happen too. ‘You, Ariadne, are just as absurd as the rest of us. You just do a far better job of hiding it.’

I can’t deny it. Dionysus has always been the one to prise a strange sort of irritation from me. Left to my own devices, I’m as eccentric and fanciful as he is. Is that how we would be, if I stopped trying to defend myself from the sparks of feeling that jolt me every now and then? Is the annoyance itself just another way to fend him off?