Page 84 of This Divine Revelry

‘Come now, at least I’m honest about it. He needs temples. The priests of those temples will carry great weight. I could set one up at Delos itself, an island so blessed that mortal births and deaths are banished from its shores. So I’m here to find out more. I’m here to worship, little gods-touched girl. Just so long as I can take a shred of that renown for myself.’

My lip curls and I turn to walk away – I should have known. Dionysus must have faced this before – men claiming to follow him for their own agendas, wielding his name for their own power …

The man catches my arm. ‘Wait. Tell me of his symbols, his islands, his rites. Help me in this and I could ensure a shrine to his wife in that temple.’

I grit my teeth – but should I even be fighting this? A temple would indeed help his renown – even if I’m not exactly thrilled at the proposed head priest.

‘Pine cones,’ I say quickly – Dionysus and I can discuss the prospect later. ‘He loves pine cones. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to speak to my sister.’

My mother is still dancing. But Phaedra never left her seat. Her head is bowed, her finger running along the edge of her barbitos, and she looks for all the world like she has no idea a party rages around her.

‘I think I owe you this,’ I say, offering up her aulos.

She takes the small reed almost hesitantly, and her gaze flits to the playing musicians with the closest thing to want that I’ve seen on her face in a long time. She pushes the reed into her pocket and faces ahead once more, like what she sees is not the party but her own sprawling future.

‘No dowry,’ she says.

‘For Theseus,’ I correct. ‘Not for other suitors. There are other kings, Phaedra. If you want an escape and a crown, there are other ways of getting it.’

In the corner of my eye, I see Theseus make his way over to Dionysus. He speaks to him, that tilted-smirk dashed across his face, and every word seems pointed.

I wonder what animal Dionysus will tease him with this time.

‘It’s not my decision,’ Phaedra says, watching Father seethe to his advisors. ‘You know that. It doesn’t really matter what I want; I’m not the one you need to convince in any of this.’

‘No. But you’re the one I care about. So I’d really love you not to hate me for it.’

‘I don’t hate you,’ she says – as though surprised at the suggestion. ‘I’m glad you got out. I’m glad it worked and you escaped and you were safe. It’s just … so tremendously lucky. No odds were in your favour. I’m so angry at you for risking it – for threatening us all like that and … And I think, selfishly, I’m scared you took up all the luck the world had to offer in surviving it.’

She slips the aulos back out and turns it over, again and again.

‘What do you want?’ I ask. ‘What is it you’d hoped marrying Theseus would bring you?’

The aulos stills. ‘I don’t know. I can’t even conceive of it … Happiness, peace? I want to be somewhere I can think. I want to live like every second isn’t spent inching along a precipice.’ She groans, and looks around the room. ‘I should go – an unwed maiden shouldn’t be seen at a thing like this, even if it did spring up around her.’

‘Alright,’ I say quickly. ‘But can we talk more about this tomorrow?’

‘I … Maybe,’ she says – and slips away, flitting between revellers and out the door. In her hands, she palms her aulos, and I wonder if she might be using the cover of the party to play it.

There is sudden movement, startled shrieks, a crowd stepping back and …

Theseus, staggering, raising his hand to his cheek – and Dionysus, his fist curled, his knuckles red. I’m not sure what I’m seeing at first, the sight so incongruous with the usual manifestations of his ire – donkey’s ears and braying laughs. Blood. And golden ichor … the fist and the way Theseus is stumbling back …

The music halts and there’s no time for either of them to move before guards are hauling them apart. I can almost feel it, a wrenching crack in the air as the sacred rules of hospitality binding us break. Without it, those whispers that haunted my childhood rush in, mingling with the shocked attendees. And my father is on his feet, masking his own delight with fury.

‘You see what comes of these revels?’ he snarls. ‘We have all seen for ourselves the degeneracy that haunts our streets in the wake of this man’s worship.’ He jabs a finger at Dionysus. ‘He may be a god, but he is a forsaken one in Crete.’

Dionysus looks not at him but at me, regret drawn across his every feature. He flexes his hand like he can’t believe what just happened.

‘You are no longer a guest in this house,’ my father says – and there it is, the lack of xenia. The lack of protection. ‘I want you gone at first light.’ Now his gaze cuts to me too. ‘As far as I am concerned, my daughter died on that island.’

I didn’t think he still had the power to hurt me – physically, yes, but not like this. It feels like as much of a blow as Theseus just took.

I rush from the room – following Theseus who vanishes around the corner, likely off to milk some sympathy from Zosime and have her rebuild his tender ego.

‘Ariadne!’

Dionysus’s voice isn’t loud, but it carries down the hall, an echoing plea.