Page 116 of This Divine Revelry

Dionysus swallows. ‘Ah, yes, that sounds –’

‘Oh, don’t worry,’ she says, waving a hand. ‘I have quite enough to be getting on with. I’ll keep it in your name. But my city has been less … well, itself lately. Athens is supposed to be a hub of culture and intellect; instead it’s being run by a boy king more concerned with his reputation than his populace. Abandoning his people as war calls at the walls? Ridiculous. Theatre could be exactly what the city needs. It might be a hard push to get female performers but I might convince them to let women attend the festival. I like this, the set-up you have. More of that, I think. The city Dionysia – there, that has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?’

Dionysus lifts his cup of wine. ‘You should bring this to them too. Lower those inhibitions and you’d be surprised how intelligent they become.’

Athena glowers and I have to resist the urge to jab him in the stomach – she is bringing his rites to Athens and he’s still incapable of taking it seriously.

‘I call it a symposium,’ he adds, smiling in the face of her irritation and, evidently, that’s convincing because she nods, still a little doubtful.

‘I’ll consider it.’

Without another word, she turns into an owl and flies away. No snapped fingers or clouds of smoke, no theatrics at all other than the feathered plume of her helmet shifting to soft down.

‘Are you feeling quite alright?’ Dionysus asks. ‘She spoke at length of Theseus and you didn’t have a single question.’

‘Oh, I have plenty. But Athena herself spreading your worship to Athens, even while it’s ruled by Theseus? And offering some freedom for its women too? That’s not something to interrupt. Some things are more important than Theseus.’

Dionysus smirks. ‘Well, I never thought I’d hear you say that.’

‘Besides, I’m going to find out more about all that and you’re going to charm the other gods.’

‘Ah.’ His smile falls. ‘That’s more expected. But … can we not do both, Ariadne? I want the gods to know us just as much as they know me. I am the god Dionysus, and I married the mortal Ariadne. Those are the facts of us. Of me. I don’t care to hide them.’

‘You’re not hiding them,’ I say, swallowing past something sticking in my throat. ‘You’re just being strategic. Get them on your side this time around, get power and protection for us both and we can introduce them to us at the next occasion.’

Dionysus’s gaze doesn’t soften. ‘Fine. But know that I want you there – this is at your insistence.’

He doesn’t turn, doesn’t walk away. He stands, resolute, waiting for me to leave if that is what I mean to do. Perhaps he suspects I do not want to – of course I do not want to!

But I care too much about him not to, so I spin on my heel and leave him there.

I find Hermes instead, and he throws his arm around my shoulders. The wine on his breath is palpable even before he speaks.

‘It was a brilliant show!’ he shouts, as though I might not hear him otherwise. ‘I liked the crane. I may have to try one myself if I cannot get those damn sandals to work. And excellent work yourself – now switch shoes with me.’

‘Now?’

‘Yes, now!’ he says – and is not to be deterred, apparently, so I draw him behind a tree and hold his winged sandals up. ‘You want these, they’re going to cost you. I want information.’

His eyes flicker. ‘A mission. Glorious. Tell me more.’

‘Athena said something about Theseus abandoning Athens. So is he stuck on Crete? Or has he escaped elsewhere? I need to know what happened.’

Hermes snatches his sandals, ties them hurriedly and straightens up. ‘Challenge accepted.’

He turns and immediately trips over the feathers trailing from his shoes.

With that achieved, I set about obtaining a cup of wine myself. I catch sight of Dionysus speaking to a goddess, her hair swept severely back and each article of clothing pinned firmly in place. I don’t know who she is until I see the pin of her peplos is shaped like a cornucopia. Demeter – goddess of the harvest. She oversees natural order – so I wonder if she sees Dionysus’s frenzy as an affront. Or perhaps, as goddess of fertility, they’re trading grapevine-harvesting tips.

I’m so distracted watching them that I don’t see the goddess who isn’t supposed to be here. Or, rather, the one we didn’t think would come.

She appears before me, as imposing as she was when she raked her nails across my face.

‘Well, you seem remarkably cognizant,’ Hera says – those arrow-sharp features pinched into a sneer. ‘Your cousin’s work, I assume.’

‘I …’

I don’t want to lead Medea to this woman’s wrath but I also don’t want to reveal the extent of my powers in case she finds a way around them.