Page 144 of This Divine Revelry

‘I’m sorry.’

‘What? Why?’ My panic is breathy, barely audible, but Dionysus is shaking his head. Slowly, he stops shuddering. He’s panting heavily and he lifts himself up only to lower his head again, wincing, before summoning strength.

He throws himself forward, on to his knees, and clambers up.

I rise too, a little hesitantly.

The room feels heavy, the air tight and dense. Dionysus looks at me warily.

‘What did you do?’ I demand.

He swallows hard. ‘I might have lied about my bargain with my father.’

‘Dionysus,’ I growl. ‘What did you do?’

‘Why wait for would-be heroes to bleed me of my immortality when I could give it to the person I actually care for.’

My fists curl, nails pressing firm into my newly spun skin. ‘That whole spiel about wanting this and you gave it all up yourself! Tell me you didn’t!’

‘Fates, Ariadne.’ He throws his hands up. ‘Less anger, please. Those burning eyes are probably going to start hurting when the last of my immortality fades.’

‘Take it back!’ I push at him like I might force the fires in my veins back into his, and he grasps my wrists, holding my arms still.

‘Not how it works,’ he says. ‘And too late, I’m afraid. My blood was mixed in the clay before I even set off for the Underworld. I spent days shedding just enough to make it count. Just enough to let me live – mortal – without it.’

He hadn’t used his powers down there. Nothing. He hadn’t even made the jewel, just drawn it from a pouch.

‘Why?’ And I don’t know if I want to scream or cry but my voice breaks all the same.

Dionysus, like always, forces a smile. But I can see worry flickering in his eyes. ‘I lied. Father agreed I could resurrect you. And Hera found me this clay and even asked Hephaestus to help mould you as they supposedly did Pandora, once. But the immortality? All mine, I’m afraid.’ His voice drops. ‘I told you, I can’t lose you again.’

‘You’re going to lose me when you die,’ I hiss, pushing his hands away – though the fact that it is not altogether easy implies this is not over, not yet. He just said, didn’t he? When the last of his immortality fades? So it hasn’t yet. ‘You’ve just reversed our positions. Worsened them, really, given the years of effort to build a following. I didn’t invent wine, you did. Theatre? All yours. And that’s power, isn’t it, Dionysus? You can give me your blood but you can’t give me that.’

‘They believed in you long before immortality took root; now they have even more to idolize. You’ll be better than I ever was.’

‘Not without you!’

I feel the radiance racing through me with every heartbeat. And now I push it out, just as I would the walls of a labyrinth. I let myself glow.

‘Don’t fight me on this, Ariadne. You deserve this – everything we’ve fought for.’

‘I deserve this life. With you, not in your stead.’

I burn brighter – and I see the doubt shimmer on his face before it solidifies.

And then he is glowing too – the remnants of his godhood that he can’t give away, the power he retains even as the immortality fades.

I try to push the power outwards, the heat – and the energy sparks with recognition. The very god it came from. It wants to go back. It is him through and through – reckless energy, volatile and powerful, underscored with the headiness of wine and something downright gleeful.

‘You lied to me because you knew I’d never agree to this!’ I shout, as the energy arcs out of my hands and collides with his chest.

He snatches it up and hurls it back at me. I feel it crest, a surging wave that crashes over me and pulls me under. I surface, sputtering, ready to push it again.

‘You’d have done the same. You did the same when you chose my life over yours.’

He’s not wrong – I’d have done exactly this. Saved him before he could attempt otherwise. I wouldn’t have thought twice. Whatever it took to keep him safe.

But he wouldn’t have let me. And I won’t let him.