Page 23 of This Divine Revelry

That’s fine, that’s good. I tried trading my beauty to Theseus and it didn’t exactly work out for me.

Besides, all I need from him is a boat away from here.

I detangle myself from the curtains and he hums in consideration. ‘If I have a guest, I’d rather we didn’t put them up in the storage huts. For one thing, apparently they replace my wine with water, which is a sacrilegious offence in these parts.’

I startle. ‘I’m sorry, I …’

I realize he’s joking and then burst into nervous laughter. Oh, delightful. My handful of weeks alone have taken my ability to interact with other humans.

‘If you’re done wrestling the curtains, allow me to invite you back to camp with me. My companions will have likely finished setting it up and I assure you it’s far nicer than here.’ He nudges a cobweb aside and something in me bristles – like he’s insulting my home of the last few weeks. Ridiculous, of course, but I’m so thrown by another person in a space I’d considered wholly my own. ‘They’ll be cooking a feast, and you can tell me who you are and how you ended up in my linen closet.’

‘I broke the handle.’

He scowls – then realizes I’m joking and exhales in amusement. ‘Grab some sheets, would you? We’ll need them if we have another joining us, and I only came to fetch the wine. The maenads will be delighted – they love it when I come bearing surprises.’

‘Maenads?’

‘In legend, my followers.’

I just about manage to cover my scoff. But then he adds: ‘I travel with a group of rather brilliant individuals who call themselves the thiasus. The maenads are the women. Consider me the figurehead and them the revolution.’

Great – another would-be hero with his worshipping flock.

‘What’s your name?’ I ask as I follow him into the clearing.

Out here – without the framing of all that light behind him – he is marginally less imposing. He’s slighter. I notice those copper curls tumble a good way down his back and he’s thoroughly adorned with jewellery – a gold bangle coiled about a slender but well-sculpted bicep, rings stacked on his fingers, and around his neck sits a band of hammered gold arched to a gentle point that settles just between his collarbones.

It’s all … softer, I suppose. And after Theseus’s blunt attempts at being the hero, prince and man his crew would wish to follow, it’s a welcome relief.

He spins, arms wide, before ducking into a sweeping bow.

‘Dionysus, god of wine and revelry, at your service.’

God?

I stumble, nearly dropping the linen bundle I’d been carrying.

Fantastic – just when I thought I might possibly be headed towards safety, I run into a fool claiming to be a god. I half expect lightning to strike between us to punish his insolence.

His grin – it really is so broad, turning delight into fervour – falls. ‘And of course you haven’t heard of me. No, no, don’t worry. We’re working on the publicity. It’s rather difficult to break through as a new deity these days; the market is saturated.’

I can only blink. I swear I’m normally more articulate – but after weeks of bloodshed, treason, betrayal and a desperate fight for survival, this man feels like a whirlwind. Each word has me dizzier still.

I ignored a good many instincts with Theseus but this one shines bright: Dionysus is trouble incarnate.

He narrows his eyes at me. ‘You’re not a goddess, are you? This isn’t one of those tricks where you pretend to be a woman in distress to see if I offer hospitality, then – poof! – you’re giving me the ears of an ass?’

He steps closer, waving his fingers in my face to indicate, presumably, magic.

‘I am not a woman in distress,’ I snap, pushing his hands away. I am a woman in, at worst, mild discomfort. ‘And I don’t need to give you the ears of an ass when you already –’

What am I doing? Insulting my host? He hasn’t even done anything wrong!

Just … just reminded me of Theseus.

I swallow – hopefully getting my pride down in the process. He is not Theseus. Clearly he is not. They might be similarly entitled but Theseus was a charming, silver-tongued manipulator and Dionysus is erratic, decidedly unsubtle and irksome.

But evidently I’ve become wound so tight that vague annoyance is enough of a strike to start a blaze.