Page 88 of This Divine Revelry

He holds his palm out, an amethyst shining within. Five more.

That open hand feels like a question I ought to refuse. Like I should make up some reason not to do this because I am so agonizingly scared of getting it wrong again.

But I don’t feel quite so afraid, not while he’s holding me.

‘Slow,’ I agree – and I see that long, meandering thread of time unspooling before us. Time where we might grow past the things we fear. Pragma, that particular sort of love wrought with years and sacrifice and understanding that only time can buy. I take the jewel and twine my fingers with his, revelling in the idea of one day knowing him deeper than I know myself.

A labyrinth rises around us, hazy and insubstantial. The walls float in the air, the ceiling slotting into place above us.

I flinch back, letting go.

‘What is it?’ he asks.

‘I don’t know. I thought I saw …’

I’m interrupted by a sharp knock at the window. The window? I rush to the pane, a sheet of thin, translucent tiles. I pull it aside, and there is Hermes, clinging to the ledge.

‘New shoes,’ he gasps, trying to pull himself up. ‘Still getting the hang of them.’

He only just manages to squeeze through, stumbling to his feet once he does, the feathers on his sandals fluttering half-heartedly.

‘Well, I’ve outdone myself. Messages sent to nearly every polis this side of the Caucasus Mountains all within a mere day. I have replies.’ He holds up scrolls. ‘A few dozen marriage offers in total.’

A few dozen.

‘Will that be enough?’ Dionysus asks.

I consider. At this point, I’m half convinced my father will marry Phaedra to Theseus solely to spite us.

‘Let’s assume it’s not,’ I say. ‘We need to bring it all down. Every last brick.’

There is another knock, at the door this time – which is far more practical.

Dionysus reaches it first.

Zosime takes us all in – her eyes flitting to Hermes’s sandals and clearly understanding who it is she’s looking at. The presence of another god seems to reassure her and she tosses her hair back, lifts her chin and declares: ‘I’m coming with you.’

She steps into the room, letting the door fall shut behind her.

‘So let’s talk about what Theseus is truly planning.’

CHAPTER THIRTY

MY FATHER ORDERED US GONE by daybreak – but he is the only member of my family who does not wake for it. So, moments after the sun crests, I am creeping through the door of my mother’s chambers and I expect another weeping hug but instead she is a storm, raging through her quarters.

‘You are not banished,’ she declares. ‘Absolutely not. I’ll make him see reason – his daughter married to a god is more than any man could ever hope for. He’s just blinded by humiliation. I’ll fix this.’

I check the room – instincts I just can’t shake. A servant could be lurking in any corner, a guard in any doorway, my father’s ears everywhere. ‘We have a plan,’ I start – but I stop when she shakes her head, her eyes fluttering shut.

‘Of course you do,’ she says softly. And then she sighs, crossing to me, and I realize, for the first time, that we are the same height now. Her eyes level with mine. ‘Yesterday, when you took your father’s rage to save me from it … I don’t think I ever quite realized how much you’ve done that in your life. For Phaedra too. And Glaucus. I don’t know when I slipped, when I put so much weight on to you, but I’m so immeasurably sorry.’

I cover her hand with my own. ‘You don’t have anything to apologize for.’

‘Yes, I do. I tried to shield you from it all, to give you the childhood you deserved. But I don’t know that I ever did.’ She pushes my hair back from my face – hair that is so similar to hers, the thick coils, the unruly strands. ‘I’m so proud of you and the woman you’ve become. But I’m sorry you had to become her so early.’

My eyes sting – and I don’t know why, not really. It feels so fundamental a part of who I am that it is almost painful to know it is something my mother regrets, but it is also each look after your sister and every you need to be an example and each unspoken edict too. And it never felt like too much but suddenly it feels so heavy a burden. One I’ve been slowly suffocating beneath.

Her apology lifts it, just a little. Enough to breathe.