Page 98 of This Divine Revelry

Unless word had spread that I was missing.

And all those people who believed in him – in us – began to doubt him, denting his power enough that performing rites was the only way to harness it once more.

Power he would need if he hoped to rescue me …

When I’m next dragged to that room, Perseus is wearing another fine chiton – a rich ochre interspersed with golden strands. And I realize it’s another projection: look at all the fine clothes I own, the riches I hold, the women I have to weave for me – follow me and you could have it too.

If I remain here, I might end up as one of them.

I feel too weak to lift my head to meet him. I don’t even feel hungry any more, but like a hard rock has settled in my gut, taut and cold.

‘You shouldn’t be fighting like this,’ he says – and he sounds almost gentle. ‘Women ought to be looked after, nurtured by those who can guide them. Come on, little demi-thing, answer my questions and I promise you will be cared for. Fed. Watered. Answer enough, prove yourself loyal to me and I might even remove your bonds.’

Oh, how kind.

I let my eyes flutter shut – I let him think he’s winning something.

‘It’s a bay near Apollonas,’ I say. It is not a complete lie – I couldn’t do that. Perseus saw which way our ship sailed about the island. But near is relative, and there were many beaches that we passed between Apollonas and the true bay opposite Donousa.

Perseus unfurls his map. ‘Here?’

‘A little further right – yes, there.’

He looks up, his eyes narrowing. Slowly, he rolls the map up. And then once more he is leaning across to tower over me. ‘For each lie you tell me, Ariadne, I will cut off a finger. When I reach the last, I’ll tear out your treacherous tongue as well.’

Well, this is far more familiar ground. The sort of threat my father made if dinner was late.

‘I’m not lying,’ I say, with the sort of earnestness that years under my father’s roof taught me to fake.

Perseus raps on the door. ‘Get her some food.’

He loosens the bonds at my hands until they fall away entirely. Relieved, I rub at my wrists, feeling sharp pricks where the blood flows back.

He comes to sit opposite me – evidently I’m not trusted to be unsupervised with my hands free. ‘What’s the bay like?’ he asks. ‘This supposed sacred land?’

Ah – he wants to pry for more details. Perhaps he hopes food will loosen my tongue.

‘Beautiful,’ I say – and proceed to give a very detailed account of beaches and trees that might mark it out as anywhere, on any island.

A meal arrives: a small bowl of soup – Zeus-a-mercy, soup – and a hard bread roll. Now, how to go about this subtly … perhaps get him talking in turn?

‘Can you … your …’ I start, as though I am exactly what he wants – a weak, frightened little girl. He waves for me to go on. ‘Did you really slay Medusa?’

His lips press into a thin smile. ‘Of course. A magnificent beast – an island littered with the stone bodies of men who had come before, thinking they had what it took to kill the monster. Boys like Theseus, who thought only of glory and not the hard work it takes to get there – to earn it.’

As he speaks, I pull a chunk of bread from the roll.

‘The gods truly offered their items? They never do that.’

His eyes spark. ‘No, they do not. But they recognized my greatness. From Hades, the helm of darkness so I could approach the monster without its knowledge. From Hermes, a sword and winged sandals to not sound a single step. From Athena, a great shield to only spy the beast’s reflection – and a bag to stow its head. They approached me with the quest – chose me out of every hero because they knew what I always had, growing up in a small fishing village with no knowledge of my immortal father or my mother’s royal lineage, no proof at all of my greatness other than what I felt in my own heart: that I was destined for something so much larger than the nothing I had.’

And somewhere in his tirade, I’ve shovelled a few spoonfuls of thin, watery soup into my mouth and slipped that chunk of bread into my pocket.

‘That sounds so difficult,’ I say. ‘Being raised as though you were a nobody when you obviously had such divine heritage.’

He snorts. ‘It was the sort of place where the weak aren’t coddled. Where you learn quickly to be stronger than your emotions. It made me the man I am – I wouldn’t change a single moment.’

He continues on as I eat the rest. It ought to be delicious after so long without, but my stomach churns like it’s lost its tolerance for such needless things as digestion. Still, I force it down, not knowing when the next meal might come – and what Perseus might ask of me for it.