Page 85 of The Hymn to Dionysus

I strayed closer, not quite sure what I was hearing, but I was definitely hearing right.

“And then it’s back on the camels with the gold dust and they ride hell for leather for home over the desert, all these giant ants galloping after them, and if your camel isn’t quick as Artemis herself—” He leaned down and snatched up a tiny little boy, who squeaked joyfully. “Eaten!”

Little voices laughed and exclaimed: they were all children. Who belonged, of course—finally my bashed-about brain clicked around to what was going on—to people who hadn’t yet come back from the stadium, or who wouldn’t, or to slaves who were working past the usual hour to try and get the Palace back into some kind of order. I kept to the back, worried I was going to scare them, and waited for him to see me. He put the little boy factually in the fountain, which made the boy laugh like I’d never seen a human being laugh before. Children clung to him and asked for details as he made his way across, and he made up answers that made them laugh and tumble away to play.

The ghost of my little boy laughed through my memory, chasing a foal in the sea.

“I’ve your armour,” Dionysus said. “I couldn’t find anyone to give it to.”

“Thanks. Listen. You and I need to have a talk, so . . .” I stopped, though, because he looked terrible. He was holding one arm close his ribs—his wrist was sprained or broken—and as he reached me, I saw the bruise just under his hairline; there had been a fight, or something. Once he was within arm’s reach, something in him shut off, like he’d managed to last just long enough to reach me, and he collapsed. I caught him before his head could hit the ground. His hair pooled on the flagstones.

“Excuse me,” I said to a passing slave who looked like she might work for the stables. “How possible is it to borrow a carriage?”

She smiled. “Borrow? You’re Phaidros Heliades, right?”

“Yes?” I said, waiting for a new bargain to do with my hair or something worse.

“The Queen assigned one to you. I’ll have the horses brought around. Do you need some help?”

“No.” He was lighter than he looked, and all at once, I didn’t want anyone else near him. “If you can show me the way.”

The driver went slowly. Despite the chaos that had overtaken the streets a few hours ago, the ways were clear now, hundreds of slaves still out with wheelbarrows and brooms. I kept Dionysus propped in my lap, one arm across his chest to keep him steady. I’d never been in a carriage before, never mind one that purported to be my own, and it was strange to see the world gliding by so smoothly outside—and to travel so easily, without feeling tired or hot. I was glad not to be in the sun. More glad that Dionysus wasn’t. I’d thought I was angry with him, but I couldn’t reach it any more.

He wasn’t out cold. He was awake enough to know where we were. How he’d stayed upright and telling stories to children all that time was beyond me. The bruise on his temple should have knocked him out. No doubt it would have, if the person who hit him hadn’t had to reach so far upward.

“What happened to you?” I asked after a while; after we were leaving behind the busier streets, and pulling onto the road that led up the mountain.

“Just some knights.” He was looking at the floor. I waited to see if he was going to spin me some mad story, but he didn’t, and he didn’t offer any more explanation.

“Why would you let anyone do this to you?” I said, not sure if I was angry or dismayed. “People don’t see you when you don’t want them to, why the fuck would you . . .”

“Witching doesn’t work so well in a riot,” was all he said. I was sure it was a lie, but it wasn’t enough of a lie to highlight where the truth might be.

I let my head hang for a second, almost touching his. I’d worked myself up for a fight, but I couldn’t do it. “Can you tell me what I need to do about your wrist?” I asked instead.

“I can do something at home.”

“Like fuck you can, tell me what to do or I’ll guess and then you’ll be fucking sorry.”

He might have smiled a little bit. “It just needs a splint.”

I squeezed his good hand, worried that he still wasn’t looking at me. I felt his breath judder. “Is there any magic for pain that will work on you?”

He shook his head. We sat quietly for a while. Outside, the city fell gradually away, until there were more trees than buildings, clacking with prayer tags. I watched the woods thicken, and I thought that maybe, lurching from shadow to shadow much too fast for a human, there was a thing with horns following us.

The driver tapped on the roof. “Sir? Is it this gate, or the next one?”

We were outside my house, under the lemon tree. “It’s this one. Thank you.” I pushed the door open. “Come on, you’re staying with me,” I said to Dionysus.

“No, I can—”

“Shut,” I said, “up. Can you walk?”

He nodded and eased down after me. The carriage driver said the carriage and the horses were mine now, he could stable them here, he was happy to stay, but I sent him home, not wanting to think about what I could do to four sleeping horses if some new insanity overtook me while I slept, or what the mad bull thing would do to someone else in his territory. The carriage driver looked like he might die of gratitude.

“Bless you, sir.”

That was uncomfortably extreme. I wondered what had happened to him today. Maybe he had been at the stadium. I wished him a safe journey back and turned back for Dionysus, who was—of course—picking some brand-new, beautiful, perfect lemons from the lemon tree which had previously never made any lemons.