Page 111 of This Divine Revelry

Beneath us, seven pinpricks of light flare through the tiles. Precise points, staggered, one higher than the other, seven amethysts to seven stars, stretching and cracking until the floor beneath us gives way, shattering entirely.

A way out, not in the direction we thought to look.

We fall without letting go.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

WE STAGGER AS THE TENT forms around us, like we have truly dropped dozens of feet to stand within its low-slung walls. It all swims back into view as the labyrinth fades, the bright colours and the chatter from outside filtering through, but nothing matters as much as Dionysus’s hand in mine.

And a harshness within.

We draw back, a shining purple jewel clutched between us – the lights he conjured, solidified. I slide it into a pouch at my belt.

Dionysus stumbles a little, dizzy, and plants his hands on my shoulders to steady himself. ‘Potentially too much showmanship?’

‘No such thing.’ I cover one of those hands with my own. ‘How do you feel?’

‘Tired. But … clear? For the first time in days.’ He looks around the tent, like he is seeing it all for the first time – then back to me. ‘You incandescent woman.’

‘Me?’ I half laugh. ‘You just broke free of your own labyrinth.’

‘I wielded the tools you gave me,’ he says. ‘Do you think you can do that again? Take us there? If it … if it happens once more?’

‘I don’t know,’ I admit. I remain light-headed, but I’m not drained, not exhausted …

It worked, their belief.

Dionysus deflates a little, and I rush to add: ‘But I’ll be by your side, with or without powers. And those things that aided us? Well, it’s as I said – there was nothing we faced there that talking couldn’t equally achieve.’

He groans. ‘Fine, I’ll get the pine-cone staff of sharing out. Silen will be delighted.’

I smile. ‘They’re not the only one.’

His grip on my shoulders tightens and he leans forward, so that his forehead rests against mine. ‘It’s a lot,’ he admits. ‘Unravelling my grief like that and then having to reckon with the fact that losing you still terrifies me.’

His arms slide about my neck, drawing me closer, and my gaze drops to his lips.

‘You’re not going to lose me – I thought I made that quite clear.’

His eyes glint. ‘You can’t promise that.’

‘No, I suppose not.’ I meet his challenging gaze with a curt look of my own. ‘You’ll just have to make the most of me while you have me, then.’

In all our many, varied snatchings for reasons we ought not to do this, we never once considered that he is a god and I a mortal. Not really – not in any way that stopped us – and now it is a towering fact, solid and unwavering. Yet one Dionysus crashes through as his lips touch mine.

He kisses me with the avid need of a god who knows a mortal life flares quick and brief, like I am a flame he is trying to hold. He gasps into my mouth, breathes me in like he will never stop thinking about me for the eternity ahead of him, and like the barest touch of mine could sustain him for all those aeons.

I sigh into his lips, and step closer, so that his chest presses against mine, our hips digging against one another, and his leg slides between mine, like every inch of us ought to be entwined.

I can feel my pulse throbbing beneath my skin and there is an aching, carnivorous thing inside me that is not satisfied by the press of his lips or the warmth of his skin as I slide the shoulders of his chiton down or the delicious friction of his thigh caught between mine. More. I want so much more. My desire is hot and heady and I feel almost drunk on it – on him – his wine-dark kiss broken with a groan, and then his lips trail the column of my throat.

‘Is this too quick?’ I ask as my nails curl into the soft skin at his back in some desperate need for something to cling to.

‘Not normally something I’m accused of,’ he says – and I feel the smile of his lips against my skin. Then he pulls away, serious. ‘But if you want to slow down – or stop – we can.’

No. I – Yes? Maybe?

I do not want to stop. But with a moment to breathe, that ever-present fear trickles into my mind, cooling the flaring heat. That I am wrong, not to be trusted, that nothing I do is right and I’ll only end up hurting myself but –