Page 51 of This Divine Revelry

‘A touch of both, actually.’ Artemis shrugs. ‘The rest of us certainly don’t find our immortality fading away with a little neglect. Our powers might become less potent. They might misfire. But we do not lose ourselves because we were born into this divinity. Dionysus leeched his immortality from my husband’s body, swelled with stolen radiance then dared to claim it as his own. Now he runs around drumming up a meagre following to allow him to cling to it.’

I’d felt warm, flustered from the wine and my own embarrassment, but now my blood runs cold, and, where she may not see it, my hand inches behind me for the aulos I left there.

‘And that is the man you chose to marry? To tie yourself to?’

‘Not out of choice,’ I say quickly. ‘I was betrayed by one who promised marriage but abandoned me instead, slighting the great Queen of the Heavens. I didn’t know of Dionysus’s divine heritage when we met. I admit his legend never reached us in Crete, so when he found me I thought the best way to honour Hera would be to enter into marriage. If she were displeased, I would annul it at once. I care far more for her opinion than his.’

She looks at me, stern and considering.

And I feign ignorance, keeping my eyes wide and helpless, hoping it might convince her it would be a waste of her own celestial power to bother with smiting me.

‘Too late for that, I’m afraid.’ Her being shimmers and she lets the disguise drop.

I take the moment of her distraction to fumble more avidly and finally my hand closes around the aulos.

Hera stands before me now, at her full height, and I drop to my knees like I hadn’t expected it from the moment the eternal virgin Artemis mentioned a husband. ‘Lady Hera! How delightful. Please do make yourself at home – xenia welcomes you.’

I wish to remind her of the laws binding her, protecting me, but she crosses to me in an instant, grasping my chin and giving a sharp yank up. She is fury made regal – stately brow and pitch-dark eyes, fine lines about a mouth twisted into a thoroughly displeased sneer.

‘Xenia pertains to guests,’ she says, her voice cold and low. ‘I am the goddess of marriage and this is a wedding. I am not a visitor – I am dominion itself. The only sacred law at play here is my will. And I am furious.’

I finally accept this is not the sort of situation I can de-escalate and dive out of her reach, fumbling for the reed, and suddenly it is a sharp, shrill whistle through my pursed lips.

Hera knocks it from my hands, her nails raking across my face. She grasps my hair, hauling me to my feet, and I scramble up, hands closing over hers as though I could pull her from me.

‘You stupid girl,’ she snarls. ‘Though that’s to be expected when you marry a man like that. I might not be able to curse him any more, but I can certainly hurt you.’

I can hear running outside, Sterope’s paws stampeding towards where the whistle shrieked, Dionysus calling after her.

‘He’ll lose you like he’s lost everything else. And you’ll lose yourself too – that is my decree, my wedding gift. Loss.’

She jabs at my forehead, and the world shifts, turns agile and fluid, tilting and transforming and, then, slipping cleanly away.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

LIGHT FILTERS THROUGH CRACKS IN brickwork above, but it is swallowed almost immediately by the dark rock encasing me. I reach a fumbling hand out, brushing at the walls.

My first thought is that I have been entombed.

But no, the rock lies only either side of me. The way before me is empty – but so too is the way behind.

To my right, beyond that wall, there are snarls. A low rumbling growl that sets the whole structure shaking.

I pivot and head back. Forward would be the sensible choice. Pushing ahead, discovering something new. But back calls to me – something to rectify. Something to lay to rest.

So I turn.

The path twists, spiralling in. It’s no longer clear which way is forward and which is back, only that my feet are moving onwards so if this is backwards it is forwards of a sort. Reality made unreality and unreality made threat.

I remember Hera, her fingers to my forehead.

The labyrinth she has trapped me in.

Madness. Just as she cursed upon Heracles.

There are no branches. It’s not a maze, it’s a labyrinth – a long, winding, singular path. A road within and without.

Unless the danger finds you – and as I round the corner, it does.