Page 86 of This Divine Revelry

Cauterize the wound.

His form shimmers, changing. He grows a couple of inches, his shoulders broaden and that thoroughly insufferable smirk settles on the face of Theseus. Theseus. But the chaos in his eyes is Dionysus through and through.

He closes the distance between us once more, and no matter the face it feels like him, and the thrill races through my every inch.

He kisses me and around us there are gasps, shrieks, as the palace of Knossos bears witness to what it has repeatedly denied: me and Theseus, locked in one another’s embrace.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

WE DON’T STOP UNTIL SOMEONE has grabbed Dionysus – still disguised as Theseus – and hauled him off me.

Deucalion.

My brother throws Dionysus against the opposite wall. ‘What is the meaning of this?’ he snarls, fumbling for a blade at his side.

My parents stand mere feet away, gaping and aghast.

‘Is this an awful time to mention that we haven’t been discussing the daughter I’m actually interested in?’ Dionysus quips, and I watch Theseus’s face smirk.

My brother takes hold of Dionysus’s chiton, pulling him back solely so he can throw him against the wall again with more force.

‘Stop!’ I hurry forward, truly instinctively. ‘Don’t hurt him.’

‘You!’ Deucalion turns, and it is my father’s fury facing me. ‘How dare you show your face in this palace after what you’ve done? You ought to have stayed on Naxos, you awful, meddling little whore.’

‘Look, I’ll take them both if you like,’ Dionysus offers. ‘Two of your daughters held hostage in Athens would certainly stay our hand, don’t you think?’

‘Enough,’ my father snarls, storming forward. ‘I suggest you stop speaking, boy, before you too break your oath of hospitality and give me every opportunity to respond to such treason.’

I glare at Dionysus, trying to get my warning across: Ruin Theseus all you like, but don’t cause a war between Athens and Crete!

He holds his hands up. ‘Of course, King Minos. Let’s retire, shall we – and continue our negotiations in the morning. Phoebe will do.’

‘Phaedra,’ I hiss.

‘That’s the one!’ he says, and then he darts off down the hallway before anyone can say anything else.

Unfortunately, Dionysus running off leaves me to face my family alone.

Deucalion’s nostrils flare, my father’s eyes are sharpened ice and my mother is glancing anxiously between us all like she can sense a brewing storm.

‘Better to mourn a daughter than to allow her continued embarrassment, I think,’ my father says, and his gaze flits to the dagger Deucalion had been reaching for. That was decidedly not the plan!

My brother blanches – but he also squares his shoulders, like he would push on regardless.

‘Don’t you dare,’ my mother snarls, and lights flash in her eyes. I didn’t quite understand what Dionysus meant until now – because it is not a bright bold flare but like the colour itself burns, coal in the heart of the fire, grey sparking and smouldering.

She moves in front of me and my brother steps back – but my father is startled into stillness. No instant rage at her rebuttal, but shock that she might find any at all. That after years of him crushing any spark from her, one still might strike.

‘Please,’ I say – worried he will find that fury at any moment and turn its full force on her. I step aside, even as she reaches for my wrist, trying to shield me. But that’s not how this has worked for nearly a decade. ‘I won’t do anything like this again. I’ll be gone in the morning, I promise. I’m begging you, don’t tell Dionysus what happened here.’

My brother’s eyes light with relief. Great, he doesn’t want to kill me. I’ll take that. ‘That would be a better punishment, I imagine.’ He arches a brow at my father. ‘She’s sworn herself to a god – let her face the consequences of that.’

My father narrows his eyes. ‘You ought to be begging me for a swift death. Gods flay mortals alive, bind them to flaming wheels and chain them to the ground. Take her to him.’

Deucalion’s grip lands on my shoulders, hauling me along.

I slump, defeated, until we are at my door – he knocks sharply and Dionysus appears, framed by the soft candlelight of my room. The marks on his knuckles are already beginning to fade but he is dishevelled from the dancing, his chiton slouching off one shoulder and … it is impossible to look at him and not think about the fact that mere moments ago his lips were on mine. They’re still swollen, and they part as he sighs his relief.