Lifestyles of Gods and Monsters
Page 19
“We can’t know,” Daddy says. “We must trust the gods.”
My little lip starts to tremble. “But, Daddy, Asterion is…”
I shudder hearing his name aloud outside of the maze, and my transgression is clear on Daddy’s face.
“Ariadne.” His voice is stern, full of disappointment.
I hold out my hand and he slaps it, hard. Then he pulls me in for a hug. “Remember, darling,” he says. His face is shadowed. “We must never, never say his name.”
“Yes, Daddy,” I say, my voice muffled.
Daddy stands and motions to his desk, where a wrapped gift is waiting. “Look, I got you something.”
“A present?” I ask, brightening.
I can remember it. That gift, on the table. Wrapped in silver paper with a blue bow. Something for me. On the screen, I tear into the paper, and inside, there is a new gaming console. A VR headset and ten games. I can remember my excitement. By that time, I had already started playing video games. But this was top of the line. Something I had been wanting for months. I remember thinking how jealous Icarus would be of it.
“When can I play it?” I ask on the screen.
“Soon,” Daddy says. “Tonight. In a few minutes, you will lead one of those competitors we met to the gates of the maze in the stadium. As soon as you are done, Daedalus will take you back to your room, and you can play games as long as you want.”
“What will happen to the competitor?” I ask.
“That is nothing you need to worry about,” he says. “Now, let’s put that mask on.”
My little girl’s face is covered by the blank white of the mask.
Icarus turns off the widescreen and pulls out the flash drive and gives it to Theseus.
“I made a copy. I thought you might want to have this one.”
Theseus slips it into his pocket. “There’s one more thing,” Icarus says. “You remember how you asked me if the drawing could be rigged? If the numbers could be changed? And I said no?”
I nod. “I remember. Because the cards are made of wood with numbers burned into them. They couldn’t be changed.”
“Yeah,” he says. “You need to look at this.” He hands me a card. I flip it over and over in my hand. It is blank. There is no burned-in number on the face of it.
“There’s no number on it,” I say. “I don’t understand.”
“Yeah,” Icarus says. “Neither do I. They always have a number on them. So why doesn’t this one?”
I stand up, pulled out of my chair by an invisible string. “I have to talk to my father.”
“What are you going to say to him?” Icarus says.
I push my fingers against my palms, my fingernails digging into my skin, pressing against the slowly healing scrapes from my fall in the maze. “I have to know if it’s true. I have to hear him say that it was a lie.”
“Be careful,” he says.
“Icarus,” I say, reaching toward him, grabbing his hand with mine. “What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know,” he says, then he gently moves my hand away. “Get out of here. Go do what you need to do.”
FIFTEEN
Before Theseus and I step onto the elevator, I look down at the blank wooden card. My whole life, these cards have been sacred. Kept in a golden box inside a special inlaid cabinet. Blessed by the priests before the drawing. They are given to me in the burlap sack immediately before the ceremony, then returned to the box after we are done.
They are relics.
Because they show the will of the gods, I have been told to revere them—not as symbols of godly power but as a tangible sign of the divine.
Now I know that isn’t what they are. They are tools for our manipulation.
I grip the card, as though if I understand this, I will understand everything else.
I realize that the outside of this card won’t tell me anything. It’s a trick. A scam. I need to see the inside. I need to see the guts of the thing.
A week ago, a day ago, an hour ago, it would have felt like sacrilege to even roughly handle this small card.
But now?
A fierce joy rises in me as I grip each end of the card between fingers and thumbs and bend it, forcing the shape to warp and stretch, and, finally, break.
With a snap the card cracks in two, revealing what I had already guessed—a wafer-thin sheet of light diodes and electronics, sheathed in a translucent wooden veneer.
One thing pretending to be something else.
Like my life.
I hand one of the broken halves to Theseus.
“It was a lie,” he says. “None of it had to happen.”
I stare down at my hands, gripping the broken piece of the card. Shaking.
“How can they have done this?” I say, reeling at the scale of it. “How can they have used me this way? For so long?”
Theseus pulls me in closer to him.
“I know,” he says. And he does.
He has been betrayed, too. Lied to. By his father, his grandfather. Even his mother. Now he has the fresh betrayal that his father sold his people. That the Athenians never had to come here. That he never had to volunteer.
“I don’t know what to say.”
“I’m glad I met you,” he tells me. Then he turns me to face him, looking into my eyes. He reaches out and runs a calloused thumb down the side of my face, and I let myself lean in toward his hand, toward the strength of him.
The silence rests between us, as he waits for whatever I’m going to say.
I nod. “I feel—” I say, but I stop myself. I’m not used to talking about what I feel. I don’t have the words.
“What is it?” he whispers, putting his other arm up to my shoulder, holding me.
“Like I’m at the edge of a cliff. Like I’m going to throw myself off. Like I’m never going to stop falling…”
“I’ll catch you,” he whispers, then leans in to kiss me. In that moment, wrapped in his arms, his lips on mine, I believe him.
The pleasure of kissing him, of feeling his arms around me, of touching him, fills me with a golden glow, like the sun rising over the waves.
We break apart and look at each other, both full of wonder.
“I’ve never—” he starts.
“—felt this before,” I finish.
“I was going to say, met anyone like you,” he says. “But that’s true, too.”
He kisses my forehead gently.
“Are you ready to go to a dance party?” I ask.
Theseus looks down at his competitor’s uniform—the warrior kilt and open vest. “I’m not exactly dressed for it,” he says.
“Not to worry,” I say. “With those legs, you’ll be welcome anywhere.”
* * *
Theseus and I spot Daddy in his favorite banquette, looking out at the writhing bodies on the dance floor, nursing a martini. I try to read him, wondering what he is thinking—he is proud of this, because he owns it.
I leave Theseus at the bar, accepting one last kiss.
Daddy makes room for me on the bench, and the wool of his tuxedo jacket is scratchy against my bare arm. I take in the smell of him. Gin and tobacco and cologne. Daddy. Comfort. Home.
I close my eyes for a moment, steeling myself. I can do this. I can stand up to him. I’m not going to be afraid of him anymore.
“Daddy,” I say.
“What is it, baby?” he asks, looking away from the dancers and back at me.
“Can I talk to you for a minute?”
“Sure,” he says. “Let’s go in the private dining room.”
We head to a door hidden in the panels of the wall. It opens into a small dining room, drenched in red. Scarlet fabric on the walls, wine-colored carpet on the floor. The chairs upholstered in a crimson paisley.
Daddy’s bodyguards and the two priests follow us into the room.
“Have a seat, sweetheart,” Daddy says. “Whatcha got?”
“I want to talk to you,” I say.
“I know what you’re going to say,” he says. “I saw that you watched the boy go into the maze today, and that must have been hard. There’s a reason I don’t want you to watch.”
I nod, ready to interrupt.
“I’ll tell you,” he says, “it made for great television. There isn’t a person in the global viewing audience who doesn’t believe you’ll help that boy now. The look on your face. The horror. That was a good job, baby. I’m proud of you. I had no idea we had a little actress on our hands.”
Acting. Like what I’m doing right now, as I pretend that everything is okay. As I pretend that my whole world hasn’t been blown to pieces.
I take one of my hands out of his and put it into my pocket, touching my silver thread and, beside it, the blank card Theseus and I broke.
“Daddy,” I say. “I have to ask you something.”
“What is it, sweetheart?”
I remember the questions I’ve asked before: When will this end? Why did it happen? When will my brother be cured? None of these are my question now.
“Daddy,” I say, holding on to the moment, knowing somehow that I’m about to break something. “Why didn’t we sacrifice the white bull when it came out of the sea?”
The indulgent smile on Daddy’s face slips.
“You know why,” he says. “Why would the gods have given me something so amazing, only to have me kill it?”
“Praise the gods,” the priests chant from the corner.
“How could you be sure that the gods didn’t intend for you to kill it?” I ask, keeping my voice level. Like this is a normal conversation.
“Excuse me?” He pulls his hand from mine and stands.
I know that if I continue, I will never again be his favorite, never again be the best of all of us.
How could I live with myself if I don’t?
I remember Theseus down in the accommodations asking me what I really wanted. I couldn’t tell him. I couldn’t say out loud that I wanted to break the world. That I wanted to tear it down.
And that’s what I’m going to do.
“How do you know what the gods wanted?” I say. “How do you know that they didn’t want you to sacrifice the bull? How do you know that they wanted to use The Labyrinth Contest to heal Asterion—”
“Don’t say that name.” He cuts me off.
“How do you know?” I continue, keeping my voice calm.
“I had a dream,” he says.
And I know, with the certainty of a cold clear night when you can see every star, that it was a lie. I know it as soon as I think it. It was always a lie.
“What about the oracle?” I ask. “Did the oracle tell you to have this contest?”
“The oracle,” he says, his voice very low, a pulse beating next to his eyebrow. “The oracle. Yes.”
“Is that exactly what it said?” I ask.
“Of course it was,” he says, dismissive. Everything about him is saying Leave it alone, Ariadne.
I keep myself so calm. I’m not leaving it. Not this time.
“Are you sure?” I ask, making him lie again. “Are you sure that was what the prophecy said?”
“Of course it was,” he says, pacing away from me. He doesn’t want me to see that I’m getting to him. He doesn’t want to show his rising anger.
“Really?” I ask. “Because I know that it said, ‘The gods granted you a gift in victory over Athens. As his due, Poseidon demands a monumental sacrifice in turn.’”
My father’s face is very red now, nearly purple, the pulse still beating next to his eye.
“Where did you hear that?” He stalks around the table toward me.
“It came to me in a dream,” I lie, standing up from my chair, keeping my voice sweet, normal, like this is something we could talk about. “You were supposed to make a sacrifice. You were supposed to sacrifice the bull.”
“A dream?” he says, his voice incredulous.
I nod.
“Well, here’s what I’ll tell you,” Daddy says. “The gods wanted a sacrifice and that’s what they got. I’d call a hundred and forty-one seventeen-year-olds a world-class sacrifice.”
“It wasn’t a sacrifice of anything you cared about,” I say. “The gods wanted you to give up something of yours. That’s what they wanted.”
“The gods!” he roars. “The gods want what I want.”
“Praise the gods,” the priests chant in the corner.
“Get out!” Daddy yells, and the priests quickly leave the room. No question who they serve.
“What about Asterion?” I ask.
I have a wrenching, dawning sadness that this whole time I have been following a trail that other people laid out for me, never looking from side to side. Never asking any questions. I thought I was special because I hid from the cameras, because I was my own person. But I always only did what I was told.
“What about my brother?” I say.
“Gods, Ariadne, you are not a child anymore. It’s not your brother. I don’t care who its mother is. It’s a monster, or have you not noticed that by now? It’s never been anything but a monster, and it never will be. Its name isn’t Asterion, it’s the Minotaur—Minos’s bull—and you’d better not forget it. The gods made your mother rut with a bull … a stinking bull … so that I could have the tool of my vengeance.”
He steps forward and grabs me by the arms, his hands tightening. “Look at me,” he says.
I lift my eyes up to his face, and I look at him. Somehow, it feels like I’m seeing him for the first time. His sharp eyes, always assessing, weighing and measuring and counting. Who owes him. What he can get. He doesn’t love me, I realize with a shock. Not as a person. Not as Ariadne. I’m another thing he owns. Like the Minotaur.
“No matter what you think, this contest is never ending. Aegeus will keep sending me competitors, as he is paid to…”
“So it was never about vengeance?” I ask. “It was never about Androgeous?”
He laughs now, a nasty laugh. “Oh yes, it was always about Androgeous. I will have vengeance for my son. Eventually, you’ll understand how much better it feels to screw someone over when they are begging you to do it. Every year, the old man is asking me when he’s going to get paid. And you know the best thing? His precious Theseus is competing, and Aegeus can’t stop it. He keeps calling me and leaving messages, ‘Please spare my son,’”—he uses that voice he puts on to signal weakness, a high-pitched voice. A female voice. “He’s offered to pay me millions, more than he’s ever taken in payment from me. More than I ever got in tribute to let his son go, but I won’t take his money. Because I have something better. I get to watch his son die.”
He beams. “He can’t ever stop this. He’ll have to watch his son die, and he can’t complain. He’ll send me fourteen more competitors next year, without complaint. Because I can tell his people that he’s been taking my coin all these years to keep those kids coming, and he won’t have a kingdom anymore.”
Daddy still has his hand on my upper arm, and he tightens it.
“Here’s what is going to happen,” he says. “The people will see a grand battle between a hero and a monster. They will see you helping Theseus for thirteen days.”
I cannot move from his grip on my arm. His hand will leave a bruise.
Daddy’s phone rings and he answers it. “What?” he shouts, keeping it on speaker.
It’s one of his bodyguards. “Heracles booked his flight for tomorrow.”
“Heracles is coming,” I say. Not asking the question, just taking it in. “I thought you were going to keep him away from Acalle.”
He shrugs. “I thought about it, but then I decided that wasn’t what I wanted to do. Your mother thought everything with your sisters had gotten tame and maudlin with Acalle crying after that Athenian died today. We need to distract her. It’ll be bette
r this way. Everyone likes some drama.”
I don’t respond.
“Now listen,” he says, turning back to me. Like things are fine between us. “I watched that episode last night, of you and Theseus, and it was good. But we’re going to need more. I don’t want any more of this modesty crap. Next time you’re with Theseus, I need skin. Bare skin. We promised the advertisers nudity. At least to the nipples, so I’m going to need to see it.”
I don’t say anything.
“Do you understand?” Daddy asks.
“Perfectly,” I say, leaving the room.
Because I do. For the first time in my life, I understand exactly what is going on.
* * *
When I get to the bar, my face must show Theseus that I’m in shock, because he doesn’t ask me anything. He takes me by the arm. “Let’s get out of here,” he says.
Then I see Acalle leaning against the bar, her earlier tears gone and dress changed, but she does not seem entirely herself. A sadness pulls at the edges of her. Xenodice is next to her, clearly trying to cheer her up.
I realize that I can’t leave Acalle not knowing that Heracles is coming tomorrow. That he’s going to find her.
“One second,” I say to Theseus, and he follows me over to the bar.
“Hey, Acalle,” I say, tapping her arm.
“Hey,” she says, pulling me into a hug. It is a real hug, not our normal air kiss routine.
“You okay?” I ask quietly.
“Yeah,” she says, smiling ruefully. “I forgot rule number one: Don’t get attached. We can’t keep them.”
She looks Theseus up and down appreciatively, then turns back to me.
“You should remember that, too,” she says, her voice low. “Don’t ever forget, Ariadne. None of this is real.”
Vortigern’s death was real, and the other competitors who came before him. Asterion’s pain is real.
Theseus squeezes my hand. Whatever is going on between us is real, too.
“Some things are real,” I say just as quietly.
She lifts her chin. “Not for me.”
“Hey, listen,” I say, wishing I didn’t have to tell her what I’m about to. “Heracles is coming. He booked a flight for tomorrow.”