Lifestyles of Gods and Monsters

by Emily Roberson

  Finally, we reach the end of the maze. I push my rolled thread against the metal gates, and they swing open. We walk through them holding hands, the cheers of the crowd reverberating around us. Confetti and balloons fall from the ceiling.

  The stadium floor has been cleared, and dancing girls gyrate enthusiastically while little children in matching outfits wave giant ribbons high in the air. The Jumbotron intermixes shots of the crowd with replays of our run through the maze. I never thought a Cretan audience would be pleased with this outcome, but everyone must have gotten wrapped up in the excitement, because they are dancing and cheering—glowing with the knowledge that they’ve witnessed history.

  Then the Jumbotron shows my family. My mother looks stunned and frozen, while my father is talking on his phone, his eyes full of rage. Then they realize that they are being broadcast, and they both paste false smiles on. My sisters, who had been staring at their phones, jump and dance for the millions of people watching.

  Seeing my father’s face raises the hair on my neck. He is never going to willingly let me leave Crete. I look around for the exits, thinking about how I can get out of the stadium before he has a chance to get me. Then I notice soldiers and plainclothes security staff coming out onto the stadium floor in twos and threes.

  This isn’t over yet.

  Daedalus comes onto the stage with his microphone to do the first-ever post–Labyrinth Contest interview. Cameramen and the crowd of competitors surround us, slapping Theseus on the back, asking questions. I feel the push of the crowd trying to get me apart from Theseus, and I fight it. If we get separated, I’m screwed.

  “Theseus,” Daedalus says, and we are projected onto the Jumbotron for the crowd. “What can you tell us about your time in the maze?”

  I have to find a way to talk to Theseus.

  “Excuse me,” I say, interrupting Daedalus. “Can I borrow him for a second?”

  I don’t give him a chance to answer before I whisper to Theseus, “There are soldiers coming everywhere. How can we get out of here?”

  Theseus smiles at Daedalus and the cameras. “Here’s what I’ll tell you,” Theseus says. “I’d love to chat. But really what I want to do is go back to Athens.”

  “You can’t leave now,” Daedalus says. “What about the awards? The parties?”

  “I think I’ve attended enough parties for a lifetime,” Theseus says.

  Then he turns to the competitors in the circle around us. “Come on, guys. Let’s go home.” He looks up at the cameras. “If you’re watching down there in the harbor, get the Parthenos ready. We’re headed to Athens!”

  The competitors let out a loud cheer, and Theseus and I step around Daedalus, with his microphone, and walk down the stairs to the stadium floor.

  The competitors follow behind us as we march out of the stadium gates toward the harbor, forcing the cameras to follow us. People line the sides of the harbor road, cheering and taking our pictures, as the stadium empties and thousands of people crowd the road.

  There is an ebullient mood around us, but I don’t feel it. Everywhere in the crowd, I see soldiers in uniform. The black suits of the security detail. When I look up at the roofs of the temples, snipers have been posted. I stay close to Theseus and the competitors, hoping that my father wouldn’t go that far.

  I am wondering what to expect when we get to the ship, when I remember that I have Icarus in my ear. “Icarus,” I say. “What’s going on at the harbor?”

  “We’re scrambling to have some kind of ceremony on the pier,” Icarus answers. “I’ve officially been demoted because of this disaster, so I can’t help you much. But listen, your dad is going to try everything he can to get his hands on you. Don’t leave Theseus’s side, and whatever you do, don’t get off camera.”

  I tell Theseus what Icarus said.

  “I’m not letting go of you,” Theseus says. “Not now. Not ever.”

  I am a nervous wreck the whole of the three-mile walk to the harbor.

  When we get there, my family and a selection of international media organizations are gathered around a makeshift stage on the pier. They must have driven down from the palace, skipping the parade.

  On the jetty, the crew of the Parthenos scrambles around on board, getting ready to depart.

  Theseus and I push through the security line, and the cameras follow us as we walk up to the stage.

  Icarus comes to meet us, looking professional, no hint of anything more. “We’ll need to do the award ceremony, and then we can let you get out of here. Right, Dad?” He turns and looks at Daedalus, the confirmation that he has been demoted.

  “Absolutely,” Daedalus says, his voice avuncular. “Now, Ariadne, if you’ll come stand here with your family.”

  He grabs my arm, pulling me away from Theseus.

  My father is glaring at me, while my mother looks catatonic. Xenodice is too busy snapping selfies to notice, but Acalle’s face turns pale. The cameras are watching us, but if I go with Daedalus, no one will think anything about it, and I will not get another chance to escape from Crete.

  The only way I can stop this, the only way to control it, is to use the cameras that surround us. I have to make them care.

  “No,” I say, pulling my arm back, saying it loudly, making a scene. “I’m not going with you. I’m not going back to the palace.”

  The reporters perk up, paying attention now. The cameras turn to focus on me. I reach out for Theseus’s hand, and he pulls me close, like we’re dancing.

  “I’m going with Theseus,” I say. “I’m going to Athens.”

  At that, the reporters start shouting questions. A princess of Crete leaving with a prince of Athens is front-page news. I have to hope that the public relations disaster that would happen if my father tried to pull us apart now will be enough to get me on the boat.

  “Surely you don’t need to be in the photo op,” Daedalus says softly, through clenched teeth. “I’ll make sure you get back to him.”

  I keep my voice as low as his. “You’ve been lying to me since I was six years old. Why should I believe you now?”

  Then, knowing that the cameras are watching, I turn to Theseus and kiss him.

  The crowds who have lined up beyond the security fences on the pier and down the road cheer for that, the media’s camera shutters click, and their lights flash.

  “That’s enough,” my father says to Daedalus. “Let’s get this over with.”

  Daedalus sets up the shot, while the hair and makeup people come to powder Theseus’s nose and fix my hair. Then Theseus and I are standing beside my father, smiling at the international media, while my sisters give Theseus a giant check.

  Behind his false smile, my father radiates menace.

  He shakes Theseus’s hand perfunctorily. Then he pulls me in for a hug. The cameras snap the picture of fatherly affection, but I hear his voice in my ear. “Don’t think this is over, Ariadne,” he says. “I will find you. I will bring you back. You will be punished. You are mine. Don’t forget it.”

  A chill runs down my spine.

  I pull myself out of my father’s arms and turn to Theseus. “Can we go now?” I ask.

  He nods, and together we walk off the stage, toward the black-sailed ship, the competitors coming behind us.

  I’m getting ready to board, when Icarus comes over to me.

  “Watch out,” I say. “You don’t want to be seen talking to me.”

  “You’re my best friend,” he says. “They can’t get me in too much trouble.”

  “I’m not sure about that,” I say. “What are you going to do if they figure out that you helped me?”

  “They won’t,” he says, but I’m not so sure.

  I don’t know what to say. There is so much. For my whole life, Icarus was my only friend. And I’m leaving him behind.

  “Icarus…,” I say.

  He lightly touches my hair.

  “No drama, sister, no drama.”

  “I wasn’t going to be dramati
c,” I say.

  “Oh yes, you were. I can see it.”

  He pulls me in for a tight hug. “This isn’t goodbye,” he whispers into my ear, and I think of the drawing taped to his inspiration board—Icarus with his wings.

  “Okay,” I say. “Not goodbye.”

  I walk onto the ship and I don’t look back.

  The giant bronze head of Talos watches our exit from the harbor.

  NINETEEN

  The captain greets us as we come aboard the Parthenos. She has short white hair, and her gray eyes are pale in her deeply tan face. Everything about her is crisp and commanding from her starched white shirt to the bars on her shoulders.

  “Get us to Athens as fast as you can,” Theseus says as we follow her into the enclosed helm station. It’s very high-tech, all black and glass and leather and flatscreen monitors. The only things that suggest a sailboat are the wood finishes and the view of the Mediterranean out the angled windows.

  “It’s a sailing ship, not a speedboat,” the captain says, pointing at a display of our route between Crete and the port of Athens. “It’s a hundred and seventy nautical miles. Even with our best speed, it will be at least eleven hours.”

  “Eleven hours?” I say, incredulous. “My father’s ships are much faster than that.”

  “Yes,” the captain says, turning to look at me. “They have more firepower, too. If they are coming for us, there’s nothing we can do about it, so I suggest you both relax. I doubt even Minos will attack this ship when we are carrying the champion back to Athens. Especially not with them watching.” She points out the window at the small flotilla of boats that surrounds us—a combination of the media in their speedboats and pleasure craft trying to get a better view. High above in the sky, helicopters hover. She gives me a piercing look. “Frankly, given what I know about Minos, this is probably the safest you’ll be for a long time.”

  When Theseus and I leave the helm station, we walk down a narrow flight of stairs and enter the belowdecks living area, which if it wasn’t for the rolling of the floor underfoot and the curved ceiling, you would think is a fancy cigar bar, not a boat.

  The remaining competitors have taken up most of the space on the dark leather sectional sofas and all the cream-upholstered mahogany chairs at the dining table. A spread of bread, cheese, fruit, and sausages is on the table, but no one has touched it yet. The chattering voices go silent when we enter. No one moves to make any room for us on the sofa. Everyone looks at us with undisguised hostility while the uncomfortable silence stretches out.

  I’m tired and dirty and sick of wearing this jumpsuit. My dad wants to lock me up. I’m on my way to a city I’ve never been before, where most people, including Theseus’s dad, are likely to hate me. I’ve left behind my best and only friend. And my brother is gone.

  Seriously, I don’t have time for this.

  “If we’re all going to stare at each other, can I eat while we’re doing it?” I ask. “Because I’m starving.” I take a hunk of cheese and some bread off the table.

  The silence is broken.

  “Theseus, you cheated,” Hippolyta says, standing. “You used this princess and cheated.”

  Other voices chime in.

  “I didn’t get my chance to go into the maze.”

  “I needed that money.”

  “We were all supposed to have a chance to kill the monster.”

  It’s funny how when the numbers were given out, some of these people looked like they were going to lose their cookies over going into the maze, but now they’re each convinced they would have been the one to win.

  The voices get louder and louder, and a tornado of negative energy swirls around Theseus. I can see that he’s trying to fix it and make it right, but I have no idea how he can. I also can’t think of anything that I could say to help.

  I want to escape this room and take a shower, and chill out, but I have no idea where to go. I don’t know which room is Theseus’s, and it wouldn’t help my case to pick a random competitor’s room. So I just eat my bread and cheese and wait.

  Theseus’s voice is conciliatory. “Look, everybody, I know that didn’t go how it was supposed to.”

  “Darn right it didn’t,” one of the boys says.

  “Enough,” Hippolyta says. “Let Theseus speak.”

  Theseus stands tall. I know him well enough now to know that he’s running through the possible ways to play this situation—how much of the truth should he tell? He holds his arms out, palms up. “I know that it looks like I went into the maze out of turn.”

  “Looks like? There’s no looks like, you did!” one of the competitors shouts, but the others silence her.

  “Ariadne, show them the card,” he says.

  I pull the broken card out of my pocket and give it to Theseus.

  “Pass this around,” he says. “As you can see, it isn’t wood. The drawing was fixed. No one knows what order the gods would have wanted us to go in, because Minos didn’t play fair.”

  The competitors pass the card around, commenting on the wires and electrodes.

  “That still doesn’t justify you going in on your own,” Hippolyta says. “You should have given the rest of us an opportunity.”

  Theseus nods. “I understand. You wanted your chance in the maze.” He says this as though any one of them could have succeeded, even while we all know that the odds were terrible. “However, you will come back to Athens as heroes in your own right. I bet the sponsors will be lined up for you. Famous forever as the competitors who survived The Labyrinth Contest.”

  “What about the prize money?” someone calls out. “We won’t get any of that.”

  Theseus looks thoughtful. “What if I share the money out among us—with a share going to the each of you, one to Vortigern’s family, and one to Ariadne.”

  “Theseus,” I say, grabbing his arm. “You don’t have to—”

  “Why should you give our money to a princess of Crete?” Hippolyta says loudly. “She did nothing.”

  Theseus gives my hand a quick squeeze. “Ariadne has given up everything to come here. She deserves a share as much as anyone. Either she is included or no one is.” He looks around at the group. “What do you say?”

  Hippolyta looks for support, but no one will meet her eyes.

  Finally, someone says, “I say half a cake is better than no cake.”

  The rest agree with varying degrees of enthusiasm.

  Finally, only Hippolyta is left. She looks me up and down, disgusted. She says, “I will take my half a cake. But know, I could have defeated the Minotaur without the help of that princess. I am sure of it.”

  “I’m glad you are,” Theseus says. “Because there is no way that I could have done it without her.” He reaches for some cheese and a bunch of grapes. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to take a shower.”

  I follow him into his cabin.

  It is luxurious, with walls of lacquered wood and a curving ceiling. The bed has been made with pristine white sheets, and two orange towels are folded up on the end of it.

  “Theseus,” I say, “I can’t take that money. My brother died, you can’t pay me for that. It’s blood money.”

  Theseus grabs my hands. “Look, Ariadne, it’s your father’s money and he didn’t want to give it to me. Do you seriously think that Asterion would want you to go out in the world with no money? Or to be dependent on me? How is that freedom?” He pulls me in close. “Why don’t we get cleaned up and then we can talk about it.”

  I look down at my bedraggled jumpsuit. “I didn’t bring anything to change into.”

  “If you’ll get in the shower, I’ll go find something you can borrow.”

  My shower is blissful, and when I come out, wrapped in my towel, he has a spare T-shirt and red shorts from the crew. I change while he’s showering, and then curl up on the bed. Outside the portholes, the sunset has streaked the sky with orange.

  I pick up a book from the nightstand—A History of Athens—then p
ut it down, then pick it up again. I look at my phone, hoping for a message from Icarus, the only person with this number since I have a new identification card, knowing I’m unlikely to have one. I resist checking to see what the newsfeeds are saying about the end of The Labyrinth Contest. I don’t want to think about that right now.

  I’m picking up the book again when Theseus comes out of the bathroom. He is wearing jeans and a T-shirt for the first time since I met him, and his curls are wet and tousled.

  My breath catches.

  “Mind if I sit down?” he asks.

  “No, no,” I say nervously, scooting over to make room for him.

  He wraps his arms around me and I lean into him. It doesn’t look like any of the injuries Asterion gave him are permanent, but one of his eyes is black, and his face and body have cuts and bruises.

  “A History of Athens, huh?” he asks. “Reading up on your new home?”

  “I’m too distracted to read,” I say, and I lean over him to set the book back down on the nightstand.

  He runs his finger along the side of my ear, and I shiver.

  “Why are you distracted?” he asks.

  “You know the answer to that,” I say, and my lips are nearly touching his.

  And then they are.

  For the first time, I am kissing Theseus with no one watching us. It is wonderful.

  It doesn’t last long.

  We only get a few kisses in before there is a loud banging at the cabin door.

  We pull apart, like we’re in trouble.

  “Prince Theseus,” a voice calls. “I need to speak with you.”

  Theseus runs his hand through his hair, only making it messier. “I guess I should answer that.”

  We make ourselves presentable before opening the door.

  The captain is standing outside, raising her hand to knock again. “Your Majesty,” she says. “I must speak with you.”

  “Just Theseus, please. What’s going on?”

  “I have an urgent communication from your father.”

  We follow her through the living areas. The competitors are on every piece of furniture—playing cards, making out, eating. Many of them glare at me as we pass. I definitely have not won them over yet.