by Kyla Stone
She stared at me, gaping.
“I release you. You are no longer my slave, nor my servant.”
She blanched. “Do you truly mean that?”
“I love you, Tarina.” I took a breath. “I should’ve released you long ago, but I was selfish. I feared I would lose you, so I kept you close, because I could. That wasn’t fair. I understand now. Love is not a cage. Today, you are free.”
Tarina gripped my upper arms, her dark eyes fierce. “We danced with the bulls, you and I. You escaped the perils of the Labyrinth. I survived being gored by the king-bull and a ship full of bullish Athenian barbarians. What other adventures do you think we might have together?”
“Don’t you understand?” I shook my head. “You may go back to Crete. Or I’ll help you get back to Egypt. You may go wherever you wish.”
She tilted her head and gave me a bemused smile. “You’re as thick-headed as ever. And how I hoped that terrible place had taught you something useful. Where else would I wish to go but with you?”
My heart seized in my chest. “You would come with me?”
“Home is wherever the people you love lay their heads. I’ll gladly go where you go.” She grabbed me in a fierce hug. My whole body warmed in her embrace.
Then she clapped her hands over her mouth, leapt up, and raced to the railing to be sick.
A shriek of sparkling laughter brings me back to the moment. Tarina, twirling with Eryx in the midst of the dancers, grinning and happy. Eryx holds a goblet aloft, swaying slightly so wine sloshes over the gold rim.
“Sorry,” he says sweetly—and loudly—to Tarina. He’s a little drunk, both on the wine and on Tarina. “Did you know this is the best wine in the known world? Dionysus himself visits Naxos once every spring to bless the grapes, so they’re the largest and sweetest grown anywhere. Of course, Naxos also has the perfect mixture of sun and fertile earth to nourish those grapes…”
She looks up at him, grinning, drinking in his every word. I watch the two of them spinning across the flagstone—but then something else draws my gaze.
Gallus stands guard near Theseus. He shoots me a sharp, warning look. I still believe he caused the deaths of Selene and Zephyra. But I have no proof. And Theseus believes what he wants to believe.
It does not matter, anyway. At dawn, they will be gone. And Tarina and I will begin a new life. Here for a while. Then somewhere else.
Leda and Charis make their way to me, Leda tall and striding, Charis strolling gracefully at her side. Leda grins broadly, sweat beading her forehead and a bronze goblet raised in one hand. She looks healthy, her skin ruddy, her hair a fiery, glossy copper, her cheeks and hips already filling out again. She flops against the wall beside me and follows my gaze.
“He can’t despise you forever,” she says briskly.
“You’ll be an Athenian princess soon.” Charis’s white-blonde hair winds in a delicate braided crown around her head. She’s still small and fragile, but there’s a strength in her expression that wasn’t present before. “And then you will be queen.”
“Gallus will have to bow and simper to curry your favor.” Leda smiles as if thinking of something pleasant. “Maybe you can convince Theseus to throw him in prison.”
I shake my head. “I am not going to Athens with you.”
Charis blinks in surprise. “What?”
“Theseus’s affections are—fleeting. He is married to his own quest for greatness more than anything else. And your ways are not what I would choose. In Athens, I would only wear pretty dresses and throw lovely feasts.”
“I love pretty dresses,” Charis says with a dreamy sigh. “And feasts with more food than anyone can possibly eat.”
“Ariadne prefers her loincloth.” Leda smirks at me good-naturedly. “And only her loincloth.”
“Dresses, loincloths, it doesn’t matter. I want to do more, to be more.”
Leda takes a long swallow of her wine. She eyes me over the rim of the goblet. “What do you want?”
“I want,” I say, spreading my arms at the earth and the sky and the sea and the mountains, “I want everything.”
“A little selfish, are we?” But she’s grinning.
“In Crete, women are merchants and ship captains and glassblowers and farmers and priestesses. I wish to be all those things and more. I wish to travel, to explore, to meet good people and build good things and laugh and dance and work under the sun. If that is selfish, then so be it.”
“I want the same.” Leda studies me. “But you would really give up two kingdoms? First your own, and now Athens?”
“I would,” I say without hesitation.
“Don’t you wish to return to Crete?” Charis asks. “Don’t you miss your family?”
“There’s little for me there, other than the arena. And my sister.” A prickle of sadness strikes me. “I do miss Phaedra.” I swallow. “Crete is ruled by my father. He’s cruel and vindictive to those who defy him. If I return, he’ll kill me. And my mother…”
I don’t hate my mother, even if I should. But I don’t wish to see her again, either. When I think of her, I feel a deep weariness and the sharp pain of betrayal, but nothing more. My mother’s hatred shriveled her, turned her hard and bitter. I will not become her.
I flick a stray pebble off the wall. “Besides, I was a princess in name only. In Athens, it would be the same. I would have no power over my own life. I choose to be free.”
“But where will you go?” Charis asks. “What will you do?”
“I don’t know. But whatever I do, I won’t be afraid.”
Leda snorts. “I think you are a foolish girl.”
“You may be right. But I will take foolish over what I was before.” I find myself smiling. “And what will you do when you return?”
Charis’s face brightens. “I can’t wait to see my sisters and my father. I think I will hug them and never let go.”
“And you, Leda?”
Leda throws her head back and swallows the rest of her spiced wine in a single gulp. “I’ll return to my father’s shipyards and my useless brothers. I’m going to tell my father I’d rather be dunked in cow dung than marry, just to have an uninspired, drunken idiot order me about. I’ll run the shipyards myself.”
Charis leans easily against Leda’s shoulder. “She’ll do it, too.”
“I know I will. And then someday, I’ll drag you onboard, Charis, and we’ll sail to Egypt and Ethiopia and all the far-flung kingdoms of the known world.” She raises her goblet to me. “And we’ll tear Ariadne from whatever remote island she’s exploring and bring her with us.”
My throat is suddenly tight. The future Leda spins for us is one I wish for with all my heart. I long to make it true. We watch the dancing for a long moment, listening to the strumming of the lutes. “We can carve our own fate,” I say finally. “I believe that.”
Leda grins. “As do I.”
Charis shakes her head. “Enough of fates and kingdoms,” she says eagerly, tugging on Leda’s hand. “The night is still young! Come, both of you!”
Laughing, Charis drags me out into the courtyard, Leda trailing behind us with a grimace. Charis twirls and twirls, grabbing Leda’s hands and spinning her until she finally gives a grudging roll of her eyes and joins in. I watch them—joyful and jubilant and beautiful—smiling so hard my cheeks hurt.
Chapter Sixty-Two
That evening, after the dancing and feasting, I sit beneath an olive tree, gazing drowsily up at the sinking sun peeking between the branches, my eyes burning but unable to sleep. The sky is ablaze, streaked with burnished yellows, reds, pinks, and purples.
In the morning, the Seafarer sails for Athens.
Theseus makes his way to me through the long grass of the meadow. His features look sculpted from marble, his tousled hair shining like honey in the soft light. “The weather will be good for the return home,” he says.
I brush off an ant crawling up my ankle. “You will return a conquering hero, as you w
ished. Congratulations. You’ve sealed your fate as the future king of Athens.”
“I’m content to remain prince.” He twists the jewel-encrusted pommel of the sword in the scabbard at his side, a sleek, powerful blade befitting a prince, a gift from the lord of Naxos. He smiles. “For now.”“Gallus acts as if you’re already king,” I say.
Theseus waves his hand dismissively. “He is impetuous and brash, but he is my most faithful companion.”
“Be careful of his ambition. He may be loyal, but he is also cunning. He craves power above all else.” I hesitate, then decide to speak. “You know what he did in the Labyrinth to Zephyra and Selene.”
Theseus narrows his eyes. “I remember what you did in the Labyrinth.”
I flush, heat burning my chest. It’s different. I tried to save Theseus and Asterion both. I am not a killer. But I’d be a fool not to recognize the similarities. Maybe that’s why I loathe Gallus so deeply.
“We all did things we’re not proud of in the darkness,” Theseus says quietly but firmly. There’s a loyalty in him that blinds him to the faults of those he loves. “I did as well. We’ve learned. We’ve survived. We’ll be different, now. Better.”
I can only hope for Theseus’s sake that this is true. I know it is for me.
His fingers tighten on the sword pommel, knuckles whitening. “I did not come here to speak of Gallus.”
“Then why did you come?”
Theseus squats in front of me, so close I can count his blonde lashes. He smells wild and salty as the sea. He gazes at me, his expression troubled. His fine brow is furrowed, perplexed. “I think you could love me.”
“I could,” I say, my voice brittle. In so many ways, I already do. But I know, deep in my heart, that Theseus’s love is a selfish love. A love that will demand that I bend to his will, that I fit myself into his world.
It will require pieces of me, pieces I am not willing to give.
Theseus sees it in my eyes. A shadow crosses his face. He rocks back on his heels. “It is not enough.”
“It is not enough.” My chest burns, my throat closing like a fist. I am doing the right thing. I know it, but it still hurts. “You have a kingdom to rule, a world to save.”
He nods slowly, his eyes a storm. “I will not forget you, Ariadne, princess of Crete, a girl who dances with bulls.”
I watch him walk away.
I stay beneath the tree until the sun travels low and Helio sets the sky aflame. Golden light filters through the branches, spilling across the grass. Each blade shimmers, the wildflowers gilded in gold flame.
My heart is an aching, beautiful thing.
Chapter Sixty-Three
I reach a wide outcropping at the crest of the hill, then scramble up a long shelf of rock until I stand gazing out at the sparkling sea. It shimmers deepest blue, reflecting the expanse of sky.
The Seafarer sails toward Athens, its black sails a tiny triangle bobbing in the distance. Charis and Leda are on that ship. Theseus is on that ship. Others aren’t there that should be—Kalliope, Nikolaos, Selene, Zephyra, the rest of the tributes. My heart squeezes with grief for all that we’ve lost.
But we’ve endured. We’ve survived. And we are stronger for it. One day, I will see them again. I’ll make sure of it. Until then, I have Tarina, who waits for me down the hill at the villa. A dearer friend and better companion, no one could ask for.
I was lonely most of my life, even with Tarina by my side. Secrets separate you from those you love. In so many ways, I cursed myself.
But things will be different now. My life is different. Because of the Labyrinth. Because of Asterion. Because of Theseus.
I am different. Stronger. Braver.
I start to turn, to climb back up the path toward the village. Something glints in the corner of my eye. Further down the shoreline, around the bend in a shoal out of sight of the docks, but clearly visible from my higher vantage point—something long and white ripples gently in the waves.
I suck in my breath. The white sail. The one Theseus promised his father, King Aegeus, that he would raise if he returned alive and victorious. When the Seafarer returns to Athens, King Aegeus will see the black sails of mourning, the ones Theseus, in his joyous celebrating, neglected to change. In his grief, the king will leap off the cliffs, if he does as he swore he would do.
But why is the white sail here, removed from the ship and hidden, weighed down with rocks?
My hands ball into fists. Anger mingled with growing trepidation snarls in my stomach. I know why.
Ambitious Gallus, whose loyalty to Theseus is a double-edged axe. With King Aegeus’s death, Theseus will gain a kingdom and a crown. Gallus will gain prestige, power, wealth, and the ear of the new king.
For a moment, I long to race down to the harbor, commission a ship, and chase after them—to save Theseus from his grief. But I’ll never reach them in time. Gallus has spun his web of deceit well. Theseus will lose his father, but he’ll win his kingdom, after all.
He has chosen his own path. And I have chosen mine.
I bow to the sea. “Hail, King Theseus,” I whisper. The wind takes my words and whips them away. “You will be a mighty king. The stories they tell of your glory shall cross every land and sea a hundred thousand times. The myth of Theseus will pierce the veil of time and history, until every man, woman, and child has heard your name.”
Theseus will have his glory. But will it make him happy? What else will he have to sacrifice to keep it? He’s lost me. Now he’s lost his father. Will he lose himself?
A pang of sadness touches me. I don’t push it down or shove it away.
I watch the seabirds wheeling and diving above the surf. The sea glitters so brightly it hurts my eyes. I rub my palms, the fingernail cuts scabbed and slowly turning to scars.
Tarina and I will embark on our journey, to countries and cities known and unknown, to find something worthy of our love, to find a place—or many places—to build a hearth, to discover, to learn, to grow, to laugh, to fly, and above all, to find our own way.
We cannot choose how we’re born or what others do to us. But we can choose how we live, and how we die. As monsters, or as women and men of courage.
Whatever happens, I am no longer afraid.
I don’t know what the future holds. No one does—no man and no god. I know only this: the gods do not determine our fate. We do.
It’s not fate that traps us like the Labyrinth, it’s fear. If we can find our way out, we are free.
With one last look at the Seafarer, I turn and make my way down the rocky slope, the sun on my face, the wind in my hair.
The End
Please read the afterword for a description of the original Greek myth.
I hope you enjoyed Labyrinth of Shadows!
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Afterword
The Myth of Theseus and The Minotaur
Note: a few readers have compared the use of the term “tributes” and
the tribute lottery to Suzanne Collins’ Hunger Games trilogy. Collins revealed in an interview that she was inspired in part by the myth of Theseus and the Minotaur and borrowed the idea of the tributes, the lottery, and a character volunteering as tribute.
The use of tributes and the tribute lottery was unavoidable if I wanted to remain true to the original myth, which I did. In this case, the use of the term “tributes” long predates Collins’ work.
In researching and writing Labyrinth of Shadows, I tried to remain true to the ancient cultures of Crete and Athens and to the spirit of the original myth while reimagining it from a new perspective. To me, Ariadne is the heart of this story. And yet, like so often is the case, she is shunted offscreen and quickly pushed to the sidelines.
What would happen, I wondered, if Ariadne took control over her own destiny? Did she feel conflicted over the fate of the Minotaur, who was both a monster and her brother? The myth doesn’t say. I set out to answer these questions.
There are dozens of versions of the myth, cobbled together in pieces, from differing sources and time periods. I chose the one that served the story I wanted to tell most faithfully. In case you’ve never heard it, or it has been a while, here is one version:
At the time the myth is set, Athens was not yet a significant city. What would become known as Greece was dominated by the shining civilization of Crete. After the death of the king of Crete, his three sons battled for the throne. Minos determined to win the crown over his brothers, Sarpedon and Rhadamanthys. He pleaded with Poseidon to send him a bull from the sea to demonstrate to all the people that the gods supported his claim, not his brothers. In return, he promised to offer the bull to Poseidon as a grateful sacrifice.