She also revealed the name that had come to be attached to him. Asterion. In Kaphtor’s tongue, Asterion meant ‘Starry.’ It was an ancient tradition among the people to give kind, respectful names to that which was most feared. The Erinyes had long been known as ‘The Solemn Ones,’ out of awe and veneration. The fact that Menoetius had now joined the ranks of those frightening enough to warrant such a name caused Aridela’s flesh to shiver in trepidation.
Aridela careened between guilt, terror, and disbelief. She blamed Selene. She blamed Goddess Athene. But mostly, she blamed herself.
Could it be true? Could the Lady, in her unquenchable rage, have leveled such a terrible thing upon Menoetius?
In the privacy of her bed, she made the sign against evil and whispered prayers for mercy. She reminded Athene that she would be dead but for Menoetius’s quick thinking when she was a child, and later, when she was Harpalycus’s slave. She emphasized Menoetius’s devotion and spoke of his eyes, which reflected those of his Mistress, and the crescent scar. Had the Lady not marked him in such a way to signify their bond?
Rhené brought a poppy drink, which eventually plunged her into a nightmare where she and the child-bride Iros wandered together endlessly and blindly through the labyrinth’s black passageways, their timid steps accompanied by the distant awful grunting and raging of the Beast who, by his very existence, made Kaphtor’s doom all too clear.
Her handmaid approached the bed, bowing. “My lady, Selene is here again.”
“Bring her in.” Aridela sat up, despair making every movement a heavy effort. She’d refused to see Selene since the confrontation in the orchard, but the passage of seven days had cooled her anger, and Selene had come every day, asking to see her. It seemed petulant and childish to go on resisting.
Selene paused in the doorway before rushing forward. She knelt and seized Aridela’s hands, kissing them. “How have we come to this?”
Dark, sunken circles marred the skin beneath her slanted turquoise eyes. They were swollen and red. Such misery sparked Aridela’s compassion.
“Lie here with me.” Aridela moved over so Selene could join her.
Together they wept, and for the first time, Aridela felt some portion of her misery dissipate.
“You have to save Menoetius,” Selene said at last.
“I want that more than anything. Was he drunk? Is there a way to excuse what he did?”
Selene sat up, wiping her eyes. “Aridela, I love you. But you refuse any truth that casts a shadow on Chrysaleon.”
Aridela straightened too. “If you’ve come to accuse him of treason again, leave now, and you might as well return to your country, because I will never welcome you into my presence from this day onward.”
Selene frowned and looked away. “I’ll say no more.”
“Has Menoetius ever confessed the truth to you, as Chrysaleon did to me?” Aridela stroked Selene’s forearm, hoping to lessen the sting of her words. “Before the Destruction, he told me why they came here. He confessed his father sent them to find our weaknesses so they could overthrow us. He didn’t have to tell me, but he did. He swore he abandoned the scheme out of love for me. I believe him. All the time Menoetius and I were stuck in that cave he never once admitted any of this. So I ask you— which man is to be trusted?”
“Menoetius did tell me,” Selene said slowly. “But not until recently. One day, he came to me, angry and upset about something, I know not what. That’s when he confessed his father’s plot. Many secrets were revealed that day. It doesn’t mean Menoetius can’t be trusted. It means he respects his father and so would not betray his secrets. That’s all.”
Sighing, Aridela tried again. “Chrysaleon comes from a foreign land, very different from ours. Yet my mother believed in him, and Helice was not easily fooled. His time is short. As Goddess-of-Life-in-Death, it’s my duty to make each of his days more delightful than the last. Look at how badly I’ve managed so far. I must make amends… for the time he has left.”
Even as she defended him, his words returned. I am Mycenaean. My destiny isn’t to die in your labyrinth.
No one could ever know. It was her turn to protect him, as he’d protected her the night of the Destruction.
She would shield him, but it was useless to pretend she wasn’t still angry. Because of it, she deliberately recalled Selene’s words as well. Look how ready he is to believe you faithless. Almost like he expected it.
Selene slid off the bed. “Menoetius wants to speak to you.”
“More lies. More blame. I won’t listen.”
“No, Aridela. He regrets the trouble he caused you.”
“The council has ordered that no one can see him, though you obviously have. Besides, I’ve heard— terrible things. That he’s… become dangerous.”
“Absurd lies,” Selene said with a snort. “Who rules this land? You or the council?”
“You know I am queen. But the council has a say in such matters.”
“Aridela, do you realize Menoetius may soon die? If you refuse to see him now, you may never see him again. And I’ll tell you something else. If you let the council kill him, I will die as well.”
“What?”
Selene took Aridela’s hands and held them to her chest. “I understand how you feel, Aridela, and it grieves me to cause you this pain. I never knew such love for a man could steal into my heart without my consent, and burn it forever to his.”
Aridela couldn’t hide her shock. Selene had always been disinterested, even slightly repulsed by males. “Then you do know,” she said at last. “Even into this, you accompany me.”
“Further than you guess. I carry his child.”
Wonder and joy, for an instant, blotted out their unhappy situation. Selene had never allowed a man to quicken her womb. “What happy tidings!” Aridela rose to her knees. She slipped her hands from Selene’s and placed them over the gentle roundness she hadn’t noticed before, due to the many layers of clothing worn by all in the lingering chill. The baby fluttered, causing her to smile. “It seems well-established,” she said. “When?”
“The Moon of the Olive Harvest, just before we freed you from Harpalycus. I think it was the last night Menoetius and I were together before he took you into the mountains.”
For one cloudy, somber instant, Aridela knew envy. “Menoetius’s baby,” she whispered, and quickly blinked away a prickle of tears.
Turning her mind away from thoughts she had no right to think, Aridela counted in her head. “Then yours will only be about three months older than mine.” She got up from the bed and they embraced. “Does he know?”
“Yes— we both gave up the secrets we’d been keeping. Aridela, Menoetius’s allegiance is a matter of honor to him, as it is to you. He thought Chrysaleon might return from Mycenae ready to obey the obligation of the sacrifice. He refused to make any accusations until he knew. He gave his brother a chance. Only when he was certain nothing had changed did he agree to come to you. Do you understand how hard it was for him? Menoetius is one of us now. No longer a Mycenaean. He chose us over Mycenae, over Chrysaleon. He is wholly loyal to you, and to Kaphtor.”
Aridela embraced her again, this time to hide her face from Selene’s perceptive gaze.
I’m a Mycenaean. It isn’t my destiny to die in your labyrinth.
“Will both fathers be dead when their babies are born?”
The pointed question sent a cold, nauseating shiver through Aridela’s body. I won’t let you die. I’ll save you somehow. She’d almost blurted out that impulsive promise, but Menoetius and Selene had interrupted them before she could. Looking back now, she was glad. Yes, she wanted Chrysaleon to live. But part of her, the part he’d injured so profoundly with his fierce, cruel condemnation— his swift belief that she’d betrayed him, knew he was not, and never would be, a true bull-king.
“Come,” she said faintly. “I will see Menoetius, since you wish it. But Chrysaleon can’t know. He would never forgive me.”
; Selene nodded. “It will be our secret.”
“I’ve been told no one can find him down there.”
“I can find him,” Selene said.
Guards stood at attention on either side of the heavily barred entrance leading into the labyrinth— Menoetius’s dark, suffocating prison. Aridela waved them aside and took Selene’s arm.
“My lady,” said one. “You cannot go down there. The Zagreus gave orders.”
“He did?” Aridela kept her voice mild. “So you dictate to me where I can and cannot go?”
He flushed and immediately bowed his head. “Allow me to accompany you,” he said. “It is not safe.”
“I will go too.” The other stepped forward.
“Very well.” Aridela nodded. “But do you understand you serve your queen, not the Zagreus? You will never speak a word of this if you want to earn my trust.”
Each again bowed. “Never, my lady,” the first one said.
“I am yours and always have been, my lady,” said the other.
Aridela turned to Selene. “Lead the way.”
Following Selene into the dank, chilly abyss beneath the palace, Aridela found herself remembering the night she and Selene crept out of the palace with Iphiboë to seek their fortunes in the Cave of Velchanos. This was where Menoetius now lived. Here, in this dusty, crumbling, eerie place, where water dripped, the slightest sound echoed, and the danger of collapsing timbers was ever constant.
Menoetius, what have we done to you? Tears burned her eyes, blurring the dim, dreary corridor.
Selene walked on without pause. They wound farther into caverns of silence, through passageways hewn in long lost centuries.
At last they came to a heavy door with a corroded bronze latch. Together, the guards struggled to open it.
Aridela peered into a chamber not unlike the cave in the western mountains. Several lamps provided cheery light. No doubt Selene had brought them. His tiger skin cloak was tossed carelessly over a stool in the corner. Selene had probably brought that, too.
“Menoetius,” Selene called.
Aridela couldn’t quite suppress an uneasy tremor when she heard rustling and footsteps in an adjoining corridor. She remembered her handmaid’s frightened whispers. The Beast is an abomination, his eyes huge and bloodshot, inhuman, his mouth dribbling foam and blood.
The guards stared too and readied their swords.
But the figure who emerged from the dark was only a man, one who looked as tired and desolate as Aridela felt. Not dangerous. Not mad. Just pale and resigned.
“You came,” he said, his piercing gaze heightening the odd, internal tremor. “I didn’t think you would.” He knelt before her, looked up into her face, and took her hand. “Here I am, again your prisoner.”
She was struck fresh by the impression that he and Chrysaleon were joined by some invisible, unbreakable means. She heard echoes of voices as she did sometimes. It lifted the hair on her scalp and sent another cold shiver through her limbs. Yes— one gold, one dark, opposites yet interconnected, like the sky was connected to the earth, dawn with twilight. She feared the rash willingness of each to harm the other side of himself. Why, when it was so clear to her, could neither one see that doing so would drive a spear through his own heart?
Her womb cramped, nearly forcing a gasp from her. Rhené would be angry if she knew her patient had risen from bed and gone traipsing off into the bowels of the labyrinth to see a maddened criminal, Asterion the Beast, condemned of treason and violence against the sacred king. She must not stay. But there was something she needed to understand.
“Chrysaleon made you his cabal,” she said. “If you had fulfilled the duty set before you, the people of Kaphtor would have proclaimed you their hero, carried you to me on their shoulders. You would have been esteemed and adored, and Chrysaleon would be dead. Why, Menoetius? Why did you choose instead to destroy yourself?”
He rose, frowning. “Chrysaleon has no intention of dying, under the star Iakchos or anywhere else. He wouldn’t tell me his plan, but I saw it in his confidence, his arrogance. I know him in ways you never can.”
“Chrysaleon cannot thwart his destiny,” she said, “but now another man will fulfill it, because you, too, will be dead. The council demands your life in punishment for what you tried to do. That is the only thing you achieved by attacking him.” She had to swallow before she could add, in a whisper, “And it will be horrible.”
Selene stepped nearer and put her hand on Aridela’s shoulder. “If you allow that, you will have to torture and kill me as well. Menoetius and I together made the choice to confront Chrysaleon, and I do not abandon those I love.”
Aridela’s shock at this challenge and what it would mean to Selene drowned out her anger at the insinuation. She turned back to Menoetius. “How I wish you had left Kaphtor, as you intended. I should not have asked you to stay. None of this would be happening if you’d gone.”
“I didn’t know about Selene when I said that.” He glanced at Selene and clasped her hand. They gazed at each other, not speaking, but Aridela sensed all they were communicating.
“Yes,” Aridela said. “You’re going to be a father, Menoetius.” Another tiny spark of envy erupted in her chest. She swallowed.
He turned his gaze back to her, smiling faintly.
“But if you’re staying for Selene and the child, why do what you’ve done? If you hadn’t confronted Chrysaleon, you would be free. And why agree to be his cabal? You could live your whole life, for however long its threads may be woven. Instead, you’ve chosen death. None of it makes any sense.”
“We thought you would believe me. I didn’t see myself down here, condemned to die. I thought it would be Chrysaleon. Then there would be no need for me to serve as his cabal.” He gave a wry smile. “I suppose I should have known better.”
Selene nodded. “I, too, have asked him why he agreed to be Chrysaleon’s cabal— his scapegoat! I have begged him to withdraw. He refuses, but will not tell me why. And as for you,” she said, clicking her tongue to show her irritation. “Of course I thought you would believe us. I never doubted it. You and I have been sisters, and more, for so many years. I never thought you would choose the foreigner over those who have proven their loyalty.”
Aridela looked from one to the other. Painful, rending guilt sprang up, but on its heels flowed anger.
“It’s true you’ve been with Chrysaleon your whole life and you know him well, in many ways better than I,” she said to Menoetius. “But you don’t know everything. You said you’ve changed since coming here. So has he. I don’t doubt you told me what you believed, and even the truth as it may have once been. He did come here initially with other ideas. He confessed it. But he is different. He loves me and doesn’t want to die, but he will, for the sake of Kaphtor. I know he will.”
Menoetius started to speak then swallowed. “No,” he whispered. Agony turned his eyes dark as slate. “He won’t. I cannot stand by and do nothing, even if I have to die for trying.” Turning to Selene, he said, “Would you let me speak to her alone?”
Selene nodded. “Be aware, she is as stubborn as you.” Motioning to the guards, she herded them out with her, leaving the door slightly ajar.
“What is it?” Aridela asked, wary.
“Do you remember the day you took Chrysaleon as your consort?” he asked.
She couldn’t help smiling, but it was tinged with suspicion. “Is there some doubt?”
“Do you remember when you turned away from him to look at me? Your mother and the oracle were speaking over the two of you.”
“Yes,” she said. “I remember it well.” Her hands clenched. Themiste had been praying over the couple but Aridela hardly heard. She was distracted by her lover’s brother, who stood some distance away. That was when the Goddess entered her mind and spoke prophecy. She had seen Menoetius as he used to be, handsome, youthful, heroic, carrying the gored little princess out of the shrine so she could live her life instead of dying in a pool o
f her own blood.
“Something happened.” Menoetius broke into her memories. “A voice spoke.” He touched the side of his head and shrugged. “I’ve never told anyone this, and you’ll think me witless, but I swear it to you, Aridela. It happened. The Goddess told me what was to come.”
“You aren’t witless,” Aridela said with a quiet laugh, “any more than you are the Beast of the labyrinth— the loathsome Asterion that has all of Kaphtor shivering in their beds.”
“The bull-man.” His mouth slid into a lopsided, cynical smile. “Well, at least no one searches for me. I have all the solitude I’ve ever craved.”
“Tell me what the Goddess said to you.”
He stared at her, squinting as though searching for a path into her mind, before he answered. “She told me I will live through centuries, that I’ll have many faces and names. She even told me what they would be. Cailean. Nuren. Ambrosio. Daniel. Curran. The last was William.” Bewilderment forged creases across his forehead. “Strange names. They made me think of my mother’s country. I sensed I was being drawn there— that it was a place where such ways of speaking might be common.”
Aridela could only nod. She didn’t want to break his concentration though inside she reeled as she matched the names the Goddess told her that day with his. She almost asked why he was telling her this now, when they’d been together all that time in the mountains and he’d never hinted at it. But she knew, and couldn’t make him say it. Because he thought this was his last chance.
In the Moon of Asterion (The Child of the Erinyes) Page 12