The Maze of Minos

by Tammie Painter

  "You’re Athenian? I’m sorry, you don’t sound Athenian."

  "Your ears don’t deceive you," I say, unfolding the parchment from my father. "I’m Helenian. My father gave me this sword when I was a baby."

  I hold the letter out to him with the official seal facing up, but he doesn’t take it. His manner has gone from authoritative to apologetic and he’s now shifting on his feet like a child in need of a latrine.

  "Theseus? Is it you?" I nod and give a mocking arch of my eyebrows. "I didn’t realize who you were. Please, come inside." He gestures me into the mansion. "And if you could not tell your father what I said."

  "You were only doing your job."

  I pass by him to enter a vast foyer that is flanked by twin sweeping staircases. The foyer alone is larger than the apartment my mother and I shared quite comfortably for my entire life. Before the guard can lead me further, a man and a woman step from the second floor landing onto the right hand stairway. The man is strong and bold with close-cropped, salt-and-pepper hair that makes him look more rugged than old. The woman halts and grips the handrail as if she might tumble down the broad stairs. She’s closer to my age than my father’s and wears her dark hair pulled back with a length of maroon silk. Something about her heart-shaped face strikes me as familiar, but the closer I watch her, the more the sense of recognition disappears. When my father, who hasn’t noticed his wife is no longer walking beside him, sees me, he stops halfway down the steps and stares over the railing for a moment.

  "Theseus? Is it you?"

  Without warning, my throat catches with emotion and I know I cannot speak without embarrassing myself, so I give a single nod and indicate Owl. Behind my father, the woman scowls, but when he turns to her, her eyes brighten and her face softens warmly. "Dearest, it’s my son, Theseus." All smiles, he rushes down the stairs to clutch me into a bear hug that is so tight I fear my ribs might crack under the pressure. I adore his unbridled affection, but my cheeks burn when the guard and several servants enter just as tears of happiness spill from my eyes.

  When he sets me down, I quickly wipe my face.

  "Why did you not send word you were coming? I could have arranged a better greeting than this."

  I glance at the guard and can’t help but grin at his discomfort. "My greeting was fine."

  "Oh good, Kyros there can be a bit picky about keeping me to my schedule. But meet Aegea. She’s heard so much about you." He turns to look up to where his wife had been standing, but she is no longer there. "Ah, probably went to fix her hair. She’ll be down shortly. Now, let’s get you settled then share a cup of wine while you tell me of these adventures I hear you had to Colchis."

  I’m amazed he knows what I’ve been up to, but his mention of the kingdom of Colchis brings back my earlier sensation of recognizing his new bride. Unfortunately, it’s like trying to remember a dream once you’ve woken and the more I try to grasp at it, the further it seems to slip from me. I give up my attempts. I’ve seen dark-haired women with heart-shaped faces in every corner of Osteria I’ve been to. That’s probably as far as the familiarity extends. I stop trying to clutch at my fog of an idea and follow my father, ready for my dry throat to be quenched with a cup or two of wine.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Pasiphae

  ARES SLEEPS AFTER our bedsport. And with him it truly is sport—ambitious, combative, competitive, animal—not the dull tenderness of ordinary lovemaking. But my mind won’t quiet, so I slide out of bed, slip a robe over my shoulders, and slink over to my dressing table, the silk of the garment whisking with each step. I don’t know what draws me to the table. It’s not as if I’m going to make up my face at this hour of the night. Moonlight glints off the cut glass bottles that contain lotions of youth my sister Circe makes for me and lends an otherworldly hue to the jewels dangling from their holders. But it’s the reflection of the full moon in the blade of the dagger given to me by my father, the titan Helios, that catches my eye.

  I pick up the weapon, admiring how perfectly the hilt fits my hand. I glance up to the mirror to see my lover sprawled across my bed. How vulnerable is Ares? Since his outburst, the one in which he insulted all the gods including that little trollop Aphrodite, he has once again been banned from Olympus and all but the most rudimentary of his powers have been taken away, but is he mortal now? And if he is immortal still, how badly can he be wounded? I watch my finger stroke down the length of the dagger’s edge and over the hilt.

  Without warning, a hand covers mine then grips. I fight the instinct to jerk, not wanting to end up with my hand over the blade. The grip squeezes tighter, pressing the carvings on the hilt into my palm.

  "Planning on trimming your nails?" Ares asks in a voice that is both playful and threatening.

  I meet his dark eyes in the mirror’s reflection. The sight of him makes me wonder why I got out of bed. Why, when I couldn’t sleep, didn’t I just rouse him for another round of bedsport?

  "For all your lack of power, you're still stealthy," I say, feeling an ache for him building between my legs. I decide not to play games. Truth will get us back into bed sooner. "I was merely wondering if the knife of a titan could kill you."

  With a twisting motion, I turn toward him. He loosens his grip slightly but doesn't let go. Unable to drop the dagger, I end up pointing the blade at him.

  "You're refreshingly honest," he says, leaning in to kiss me. The tip of the dagger touches his toned midsection. One push and I would learn the answer to my question.

  "Yes, but are you?" I ask as I give the dagger a gentle push. The question, asked simply to be coquettish, stirs up the chariots that had been racing through my mind and keeping me from sleep. The chariots that carry banners that read: Why does Ares want me?

  "Does it matter?" he asks as his lips brush across my neck sending shivers through my body. But before my legs can step toward the bed, my mouth blurts out the questions that could drive Ares from my bed forever.

  "Do you really want me as your partner or have you chosen me because of my ties with the titans? Did you put me in the Osterian Council seat for Aryana after Pelias died because I was the best choice?" I find I am clutching the dagger more tightly, my arm tensed to push. I may be foolish in my feelings for Ares, but I will not let him play me like some naive girl.

  "I’ll admit, I certainly want you more than Pelias; you’re far better looking. Although not as obedient." He snaps the fingers of his free hand. A jolt shoots up my arm and forces me to drop the dagger. He steps over the weapon to the bed and lays on his back. Even in the moonlight I can see he is ready for me. He pats the bed as if calling a cat to jump up. His refusal to answer annoys me. I stand my ground.

  "I am not one of your vigiles trained to follow orders. Unlike Pelias, I can think for myself." He turns onto his side, resting his head in his hand. "You haven’t answered my question. What do you want?"

  He eyes my body, scanning it from head to toe as he licks his lips. I roll my eyes and tie my robe closed. He gives a sigh of resignation and sits up.

  "You know what I want," he says as if speaking to a slow child. "I want war. With that war I want to take over Osteria. I want all of Osteria to be like Aryana. I want to be the only god and, yes, if you can prove yourself worthy, I would gladly make you the one by my side when all is said and done. I find I desire you. Repeatedly. And I think you are clever enough to make me a worthy partner. You only need to prove yourself."

  "How?" I ask, my heart thudding with excitement and relief. He does want me. This is not just a matter of convenience or lust for him.

  "If I told you, then we wouldn’t be proving your cleverness, would we? We’d be proving mine and I already know my own worth," he says, shifting to lounge back on the pillows and putting his hands behind his head. He’s waiting for an answer, waiting for me to, in an instant, strategize how to plunge Osteria into war.

  I think for a moment. Aryana is strong, but to take over Osteria would require more than what we have since the other
eleven poli could eventually overwhelm us. "You’ll need more forces, a larger army," I say hesitantly as the ideas roll into my head. Ares glances at me, curiosity brightening his eyes and encouraging me to keep my train of thought moving. "After Aryana, Minoa has the largest vigile force in Osteria. If we, if I," I add with emphasis, "can convince Minos to join his forces to ours," I trail off, not even finishing the sentence as my brain works faster than my tongue can keep up. "But if he doesn’t, then we can’t take ‘no’ for an answer. We trick him into angering the poli so they start a war with him. With them distracted—"

  Before I can complete my plan, Ares leaps from the bed, clearly aroused. He unties my robe with one hand as the other pinches my nipple. I moan and make a feeble attempt to push him away. I'm no fool to think Ares loves me. I don't even know if he can love me, but to be granted the attention of a god, to be chosen by one, it's hard not to fall under his spell.

  "Don’t treat me like you did Poseidon," he says bending down to kiss my small breasts. He licks the dog tattoo that matches his own. "Don’t ever refuse me."

  "That’s it," I gasp, an idea seizing me as his fingers flick between my legs.

  "Yes, it is," Ares says as he guides me to the bed, leaning back and waiting for me. I don’t join him. I need to untangle this knot of ideas before I lose it.

  "No, my son. We could use him—" My words are cut off when Ares, not wanting to wait any longer, stands and lifts me onto him as he leans on the edge of the bed.

  "Your son," he groans. "The icing on a very satisfying cake." Has he planned to use my son all along? I don’t have time to dwell on the question. In a deft move, the first attack I like to call it, he flips over and is on top of me. His hips moving slowly. "Will you, a mother, give him to my cause, if I need him?"

  I almost hate myself for how good it feels to be with him, to be needed by him, to be proud of the pleasure I give him, to know that I can give him something no one else can even if it is my only child. I am a fool who has fallen for a god.

  "Anything," I cry out as pleasure crashes through me.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Medea

  FLYING BACK FROM the landing, I fling myself into my dressing room and just barely resist the urge to slam the door. My heart pounds inside my chest and my breath comes in short, quick pants as I press my back against the wall. Did he recognize me? What in Hades’s name is he doing here?

  Thankfully, my Aunt Circe has taught me many tricks.

  When I first arrived in Athenos, men in black uniforms in the agora kept eyeing me with a bit too much interest and far too much scorn. If my father was going to send Colchian guards to spy on me, I don’t know why he didn’t tell them to disguise themselves. However, their presence gave me the determination to perfect my aunt’s masking charm—a spell that can make a face unfamiliar to the eyes of those who should recognize it. I set to practicing the spell until I could mask my face quickly and without even having to say the words of the charm out loud.

  As an amusement I even learned to cast the spell on others. On days I feel bored with reading or embroidery, I sneak off to the agora and see who I can play with. It’s quite entertaining to watch a man trying to convince his wife he really is her husband. Once the vigiles get called in, I drop the mask and watch the wife writhe in apologetic embarrassment as she tries to figure out why she did not recognize her own spouse.

  I’ve perfected the charm even beyond Circe’s teaching, but seeing Theseus so unexpectedly threw me off my game. Even though my first instinct was to flee, I whipped up my disguise the moment I recognized him, but did I do it in time?

  A light knock on the door jamb sends my bones jumping from my skin.

  "Darling, are you alright?" Aegeus asks, stepping into the room. As well as I can, I feign a touch of girlish embarrassment.

  "You know the toilet and I can’t be apart for long," I say lightly. It’s true. I am absolutely enamored with the plumbing of Athenos. A simple pull of a cord and everything gets washed into a sewer system under the streets of the city. In my father’s fortress castle in Colchis, we have nothing more advanced than a wall niche furnished with a stone bench that has a hole in the center. The hole opens onto the crashing sea far below. Not only is it somewhat frightening, but it’s unbearably cold in the winter which means the only comfortable way to relieve oneself is into a chamberpot. After the luxury of Athenos, I never again want to have to squat over a porcelain bowl that the servants have forgotten to clean.

  It was a risk coming to Aegeus, to the man who rules the polis that is the seat of Osteria’s justice system, but his bachelor status and rumors of his fairness made it a risk worth taking. I did not come to Athenos to grovel for forgiveness from the Court. I came to here with every intention of becoming the most powerful woman in this influential land by securing a place for the child Aegeus would put in me. They may not use the word here, but Aegeus is as good as king, and my son will be the heir to the seat of power as soon as my husband makes good his wedding promise of changing his will. Then who knows what may happen? Kings, especially old kings like Aegeus, are easily done away with without suspicion. And my son will need a regent, I think as I picture myself ruling over Athenos—a picture that is now marred by Theseus’s appearance.

  I don’t believe in them, but I swear to all the gods that I thought my unborn child would fall right out of my womb at the shock of seeing that damn Helenian. I didn’t spend as much time with him as with other members of the Argoa’s crew, but I was above decks often enough for him to be able to recognize me now.

  Why did he have to show up and ruin everything? I may be able to hide from him with my aunt’s spell, but Theseus is still a thorn in my side. Aegeus loves him. Aegeus is proud of him. Aegeus has given him the owl sword that would only be carried by my husband’s acknowledged heir. I will not have this Helenian, who has never even been to this polis until today, steal my child’s birthright. I will not have him lingering around here using Aegeus’s love for his own gain. Besides, Theseus is nothing more than a bastard; thanks to my insisting Aegeus marry me even though I am still legally wed to Jason, my child will be legitimate.

  "If you’re ready, come down, have a cup with us. Theseus is anxious to meet you."

  He already has, I think and almost laugh. I bite my cheek and slip my hand onto my husband’s arm. I’ll need to get rid of Theseus, but until I can figure out how to get him out of this polis and out of his father’s affections I suppose I have to play the part of the loving wife and caring stepmother. Feeling better composed, I don my conjured mask.

  In the sun room the efficient servants have laid out platters of sliced meats, cheeses, nutty breads, and strawberries as well as jugs of water and wine. I find alcohol makes it hard to maintain the masking spell, so I take only water and a few strawberries.

  "Tell us, Theseus, have you brought any news?" Aegeus asks as he sits next to me, his plate mounded with food.

  "I’m sure you know more current news than I do. I’ve been on the Argoa, away from the gossip mills. But I did get updated in Seattica. That’s where I finally received your invitation. I’m sorry I couldn’t attend the wedding." He makes an apologetic nod to me. The only apology he should be making is for showing up at all. "I hear Portaceae is strong once more. They’re even helping rebuild Illamos Valley. That earthquake. I can’t imagine. Leveled everything but the palace in Salemnos."

  "Yes, such a shame. And the king abandoned his polis I hear," I say, fishing for news about Jason. It’s not that I care for him, not after his betrayal of me, but I do enjoy hearing any news of his downfall.

  "No, I don’t think he abandoned it exactly. Jason only left under Odysseus’s urging. He’s spending some time in Portaceae, with the medics. Did you know he and Odysseus were educated by Chiron himself," he says with awe.

  I force my face not to sneer in disgust. While I don’t approve of the abuse my fellow Colchians subject centaurs to, I find the half-man-half-horse creatures vile deformities th
at shouldn’t be allowed to mingle amongst humans. They belong with the mutants that dwell in the Middish Range, not here in Osteria. I’ve had to tame my feelings though since Athenians and most other non-Colchians see centaurs as equals, allowing them into the vigiles and even letting ones like this Chiron educate highborn children. That will change once my child rules Athenos.

  "I hear they are trying to snare Helen back into her betrothal promise with Jason," Aegeus says with a laugh. I wonder if he’s changing the subject since, as his son, Theseus should have been among the elite children in Chiron’s school.

  "That seems a bit silly," I say with too much bitterness in my voice. Jason had been betrothed to Helen since they were children, but he wed me instead. A mistake on both our parts.

  "She thinks so too," Aegeus says. "Although she has been enjoying all the attention she’s getting from every well-bred bachelor in Osteria. Still, despite Tyndareus saying his daughter will choose soon, the men who want her have been fighting for her. And not mock fighting either."

  "That could get out of hand," Theseus says. "It may seem innocuous now, but what if it escalates?"

  "She’ll soon get bored with it," I say, wanting to be done talking about the glorious Helen. "I thought Paris wanted her. Why doesn’t he just grab her and go?"

  "That I don’t know," Theseus says, shifting in his seat and clearly hiding something he knows about Paris.

  "He’s been strangely absent from the bouts for her hand," Aegeus says after taking a sip of wine.

  "That’s not the Paris I know," I say without thinking. Theseus shoots me a questioning look and that glint of recognition returns for a heartbeat before fading as I strengthen the masking spell.

  "You know Paris?" my stepson asks.

  "I’ve heard of Paris, of his reputation I should say. I’ve never had to risk my heart by meeting him." This of course is a lie. Paris sat next to me at my father’s table when he and the other Argoa sailors came to Colchis. I would have bedded him if my inexplicable passion for Jason hadn’t made me blind to other men. Knowing now the angst that betraying Illamosian brought me, how I wish I would have just satisfied myself with Paris rather than getting tangled up with Jason.