Page 15 of Dark Restraint
There’s a threat beneath her words, but I’m too tired to force her to speak plainly. Instead, I make myself meet her gaze. “If I do this, you will also promise to protect my brother. Not with the Thirteen, not with some half-baked security squad. You personally, Hera.”
“He’s hardly my domain.” She shrugs. “I’m not in the habit of kidnapping folks. The best I can promise is that I will extend him an offer of protection. It’s up to him whether he decides to take it.”
Icarus will take some convincing. Even then, Hera’s protection is hardly all-encompassing. There are no guarantees. If Olympus falls, I’ll have to think of something else to keep my brother safe. A problem for another day. This is as good a deal as I’m going to get. Honestly, she could just demand I do what she wants and I wouldn’t have a choice. I have no power here; a pawn being moved back and forth by Asterion and Hera, subject to the whims of people more powerful than me. Just like I’ve always been.
I extend my hand. “You have yourself a bargain.”
9
The Minotaur
With time to kill and no desire to face off with Minos again, I spend the next day stalking Dionysus. He’s the one among the Thirteen who I never paid much attention to. He was ordered off-limits at the party and therefore beneath my notice. The few interactions I’ve had with him have done nothing to convince me of his worth. He’s a thin white man who dresses in inexplicably fancy clothing and always seems to be in an altered state of mind. At the party, it was alcohol, but in the time I’ve spent following him today, I watched him take no fewer than three different kinds of drugs.
Or at least I assume the pills he’s been popping are drugs. I am certain the line he snorted is.
It doesn’t seem to affect him, though. He bumbles through his meetings with a carelessness that aggravates me. This is one of the thirteen most powerful people in this fucking city, and he doesn’t seem worried in the least he might be a target for assassination or that the city itself is about to be under siege. Not that he would know that last bit, but the rest of the Thirteen walk around as if they have targets on their backs or with a fierce bravado, daring someone to try them. Dionysus does neither.
As best I can tell, his meetings today in the dingy bars of the warehouse district are regarding the importation of the substances he’s testing. Publicly, his prestige comes from the entertainment he offers. He’s partners with several of the largest businesses in the upper city and a handful in the lower city and has exclusive distribution to said businesses when it comes to alcohol. I’ve tasted his vintages, and they’re fine. I’m not really a wine guy, though.
There’s nothing about him that’s impressive. There’s sure as fuck nothing about him that’s worthy of Ariadne.
I’m under strict instructions not to murder any of the Thirteen until the barrier comes down, but I’m tempted to defy that order here and now. The final bar we’ve ended up in is the most threadbare of the bunch. The floors beneath my feet are sticky, the barstools appear to be in danger of collapsing under the next patron, and the booths near the back are bathed in shadows that invite shady dealings. It’s one of those booths Dionysus has retreated to. I can’t see him from my current position, but I can see the back door. He won’t get away without my knowing it.
The bartender—a short, plump person with a bald head, pale skin, and star freckles tattooed across the bridge of their nose—stops in front of me and sets down a tall glass of beer. I frown at them. “I didn’t order this.”
“Compliments of the owner.” They jerk a thumb toward the booth Dionysus disappeared into.
Son of a bitch. To not drink is cowardly. To drink is foolish. I’ve witnessed how many substances this man has access to. Surely some of them are deadly. While I’ve been considering taking him out, he might have been watching me watch him and thinking the same thoughts.
Only one way to find out.
I pick up the beer and walk to the booth where Dionysus is slouched. He doesn’t flinch at my presence, but judging from how dilated his eyes are, that might be because he’s incapable of sensing the danger he’s in.
“So. It is you. I thought I saw a hulking monster shadowing my steps. Very spooky.”
“It’s me.” I survey him just like I’ve been surveying him all day. It doesn’t matter what angle I come at this from. The truth is that I don’t understand him. As far as I can tell, he’s the personification of all of Olympus’s vices. Selfish and indulgent and completely oblivious to the danger all around him.
Dionysus heaves himself forward and braces his elbows on the table. He seems to be making an effort to study me back, but he keeps getting distracted with other things. The hazy light hanging over the booth. The spill of some liquid near his elbow. His nearly empty glass. Finally, he sighs. “Have you come to kill me?”
If I were a different person, everyone’s willingness to believe I’m there to murder them might irk me. But I’ve spent my entire life cultivating a reputation that is not to be fucked with. When people think you’re too dangerous to cross, they don’t cross you. Even Minos, who has held my leash for half my life, hesitates to yank it too hard. That’s just the way I like it.
“Well?”
The truth is I don’t know why I’m here. I might not like him, and I certainly don’t understand him, but as long as Ariadne is engaged to him, I know exactly where she’s at. It gives me leverage that I fully intend to use. “I’m not going to kill you…yet.”
“How comforting. Cheers.” He raises his glass and drains the dregs. I have to fight not to wince at how thick they look. Surely that can’t taste good, but it doesn’t seem to faze him in the least. He raises his dark brows. “You haven’t touched your drink, friend. For someone who doesn’t seem to have much respect for me, you sure act like I’m a threat.”
“I’m not your friend.” I can’t tell if he’s provoking me with the intention of making me look like a fool or if he really has poisoned me. No, I’m thinking like an Aeaean, not like an Olympian. They fight their battles with words and public perception, not with knives and poison.
At least they do since the last Zeus died.
I hold his gaze and drain my beer in a single drink. I’m mildly irritated to discover it’s the best beer I’ve ever had. This man might be a fuckup in a number of ways, but he knows his alcohol. I set the glass on the table with a clink. “You’re set to marry Ariadne.”
“That’s what they tell me.”
I wait for some kind of gloating or pride or even lust, but he seems completely indifferent to his pending nuptials. “You act like you didn’t choose it.”
“I didn’t. If I had my way, it would be the permanent bachelor life for me. Don’t have much interest in marriage or relationships in general, and Dionysus isn’t a legacy title, so there’s no need for me to procreate.” He shudders delicately. “Thank the gods.”