I DON’T KNOW how much more of this Minos can take. I’m no medic but it has to be unhealthy for any person to lose as much weight as rapidly as he has. And this isn’t the healthy slimming that happens to some boys at the start of their vigile training when baby fat is whittled down and muscles are honed to a hard finish. Minos has the look of a man with a disease that’s eating him from the inside out.
Even Yerni, who normally begs me to keep Minos out of his shop for fear of our leader eating him out of business, misses Minos and has started delivering a pot of our leader’s favorite spiced stew to the palace each day. Minos makes his smiles and offers his mechanical gratitude, but as soon as Yerni leaves, Minos sends the pot to the servants for their midday meal.
This morning, after getting the day started at the temple, I walk over to Yerni’s shop. As with any other dawn, he’s chopping the vegetables and browning the meat so his stews can have time to simmer before he opens. I knock on the frame of his kitchen door.
"Go away," he grunts then turns around. "Ariadne. Sorry. Didn’t know it was you. Does Minos have a special request today? I just picked some leeks that’ll be delicious with spring potatoes." Yerni is a man of few words unless they’re about food.
"It sounds wonderful, but I think you shouldn’t come today." The skinny cook takes on an air of offense to cover the disappointment that crosses his face. "It’s not you, not at all. It’s just that Pasiphae is making an appearance today."
He sweeps a pile of carrots into a pot that looks big enough to hold an entire calf, then tips a pan of browned steak on top of the carrots. Another handful of steak cubes, along with some mushrooms goes into the browning pan that he sets onto the hot burner of his smallest brazier. This step done, he turns back to me.
"Thanks for the warning. I am more than glad to stay out of that bitch’s way."
"Trust me, I’d rather chop that sack of onions there than put up with her, but I won’t let Minos endure her on his own."
We exchange a few more words before I leave him to his preparations for the day. I walk up to the palace taking note of how shabby the city looks and what needs to be tended to—wilted flowers in the hanging baskets, trash in the gutters, and someone has thrown a pile of broken dishes into the fountain. The mess has me in a grumpy mood by the time I arrive at the palace and I’m not looking forward to dragging Minos from his bed to face the day. Luckily, and surprisingly, Minos is up and dressed in a tunic of yellowed linen that almost fits his withered frame. I wonder which servant he borrowed it from.
Instead of moping and sitting quietly in a corner, he’s pacing his study and wringing his hands with such fervor that I think he will rub the skin right off his bones. One thing can be said, at least the councilwoman’s imminent arrival has pushed Minos out of his normal morose state. Although the agitated mood he’s taken on in its place is no better. Before all this horror, he would have faced any challenging incident as a man full of blustering force that could knock down a wall if needed. But now the strain only makes him look like a scrawny abused dog that trembles at even the kindest of gestures.
And it’s not just the minotaur’s presence causing this change; it’s the brink of war Minoa now teeters on. It’s on everyone’s tongues. Merchants—trying to broker as many deals as they can before war makes trade difficult—arrive full of rumors that the Osteria Council is drawing up a declaration of war and that some poli may not wait for the feet-dragging council members; they might march in at any moment. The old Minos might have been able to handle this with strength and diplomacy, but he’s withering without the support of his people. They despise him for bringing their once-great kingdom so low. Many think he should take the offensive and strike first; these people despise him for what they deem as cowering from the Osteria Council and the poli. But Minos won’t do it. Part of me wishes he would, but he has explained his reasoning to me and I understand his logic: Twelve people die in the maze or thousands die in a war. But where does it end? We can’t continue like this. At some point it must come to a breaking point. I just worry who will be left standing when that point comes.
"Is she here yet?" Minos asks, jerking his head toward me when I greet him. He’s so grey and shrunken, I want to wrap a shawl around his shoulders like I would an old woman.
"I think we’ll all know when Pasiphae gets here," I say, keeping an eye on the foyer through the office’s open door.
And in a few moments we do know. Although she sent letters on official Osteria Council stationery telling us of her arrival date and time, I have decided Pasiphae deserves neither the respect nor the honor of having Minos meet her at the city gate. As if to make up for this lack of ceremonial pomp, she sweeps into the foyer with an entourage of servants and guards.
Since the death of the Demosians, Minos’s dinner parties have dwindled to nothing. After all, who wants to spend time with a host who is perceived as a murderous madman? For weeks, the palace has fallen into a tomb-like silence as even the servants try to avoid being anywhere near their master. But now, with at least twenty of Pasiphae’s people crowding in at once, the palace rumbles with the harsh accents of Aryana. Leaving Minos in his study, I greet Pasiphae in the foyer. She’s smirking at the murals along the walls that depict Minos in his full health, confidence, and vigor.
"Pasiphae," I say with no hint of welcome in my voice. "You shouldn’t have troubled yourself to come all the way out here."
I keep hoping she won’t, that she’ll get bored with making the journey to Minoa, or that she might possibly have something better to do, but each day before a group is scheduled to arrive, she has shown up at the palace as if she were a welcome and invited guest. She says it’s to oversee matters for the Council, ensure all rules are being adhered to, but I think she simply enjoys watching Minos suffer.
After the first slaughter, Pasiphae was cruel enough to forward us a box of hate-filled letters the Osteria Council received from the parents of the Demosian youths who had died under the savagery of the minotaur—letters to which we couldn’t reply since the Council won’t let us send messages. After the second group, the one Minos couldn’t even bear to face, he was left with such nightmares that he can no longer stand to be alone after dark. So, if a servant isn’t available to stay in his room, I remain by his bed rather than return to my rooms in the temple complex. I think the third group, the Astorians he waited for so expectantly, truly broke something in Minos. Minos heard their screams of horror and pain while he sat his vigil at the end of the maze. He now makes those same sounds in his sleep. I wonder what pain Pasiphae will leave in her wake this time.
"I will speak with Minos, not with you," Pasiphae says contemptuously.
"I am Minos’s representative when he’s unavailable."
She judges me for a moment. She is refined, elegant, and slim, and when I first met her I felt awkwardly big around such a woman, but my instinct to protect Minos and Minoa itself overrides my usual self-consciousness. I know damn well I’m not who she wants to deal with. I am no man who can be swayed by her charms. A small flicker of concession crosses her face. I can’t help but grin at the thought that I’ve won this battle against her.
"Tell him that the Osteria Council is drawing up the official decree that will allow the poli to declare war on Minoa since Minos has continued his stubborn and evil ways." She shows no sign of irony and I wonder if she has told these lies so often that she now believes them. "Of course, as I’ve said, if he agrees to join us, the minotaur will be taken away and the decree withdrawn."
"He will not join. And if you allow the poli to wage war against us, we will kill the minotaur, we’ll starve him if we have to, and that will be the end of it. Let the Osteria Council write up whatever they like, the poli can’t do anything worse to us than you have already. It’s you they should be going after." My words are bold, but I doubt Minos could kill the beast if he had to.
"Ah, but you forget, I have my own weapon against Minos."
The rape charge. Damn Minos. With his cowering and emaciation it’s almost impossible now to imagine him as lusty—hard enough now to imagine Minos being able to lift a finger, let alone rousing any other body parts. Besides, Minos is kind to women and treats them with respect. The charge is ridiculous and I’m growing more certain the Council is playing it up to break Minoa apart for their own gain.
"Your next victims arrive tomorrow. I hear that certain poli have sworn that if you allow these young men and women to die without doing anything to help them, they will go to war against you whether the Council allows it or not."
"Minos will not give in."
"Then I suppose you best prepare for war."
"There’s still a chance that one of the next group will defeat this creature. After all, your son is not immortal."
"No," she blurts, defensive anger filling the small word. Worry flashes across her face for just a moment. The usual haughtiness quickly returns, but her brief show of weakness is enough to bring me a little satisfaction. "No, he’s not, but he has never been defeated. He hasn’t even come close to being defeated," she boasts then gives a condescending laugh. "None of them have even laid a hand on him except when they try to smack his snout as he’s eating them alive. Now, if you will show me to my rooms."
I scowl. Her disregard for life makes me want to hoist her up and throw her out the door. The image of this in my mind is the only thing that softens my expression. "You really think we’ll grant you lodging under this roof? The only time you’ll be welcome to stay in this palace is the day you come to haul away the body of your beast."
She stares at me. My rudeness has brought an unattractive scrunch to her face, but when she sees Minos inching his way into the foyer, a cruel smile lifts her lips.
"Pasiphae, your rooms are ready. Please, make yourself comfortable," he says meekly as he gestures for one of his personal servants to take Pasiphae’s travel bag. Pasiphae turns and arches an eyebrow at me.
"The body of my beast. Did you mean the minotaur or Minos?"
"This will be the last time you stay here," I say with no emotion, but her words hit me in the pit of my stomach. She’s right. If the minotaur is not destroyed, Minos will die. Whether from grief, at the hands of other Osterians, or by his own blade, I do not know. All I know is that if war is to be avoided, this next group must bear the hero Minoa needs. But after what I’ve seen these past weeks, I have strong doubts that person exists.