The sun was a red, glowing line blending into the black sea on the horizon. Helios had descended into his palace for the night. Ikarus fluffed his curls with a hand and then donned his finest dark blue robe. He’d missed the tournament earlier but had heard whispers throughout Knossos of how the Athenian prince had bested Genesis’ cruelest wrestler without breaking a sweat. How he longed to have seen it, to have watched Theseus’ face. How interesting it would be to remove the skin and bone and see what thoughts laid beneath his flesh. It was the start of every great hero’s tale. The spiteful king and the lad willing to stand up to him. More than anything else Ikarus wished he’d seen the look on Minos’ face. Ariadne would have to tell him all at the feast.

Daedalus slipped into the room without him noticing. For such a broad-shouldered man he walked with the delicacy of a cat. His worst fear was of breaking something, especially the beautiful things, such as the creations he’d made. If only Ikarus was the same, then maybe he’d feel like the inventor’s son, and not his noose. Ikarus jumped at the slight squeeze of his shoulder. “Son,” his father’s voice was a quiet mumble, like a stir of Aeolus.

“Father.” Ikarus straightened. Daedalus’ hand slid from his shoulder, hanging limp at his side. “What do you think? For the feast.”

His father’s face grew more lined. In the burgeoning candle glow he looked old, weathered as the beloved hull of his first ship. The one that bore him across the seas and earned him his place in this ornate prison. Ikarus’ too. “We aren’t going to the feast.”

Ikarus blanched, his nails ripping into the fabric of his cloak. “What do you mean?”

“There’s work to be done.” Daedalus brushed past him, as if that were the end of the matter.

The youth’s jaw hung open. He reached out and caught his father’s burly elbow. The scars of hard labor shown like oil on water, dark against Daedalus’ untanned skin. When last had the inventor been outside for more than a breath? “What work? Surely it can wait. These next days are supposed to be filled with reverence and festivities.”

In the window more of the light died. A grisly line of fire claimed the crisp edge of the ink sea. The inventor swiped his hands over his chiton. “It cannot wait.”

“Do you need my help with it?” Ikarus released his father’s elbow, setting his face. His heart plummeted with disappointment but resolve made his flesh stone. He would do his duty, as he always had, and help his father in any way he could. He moved towards the door.

Daedalus barred him with an arm, angling his body to prevent Ikarus exiting. A scowl formed on the youth’s ruddy lips. “What are you doing?”

“I don’t need your help tonight, Ikarus. I need you to stay put, where its safe.”

“Safe?” Ikarus echoed, eyebrows and temper rising. “Where is safer than with you? Don’t you need my assistance? I can fetch-”

“No. It’s best you remain here.” The tone was assertive but still barely a hum.

“What are you working on that I can’t see?”

“It is too frAigle right now-”

“You don’t trust me!”

“Of course, I trust you!” His father’s expression softened, and he reached for Ikarus’ cheeks, as if he were a small child in need of reassurance. Ikarus stepped from his reach. A ragged sigh inflated the inventor’s chest and escaped with a hollow shred. “I trust you,” he repeated, shadows wavering across his mouth. “This project… it’s very sensitive. I’d rather wait to show you until it is finished.”

“You won’t even tell me what it is?”

Daedalus’ silence was answer enough.

“Fine,” with heavy steps Ikarus strode to his father. “I’ll go to the feast without you. It would be rude not to have a representative of our house.”

His father’s arm moved to bar the way once more, muscles stark and ridged. The shadows made them bulge and swell, thick as rope. “You’ll remain here.”

“We wouldn’t want to insult the king. Isn’t that the only rule we live by?” Ikarus spat. A grim satisfaction flooded him as his father flinched.

“The decorum we follow has nothing to do with this.”

“Minos will be insulted-” Ikarus tried to worm his way under his father’s arm.

Daedalus’ fist pounded the wood once. The blow resounded in the chamber, rattling against the walls. Ikarus halted, a blonde curl falling into one eye. The violent noise clashed with every fiber of his father’s weary being, every aspect of the inventor’s soothing presence. They might’ve been having an argument, but Ikarus hadn’t expected such a reaction. Shakily, he gilded from the doorway where his father loomed, the large shadow of his darker than ever.

The inventor pressed his eyes shut, expression pained. After a moment he let his hand fall from the wood. “I’m sorry.” Ikarus could hardly hear him, his mumble was too soft compared to the crash still resonating in the youth’s skull. “I didn’t mean to… just… please stay here tonight.”

“Where it’s… safe?” Ikarus narrowed his eyes, spinning the phrase his father had uttered before as if it were an interesting cable that he was trying to pry apart.

“Yes.” The nod of the inventor was heavy. His son saw the strain on his face and some of the fight drained from him. Daedalus was always so strong, toiling under Minos’ watchful eye to keep Ikarus a place in the palace and meals on the table. But no one’s strength but the gods’ was inexhaustible. Even Atlas longed to be rid of his burden. How long would it be before the inventor crumbled under the weight of the world?

“I promised Ariadne, Father.” Ikarus made a last, feeble attempt.

Daedalus drew a hand over his chin, brushing away a smear of wax leftover from whatever had held his attention earlier. “I know you care for her,” grief shimmered in his dark eyes, so powerful even after all these years that Ikarus cast his gaze to the floor so as not to see it. “And she cares for you-”

“It isn’t like that-”

“It matters not. A cloud hangs over Knossos. This year is different. Everyone feels it, rippling over skin like grease. You do as well, don’t you?”

He thought of the prince wading through a pool of silence earlier, of seafoam eyes swaddled in death. He lifted his gaze for just long enough to dip his head in agreement.

“Then stay in your room tonight. Your mother-”

Some force Ikarus didn’t even know existed within him pushed the vile retort past his lips, proving his anger hadn’t died as he thought. “What of my mother? You speak of her with pain, but that pain never stops you from taking Pasiphae to your bed.”

His eyes flickered upwards, the shadows gathered on his yet down-turned face. The floor was solid while the guttering candle made the walls roll and heave. He was steady and yet he felt as if he might fall over. What had come over him? The youth tried to clench his teeth against another harsh response.

“I-I promised your mother I would keep you safe,” a sharp, soft exhale.

It was as if another person lived inside of him. The wave of bitterness he crushed came surging back, washing his soul with blackness. This isn’t me, he wanted to say, but was that the truth? Ikarus didn’t know anymore. All he knew was that his father didn’t trust him and that nettled his resolve. “And you do so by bedding the queen?” he sneered, the candlelight, orange and red, twisted his face even more. On the horizon the last trickling line of dusk bled. “Tell me, what will Pasiphae think of your absence from the feast? Not only would you insult the king-”

“Enough!” Another slam, Daedalus’ fist striking the door. The vanish bowed. There was a crack. A lesser door would’ve caved and broken. One of his knuckles split open and spilled wine-dark liquid over the grooves.

It was enough to shake Ikarus. What is wrong with me? he thought stepping aside, into the darkest corner of his room. Everything seemed far away now, too far to reach. The door, the window, his bed-pallet, his father. Who are you? His round, glistening gaze beseeched Daedalus.

“The king will not be insulted, no one will miss us, Ikarus!” the inventor boomed, panting. Though even his roar was subtle, like the whisper of a shaft collapsing or a pillar cracking. Still, it was loud in the room, filling up the distance. Ikarus flinched. Daedalus lowered his voice, his chest heaving. “We don’t matter enough for them to miss us. We’re tools to them. And not even a smith sits next to his anvil when he’s having guests over for dinner.” The brown of his eyes glowed, alive with sputtering flame. “Just… remain here please. I don’t want to have to worry for you, tonight, of all nights…”

Daedalus unlatched the door and vanished through it. Ikarus tossed his shoulders and gripping his elbows, stepped from the shadows. The room rushed around him, constricting, getting smaller as the door swung shut. His father blocked his view of the hall, facing him, shoulders hunched, a weary slope to his bushy brows. He had his head bowed, key in hand. Ikarus’ lip trembled.

There was but a crack to peer out of. The inventor lifted his head. The scene altered, melting, and pooling. Daedalus’ chiton was a sheet of gold. A laurel crown sat atop graying, wavy, black hair. The face thinned, the expression darkened. A huge grin stretched thin lips. Handsome, sallow features glared from a face shining with madness. Eyes the pallor of a storm-gray sky sparked and writhed with pleasure in their deep sockets. Bronze fingers clasped a black key. Sadistic laughter sprung from sculpted lips.

The door slammed shut. Ikarus stumbled back, mute. The candle winked out. The air was dank and musty and too thick. A fetid stench reached a hand down his throat and thrashed the breath from him. His foot caught on something so that he fell hard on his backside. Somewhere in the impenetrable dark a monster like no other screamed with the mockery of fourteen dying youth…

*****

Heavy steps snapped Ikarus into the waking world. His head lifted from Theseus’s shoulder so fast that he didn’t even realize he’d been nestled into the prince’s side and that Theseus had huddled on the floor with him all night. There were more torches lit than before but no windows. Ikarus could only assume it was morning. Next to him the prince sprang to his feet, uncoiling as if his muscles were naturally limber no matter the circumstances. They probably were.

His heart pounded, gaze darting everywhere. The last vestiges of the nightmare clung to his mind. His father morphing into Minos, locking him in the labyrinth… a shiver rolled down his spine. Where was Daedalus? He must’ve realized Ikarus was gone by now. What would he think? Ikarus pictured the inventor searching desperately, cornering Phaedra and Ariadne, demanding his son’s location, trying to curb his fear in front of the king and queen to spare Ikarus trouble…

It was only then that the magnitude of what he was doing sank in. He felt greasy as if slathered in oil. A rat, there must be a rat gnawing though his stomach lining. Sickness frothed within him and like the sea he wanted to heave. What if he and Theseus failed? If the Minotaur lived, then all of this would be for not. He’d die for nothing, and his father would never know what became of him. He would fail in his duty, his soul tarnished with it, and Daedalus would never recover.

At least your father would be free, a small voice in him whispered.

Theseus’ hand tore him from his fears. The prince patted him on the back with a strong grip and supple fingers. He offered the barest of smiles, though his eyes were still dead as the fish Ikarus had for dinner the day before.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Ikarus grimaced in return and threw back his shoulders. Theseus’ hand slipped away.

A guard, towering taller than the prince with a gleam in his dim eyes, a jagged scar down one cheek, and the stubble of a beard on his chin shoved a key into their door. “Out,” he barked in a heavy accent. He was speaking mainland Hellas. A quiver began in Ikarus’ muscles. What if they were searched? What if beneath the dirt and rags the inventor’s son was recognized?

Theseus stepped forward, every inch of him glowing in the torchlight. His chin was thrust up and out, steps confident. The guard sneered at his back. When Ikarus failed to follow the Genite grabbed him by the shoulder and yanked him from the cell. Ikarus stumbled, stubbing his toes on the grimy bricks. Biting the inside of his cheek, Ikarus lowered his head as the guard shoved him after Theseus.

The youth was last in line, trailing after the prince. He was glad of the sight of his wiry shoulders and strong hands in front of him. The guards didn’t bother to chain them up. The rest of the tributes limped and stuttered without protest. They were led up a winding passage of stairs and turned down a dark hall. Flashes of dawn light sliced through slitted windows. Fresh air rolled from deeper in the palace and Ikarus wanted to lift his head and breath it in. The sandaled feet of soldiers lining each side of the wall stopped him. If just one recognized him…

The hall ended at a wall and the tributes bunched like wine about to be poured from a jug, halted by the cork. Sweat soaked into the neckline of Ikarus’ tunic. Theseus’ stance was wide. He stood before the smaller boy like a block of steatite. Ikarus dared to peek around him and wished that he hadn’t. Inlaid by gold was a square door in the wall. It was smaller than he imagined, thinner.

Moisture gathered on his smooth top lip. Flanking the door was a priest. His robes were white and long, brushing the floor. His face was slathered in rosy powder, eyes lined with coal so that the blue popped like lightning. He proffered in his hand a bowl of olive oil and wood ash. The shadows mottled his frail figure so that he looked like a shade summoned from the pits of Hades.

If the priest was the shade than Minos was the magician who commanded him, cheating death to hold him in the living earth. The king blazed from behind the priest, mouth curled at the corners, nose high and wrinkled slightly. His peircing, protruding eyes swooped from one tribute to the next, lingering longest on Theseus. His expression filled with satisfaction as if he sipped from the nectar of the gods’ themselves. Bitterness erased for a moment the tremble in Ikarus’ arms. The king had never tasted anything so sweet as the heartbeat before he threw the foreign prince to his doom. That was what the hesitation was. Minos was savoring the moment. Ikarus saw his tongue slide out to wet his lips and was reminded of a python, the constrictor from far-off places brought once to the palace by a menagerie. The way it’s eyes stared through him but managed to pierce his soul all the same was replicated by Minos.

The king nodded and the tributes were brought forward. Reluctance spread through the line. The guards grimaced and bared yellow teeth beneath bronze helmets. “Hold,” Theseus whispered. The word was so powerful that none of the Genites dared cuff him over the back of the head for speaking. Minos’ smile just widened as the first girl whimpered but came forward.

The priest murmured some words that Ikarus couldn’t make out, anointed the girl, and reached to open the square door. It was a heavy sheet of bronze with a reinforced bolt across its length. It unlocked with a clank and a guard held it pinned to the wall, out of the way. That’s not tall enough to walk through. Ikarus frowned, squinting, but he couldn’t make out the passage beyond through the dark and the shadows. Everything besides the crackle of torches was silent. The whole palace waited with bated breath. Ikarus longed for Ariadne’s steady presence, though he was relieved she wasn’t there to witness the gruesome offering.

Two guards swept over, grabbed the girl by the arms, pinning her hands to her torso and stuffed her through the door. She was consumed in blackness. Her body thudded and her screams rang back to them. Minos waited until the noise faded to gesture to the next sacrifice. Ikarus set his jaw against a shiver.

When it was Theseus’ turn, he did not balk. He didn’t turn to catch Ikarus’ gaze. He did swipe his hand towards a guard though, so quick that his fingers were a blur. Then he was with the priest, and no one thought to question the doomed hero. The prince took the priest’s blessing, climbed into the doorway, and vanished. Ikarus was last in the hall. A boy surrounded on all sides by guards whose duty at one point was to protect and keep him. He wasn’t sure how it happened, for faced with the yawning darkness leading to the labyrinth his will quailed, but he found himself standing before the wizened priest.

The make-up was supposed to make him resemble a young child, but the scraggly white beard and sunken cheeks gave the old man away. Minos must not have thought the appearance would offend the notoriously vain gods. It was another caveat of his arrogance. The same arrogance that allowed the monster in the depths to be born. By the gleam in the king’s eyes Ikarus knew he didn’t regret his family’s shame like his eldest daughter did. Ikarus wanted to spit on his fine purple robes.

Instead, he kept his gaze on the floor, the epitome of weakness. He even thought he heard the guards shuffling with their pity, restless to be away from the cursed youths, condemned by a mad king. Or maybe they were uneasy with fear. How easy would it be for Minos to toss them to the same ravenous teeth of the half-man, half-bull?

“Kind Velkhanos, child of the great Mother Goddess,” the priest creaked, his voice splintering on the chant. He might’ve been the oldest person Ikarus had ever known. To survive so long in the king’s service was unheard of. Maybe he really was blessed by Zeus, the king of gods and rumored father of Minos, not to have earned the king’s ire. Velkhanos was the version of Zeus portrayed as a boy small enough to sit on his mother’s knee. According to legend the people who lived before the Hellans took over preferred the mother goddess. The tradition still held fast to the islanders’ minds and Rhea was worshipped here with as much reverence or more than her son.

“Be pleased oh great mother and young son with these who we donate to your service.” Ikarus’ skeptical snort was cut off as the priest gripped his chin in strong fingers and yanked his head up. Firelight played over his round features. With a gulp he saw why the priest endured service to Minos, how he resisted protesting this awful blood sport.

While Minos’ glowed, the priest’s gaze was utterly empty. It was like looking into the depths of the living Tartarus.

The holy man’s grip was stronger than he expected and Ikarus suspected that his thumb would leave a bruise. Dipping his free pointer finger into the bowl, the priest smeared a line of ash and oil from the middle of Ikarus’ forehead to the tip of his nose. Nostrils twitching with the scent of olives and cypress, the inventor’s son couldn’t help but watch the king. Sure enough, Minos’ eyes narrowed a fraction, his jaw clenched. Ikarus’ heart sped, trying vainly to race from his veins, but it only looped like a horse on a track.

“Bless this tribute, for it is through sacrifice that Androgeus’ shade find rest and peace beyond that sweet River Lethe…” The priest’s eyes shuttered shut on the last spoken rite. Minos’ cheek twitched. A subtle flinch at the mention of his eldest son, who died in Athens years ago. The loss of Androgeus was what pitched Minos into a rage and led to this agreement. Fourteen tributes a year to feed to the Minotaur in the name of the very gods who cursed them all…

Ikarus brows fell heavy. Was that… grief etched in the unforgiving lines of Minos’ face? Were his lips tight with sadness or was that a trick of the shadows? Ikarus had aways assumed that the king had used his son’s death as an excuse to exact a toll on his enemies and prove the might of Genesis to the rest of Hellas. Now he thought that maybe that wasn’t the only reason. The spark of delight that followed the pain in Minos’ eyes made that idea all the more poignant.

The priest stepped back. Minos loomed forward. Two guards grabbed his upper arms. Ikarus’ feet scrabbled at the ground. “Let them know what it is to lose a son,” Minos whispered. Ikarus wasn’t sure if anyone else heard as that fetid breath squeezed between the king’s teeth. Darkness looped about his heart in a noose.

“Let them know.” Minos’ teeth were too sharp and straight and sallow.

The youth gulped as the guards whirled him about, hauling him up so that his toes scrapped the stone underfoot. Panic clogged his throat. Let them know what it is to lose a son. Was Minos referring to Athens and their king Aegeus losing their prince or… Daedalus?

Both. Let them know.

His fear came true. Minos had recognized him. It was even worse than he’d ever imagined. Minos knew him and gave him to the monster anyway. Swallowing a scream and quaking hard enough to almost loosen his bladder, the guards thrust him into blackness and Ikarus fell.