Crown of Ivy

By Victoria Audley

A curse lurks in the waves lapping on the shores of Crete. When an opportunity to break it arises, the princess Ariadne is faced with a choice: betray her family and her people, or continue to suffer. She takes a hopeful chance — and loses everything.

Abandoned on a strange island, she meets a mysterious stranger who just might have the key to a brighter future. But he's keeping secrets, and Ariadne must decide if she can afford to take another risk.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Victoria Audley
• Release date: Apr 18, 2023
• ISBN: 9798201371784

Victoria Audley

Victoria Audley is a folklorist, museum educator, and ghost escaped from a gothic novel, currently haunting a seaside town on the north east coast of England. In her spare time, she plays too much D&D and makes friends with the neighbourhood crows.

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Crown of Ivy

Victoria Audley

Copyright © 2022 by Victoria Audley.

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Edited by Julian Stuart.

www.paintbyletters.com

Cover art by Joanna M. Lawrie.

https://twitter.com/joannamlawrie

HTTPS://BIO.LINK/VCAUDLEY

For James

I.

The tide rises slowly , at first. Bubbling foam, inching its way toward land, gently surrounds the feet of those who stand at the edge where earth gives way to sea. It glides along wet sand and falls back into the water, its reach having exceeded its grasp. The smell of salt is on the air and the waves murmur in a dull roar, and though the sea’s cold touch promises its return, one cannot help but feel calm. At least, until there is a moment of eerie silence, and one exits their state of reverie to find they are half underwater. Limbs drag heavily in the blue abyss, clouded with sand kicked up in the attempt to escape. Sharp unseen things tear at skin, releasing ribbons of blood to trail through the water. The chill seeps into bone marrow and saltwater pulses through veins. With every step taken toward it, the shore seems further away. Even if one finds their way home, they scrub sand from their body for days. No matter how well they bathe and scour, the sand remains, like scars reminding them that the sea is not conquered, and the tide always rises again.

The curse of Poseidon is like this. It creeps slowly from the sea bed, then rises in a rush. The tide comes not for one man or two, but for cities and islands all at once. A curse does not care who is swept away in its ebb and flow.

Some say it was Minos for whom the curse came, and some say it was Pasiphaë. None say it came for Ariadne, but it reached her all the same. The tide does not come for anyone; it simply comes.

There was a time, once, that Crete felt Poseidon’s favour. King Minos asked for a sign in the form of a white bull, and Poseidon granted it. In exchange, Minos was to sacrifice the bull. The god gives, the god receives; the tide flows, the tide ebbs. But the bull was so exquisite, Minos could not bear to slaughter it. Poseidon’s vengeance for this refusal was as great as his blessing; the god drove Queen Pasiphaë mad with desire for the bull, and she gave birth to an abomination.

Mockingly, the child was called the Minotaur — the bull of Minos, living evidence of the king’s hubris and greed. To his sister, however, he was Asterion.

They were as all young children are, loud and frolicsome and exuberant. The soft pat of their feet filled the halls as they danced together, whirling in dizzying circles until they fell.

Ariadne wove together a crown of white and yellow flowers and placed it on Asterion’s head. She thought of her own real circlet, and realised she had never seen anything similar for Asterion. Though she had never heard him addressed as such, surely if she was a princess, it followed that her brother was a prince. She made matching crowns for herself and her mother, giggling as she put Pasiphaë’s on her head.

Mother, look, she said, throwing her arm around Asterion and grinning widely.

Pasiphaë’s face did not change. Her gaze seemed to go through them, toward the palace or the fields beyond. Asterion sneezed, and Ariadne forgot their mother’s reticence as she teased him, screaming in delight as he chased her away.

Through endless sunny days, the children built palaces in the sand and ran, laughing, down the beach. The queen watched them splashing in the rising tide, and could only see her own humiliation and pain.

When Pasiphaë spoke to Ariadne at all, it was only to scold her for her loud voice, her smile, her wild dancing, her running. The young princess would quiet in shame, but her wildness could never be contained for long. Finally, Pasiphaë had enough, and Ariadne was brought to the temple, pushed to her knees, and ordered to beg forgiveness for her disrespect to the gods. Hot tears streaked her face as she watched wax dripping from candles on the altar.

What did I do, Mother? She struggled to keep the telltale quiver out of her voice.

Pasiphaë stared unblinking into the candle flames. The gods are cruel, Ariadne. Mortals are not meant to be happy. Anything that brings you joy, they will take away.

One night, Ariadne heard her parents’ voices echoing through the marble walls of the palace. She crept through the halls on bare toes, shivering at the crisp sea breeze that drifted in through the windows. Her mother screamed in frustration, and Ariadne froze. A sensation of both hot and cold ran through her chest, and her cheeks went numb.

It would be so simple, Pasiphaë said, her voice low and shaking, to solve this. If you loved me at all—

What is there to solve? What’s done is done. Do not ask me to change the past. Minos spoke to his wife not as a husband, but as a king, commanding in a voice edged like a sword.

It is present, not past. Do we not feel the weight of your mistake every day—

The sound of a chair scraping on the floor and cracking as it fell to the floor interrupted the queen.

"My mistake, Minos hissed, is not the one that troubles you."

You honestly think you are blameless. She did not ask this, but declared it. The fierce anger in her voice faded to weariness.

"I think that— that creature is your responsibility."

One to which you condemned me. What have you done to us, Minos?

Ariadne was startled to hear her mother weep. Over time, Pasiphaë’s anger had grown cold, and the mother Ariadne knew was unfeeling as a marble statue. Her numbness was not easy to watch, but to hear her raw pain was worse.

Pasiphaë continued, her voice thick with tears. If you were to ask forgiveness, and keep your promise to Poseidon—

You have other children. Go to Athens and see to Androgeos if you cannot bear the others.