Ariadne stopped short in the doorway to her sister's chambers. Acacallis was sitting unattended in a chair near the window, the sun shining on her, and her hand low beneath her stomach, lying on her abdomen.
The rebuke about pale noble skin, and their nurse's upcoming fussing, froze in her mouth. She knew not how long she stood there, only that when Acacallis looked up to see her, her face grew paler and she snatched her hand away hurriedly, and held it woodenly by her side.
Ariadne thought, wildly, that it might help her complexion, and hated herself for it. It was not as if marriageability would be of any concern now.
She stepped inside, and closed the door behind her, and made herself walk forwards.
"Acalle," she stopped, for she could not quite find the words to ask her own sister whether she had disgraced herself.
Acacallis said nothing, only looked at her carefully for a moment, then placed her hand back very deliberately, and nodded slightly.
Ariadne bit her lip to keep from crying out. Are you sure, she wanted to ask, but none would reveal something like this unless there was no other option.
"Who would dare?" she said instead, for their father's reputation was fearsome and his soldiers many. It helped to concentrate on the unknown man's actions than her sister's.
"It's not what you think."
Ariadne stared at her, for it could be nothing else. Acacallis flushed, looking down at her lap.
"I mean, it is but – I've never been touched by a man."
She thought of her mother almost ripped apart at a birth where nothing was right, and the image of the hybrid creature and her father's face, her mother's screams, the horror of being mounted by a bull.
Something of it must have shown in her face, for her sister stood, and laid a hand on Ariadne's arm. She still had her usual grace, but now that Ariadne knew, she thought she could see a certain roundness to her figure.
"He's more than human," she said insistently, and her eyes flickered upwards for one short moment. And Ariadne understood.
"Oh," she sighed, and felt almost like crying. "That never ends well."
Then a terrible thought occurred to her, for a mortal's opinions were worth little to gods.
"Did he –" She hesitated, not wanting to remind her sister if it were true.
"He's kind to me." Acacallis insisted, and looked Ariadne in the eyes. "I was perfectly willing, I still am. He's not like Grandfather at all."
Ariadne let out a breath she hadn't even realised she'd been holding. It was not Zeus then, but that was no guarantee of safety. "We're still mortals."
"His mother wasn't an Olympian either."
"And she was destroyed by her lover. It's still dangerous," she tried to say, but the end was drowned out by her sister's sudden laughter, like a madwoman.
Ariadne stared at her in shock, almost frightened. What had he done to her? Acacallis might never have been the most sensible one, but she was hardly wild.
"It's – not – Dionysus!" she managed to gasp out. "Ariadne!"
No, of course, Ariadne had always been the one most interested in Dionysus. But Acacallis hadn't had a visible preference. But she had been praying more recently, but Ariadne had ascribed that to concern for their father's safety.
Perhaps she should have realised, but there would not have been anything she could have done, not against a god.
"I've only ever met one, you know," Acacallis said softly. She was smiling now, as if it were all a game, as if mortals hadn't suffered simply for having a god glance in their direction before.
"I was hardly aware you'd met any: I haven't."
"If you'd gone with me to Tarra, you might have done." There was a glint of triumph in her eyes; for once she was the favoured one.
"I asked who, not where."
"Apollo," Acacallis sighed, and her smile turned soft. "He came to Lord Carmanor's house with his sister."
"You just said you'd only met him!"
"Oh, he's the only god. But she's a woman: you'd hardly accuse her." She waved a hand to indicate her abdomen. "Besides, she doesn't dally with mortals."
"No, I suppose Sapphic love wouldn't cause this. But how can you be sure it was really him?"
"That was what Hera told Semele," Acacallis said, looking at her closely, "but I suppose you are not asking me to do anything?"
"I suppose it is too late to do anything." A princess could not find the necessary herbs, and besides, if it were true – but the opposite was more likely than for Zeus' son to dally with Zeus' granddaughter.
"Men pretend all sorts of things to get silly girls into their beds. It doesn't make it true." Yet surely the Thunderer would strike them down before the lie was out of their blasphemous mouths and protect his descendents?
But her sister was immune to counsel, and only said flippantly, "What woman would ever assist in such a scheme? Besides, he knew too much for a mortal."
And then she paused, and lowering her voice so that Ariadne had to move closer to hear her, she said, "He knew everything, and yet he still loved me."
And Ariadne found that she had nothing to say in reply, for she herself had deeply desired one who might do the same for her, and could not quite bring herself to begrudge her sister her happiness.
"It may still be dangerous," she said, for compared to gods, mortals were mere motes of dust, so easily blown away. "He may still break your heart."
Acacallis nodded, but she did not seem perturbed. "I'm happy now. That's all any of us can ask for."
"Just don't ask to see him in all his godly glory," Ariadne said, for even to be aunt to a god would mean nothing if it destroyed her sister.
"Oh, I've seen in 'in all his glory'," Acacallis said, beginning to giggle. Despite her worries, Ariadne found herself joining in.
When they had calmed themselves, Acacallis added, "I don't mean to ask him to do anything but be kind to me."
"And protect you from Father?"
"He won't do anything drastic, not to his own daughter." But her voice wavered.
Ariadne could not answer, for they both knew that he did not always hold to his oaths to the gods, or obey their commands.
"Maybe he'll be kind," she said finally, and knew not who she meant.