Free Claiming Ariadne by Laura Gill

his son took part in ritual combat against the last Sacred King of his own free will. No one forced him. Only Poseidon can release him from his obligations.”
    Aranare scratched marks into the wax, then, chewing the end of his stylus, sat back with a grim look. “Prince Kretheus won’t appreciate your tone, no matter how I word it. You ought to show his message to his son and have Taranos send his own reply. Otherwise, you can expect more complaints, and of a stronger kind. Kretheus may write personally to the Minos, or have his kinsman, the king of Mycenae, do it. From what I’ve heard, Alektryon isn’t a patient man.”
    Ariadne spread her hands. “What do you expect me to do?”
    “I will set this tablet aside and not send it. Bring Taranos here so he can read his father’s message. He will be able to tell us what to do next.”
    Taranos responded with a tirade that drifted down into the North Hall and brought traffic to a standstill. “What did you think you were doing, woman, sending my goods to Tiryns without telling me?”
    Ariadne shrank back in her chair; when he shouted, a mere cubicle couldn’t contain his anger. “You have no need for those—”
    “ That’s for me to decide! ”
    “Taranos,” Aranare said sharply, “watch your manners and don’t interrupt the High Priestess!”
    Red-faced, his right hand bunched into a fist, Taranos turned on the scribe as though he meant to murder him. “My kinsmen want a pretext to invade. It wouldn’t take much for Alektryon or Idomeneus to raise a fleet.”
    “It is absurd to think—”
    “No, it isn’t!” Taranos wagged a finger in her face. “How do you think our kings keep their warriors happy and loyal? How do you think they hold onto their power? They need to go to war. They need to go to war often , and they’ve been eyeing Crete far longer than you know. You’re provoking them. From now on, you’d better let me deal with my family.”
    Ariadne swallowed past a dry throat. Her ears were still ringing. Her face burned at the humiliation. In a tiny voice, she protested, “But I have always—”
    “You always dealt with Cretan families, who are obedient to and overawed by their High Priestess. You have absolutely no idea how to handle Achaeans. You’ve demonstrated that splendidly .” Taranos turned to Aranare. “From now on, you deal with me.”

    * * * *

      “I understand a certain priest has become a nuisance.” Aktaios, with his long legs, slowed his stride to walk beside her as she traversed the long corridor leading to the western storerooms. Acolytes and servants passed them by.
    Ariadne’s entire body went rigid. “I don’t recall mentioning it.”
    Wherever he got his information, Aktaios wouldn’t tell her; he was a man who kept his secrets. “I have work for him in the port at Katsambas. You won’t be seeing him for a few months.”
    Thanking him, she returned to her sitting room in the House of the Great Mother with her skeins of blue and turquoise wool.
    Her purple hem, stretched taut across the loom, was finished but for the embroidery. Ariadne sat down, arranged her sewing tools on her lap, and began working. Elaphos’s absence should have been cause for celebration, yet as she began sketching in the design with white chalk she grew increasingly aware how despondent she felt.
    Why couldn’t anything ever be perfect, just long enough to savor it? Ariadne broke off a length of sea blue, wetted it, and threaded it through her bronze needle.
    As she punched the needle through the purple wool, she lanced her finger. Ariadne hissed and jerked her hand back. Sucking the blood from her index finger, she shook her head. It was no use. Why did she care what Taranos thought of her? So he hadn’t spoken two words to her in the last ten days. She’d only done what every High Priestess before her did. It was hardly her fault these Achaean men were so quarrelsome and touchy about their pride.
    Finger still throbbing, she