Never in his life had Ikarus handled a dead body. Now the limp drag of cold flesh sluffed over the floor tile, Ikarus straining to hold onto the dead boy’s wrists. He couldn’t have been much younger than Ikarus, his cheeks were still plump and soft with boyhood. Angry, puckered red lashes decorated his back, the ribbing crimson thatch of muscle exposed. Whip marks. Theseus wouldn’t tell the inventor’s son why the boy had been punished, but the brutal beating had cost him his life. Ikarus, shuffling backwards, the body swaying like a hammock stretched between himself and the foreign prince, jumped as they rounded every bend. If the guard who punished the Athenian should come down the hall, spot them, raise the alarm, call for the king…

They exited a stairwell, sweat beading on Ikarus’ forehead. There was a small wooden door to one side. Beyond the king’s vast wine cellar was a storeroom full of human-size clay pithos for preserving grain and other valuables. They would stuff the body in an empty jar. Theseus assured him they’d return for it, after he’d killed the Minotaur. The prince wouldn’t leave the body of his countrymen rot without the proper funerary rites. Ikarus was not pious, but still he thought he could feel the boy’s soul lingering. The pressure of transparent fingertips on his elbow, the pained moan of an undignified death, disembodied lips whispering in his ear, “You defile my corpse with your touch, Genite…”

“Hello?” A real voice, loud, belonging to a woman. Ikarus jerked so hard that Theseus dropped the boy’s ankles. “Is someone there?”

His arms locked. Every muscle in his body went tense. Theseus’ face was grim, his eyes grimmer. Soft footsteps. Sandaled feet gliding down the steps.

There was a closet or pantry just before the wine cellar. A servant once showed it to Ikarus, for that was where some spare tools were kept. It wasn’t used much. The door hung, thick and shut, uninviting not three paces ahead of them. Theseus’ eyes jumped to it and his steps in quick succession. Ikarus tottered, unmoving as Theseus fumbled with the knob and propped the creaking door with a hip. A worn broom fell in Theseus’ haste. It clattered to the ground, rolling on the stones.

The prince, lifting the ankles of the dead boy, dodged the frozen Ikarus with surprising grace. He bundled the dead body into the closet, propped it in the corner where the broom had been, then snagged Ikarus’ wrist. Free of the weight that’d been heavy for the whole journey from the dungeon, Ikarus twirled smack into Theseus’ chest light as a dancer. The prince steadied him, warm hands on his broad shoulders, and shut the door with a swift click.

They were plunged into shear darkness, their breaths loud as crashing waves in the silence. Under it, barely audible, the footsteps grew nearer.

Was it their breaths or couldn’t Ikarus hear over the sound of his own racing heart?

The space was small, hardly wider than the two boys, and not deep. An extra set of fingers graced Ikarus’ tunic and he flinched. Theseus shifted until he could no longer feel the dead boy’s hand, whose arm must’ve fallen over the prince’s shoulder. The new positioning brought them almost flush together. Theseus’ nails grazed his skin through the fabric of his clothes. Warm breath like the gentle stir of the hearth fire in the king’s hall heated his cheeks. Theseus smelled like the tide, salt spray from the voyage to the island of Genesis clinging to his tunic like smoke. Hints of his personal aroma flooded Ikarus’ nostrils. Without Theseus’ hands on his shoulders, he would’ve wobbled with the heady sensation of being so near the hero.

Ikarus clenched his jaw. Now he sounded like Ariadne, who even as she hugged him farewell earlier that night and implored him to be safe, couldn’t seem to remove her gaze from Theseus’ death-foretelling stare.

“Hello?” the servant called. Her sandals scrapped just outside the door. Her skirts ruffled as she bent to inspect the dropped broom. Ikarus wriggled a hand up to clamp over his own mouth. If his elbow dug into the prince’s sternum Theseus didn’t react. His pulse sped and Theseus’ grip was stone-strong. If he was the praying type, he would’ve called for the gods’ aide. Theseus’ breathing was fast and shallow. Ikarus resisted the urge to collapse into his barrel-chest and wheeze.

“What is this-” he imagined the servant reaching for the door handle. The prince’s breaths stuttered. Ikarus stared at where his face would be in the darkness with wide eyes. What was the hero thinking? Ikarus thought of being dragged before Minos, forced to his knees beside the brave prince, watching the blow of a whip fall…

Would they survive the lashings? Would Minos throw them to the Minotaur, giving the beast an easy meal? The idea of such a hero’s figure reduced to a dead youth stuffed in a jar as they planned to do with the body in the corner made him shiver. His shoulder blades were cold slicing through his tunic at the wood.

“Agatha!” another voice bounced down the stairwell in a hurried hiss. “The king requests his wine!”

The servant woman- Agatha- shouted a quick, “Coming!” Her sandals slapped this way and that, pounding up the stairs. Ikarus held his breath until the sounds of her exit had long faded. Finally, Theseus uncoiled. His hands dropped from Ikarus’ shoulders, who instantly missed them.

“Well,” the prince said, “let’s get on with it then.”

*****

There was more light in Theseus’ cell than he expected. The floor was caked with grime and ash. Ikarus scowled as he shoveled a palm-full onto his skin. Theseus helped and soon his skin was greasy and his hair dirty enough to pass as dark brown instead of blonde. In the dim light the prince was but a shadow. When he turned his head his eyes caught the fragments of the hall torch’s glow and the sea-foam was dotted with orange, like the ocean at sunset. Eyelids heavy, Ikarus tore his gaze away and slid down the wall, the stone hard and cold beneath him. He was glad that Ariadne had offered to take his fine cloak.

Theseus stood nearby, fidgeting. “You’ll need to sleep well tonight if you hope to kill the beast tomorrow.” Ikarus eyed his flexing muscles, astounded that the prince hadn’t kneeled over from exhaustion yet.

He received the barest flicker of a smile in response. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?” His brows dipped.

“Asking so much of you and the princess.”

“She prefers to be called Ariadne. The girl has never been one for titles.”

Theseus nodded. “I figured as much.” He stepped closer, inclining his head. Ikarus shrugged. The prince seated himself beside the inventor’s son, so close that the heat of his knee bled through the length of his raggedy shift. Ikarus sighed, fatigue settling over his limbs like pollen on the wind in the spring.

“Are you two-” Theseus gestured between Ikarus and himself, clearing his throat. “Are there any- engagements between yourself and the princess?”

A laugh spilled from his throat, one that he had to stifle by clapping a hand over his mouth. “She’d shriek to hear you say such a thing,” he managed once he’d calmed. Theseus’ eyes were wide, he seemed quite startled. It was an attractive expression on him. For a fraction of a moment the lingering death left his eyes. “The princess is like my sister. We grew up together. I’ve never thought of her as anything more or less.”

The prince gave a slow, thoughtful nod. He’d turned his gaze away, was looking straight ahead. “It must be nice to have such a close companion.”

Ikarus watched him. “It is.”  

“What made you agree to help me?”

“As soon as I laid eyes upon you, I knew you were different from the others. Ariadne has always hated the sacrifice each year. Her thoughts I am more familiar with then even my own. She’s always been brave. I figured if I needed to pretend to be brave to keep her safe than I would.”

“You are brave.” For an instant his intense eyes flared to meet Ikarus’, until the inventor’s son was the first to look away. “You will enter the maze for her?”

“I have been a prisoner here my whole life and so has my father. Ariadne has made the gilded bars bearable. I would burden Minos’ rage for her without a second thought. She only wants to help. To fix what the gods have punished her family for.”

When Ikarus turned his face again Theseus was still observing him. In his hands was the crimson ball of twine Ariadne had given him earlier before they parted ways. Her plan was clever, he had to give his friend credit for that. But she’d forgotten that the only entry to the labyrinth was locked by a single key, carried by the king at all times. There was no hope of acquiring it. Theseus would be trapped for gods’ knew how long until it was time to open the gate once more.

The inventor’s son had shadowed his father his whole life. He’d seen Deadalus fashion oak doors with bronze keyholes and bronze doors with iron locks. He was certain he could pick whatever door his father had constructed with a needle. Taking things apart and opening things which should stay shut seemed to be Ikarus’ specialty.

That’s why Ikarus agreed to pretend to be the Athenian who had died and pray that the guards and Minos were too drunk off the festivities to notice the swap. And at dawn tomorrow he would enter the lair of the monster who shared a mother with his closest companion.

“What?” Ikarus asked.

Theseus blinked. “Are you afraid?”

“Only a witless creature wouldn’t be.”

The prince chuffed a throaty laugh. “You are blunt.”

“I’m honest.” A grin twitched at the corner of Ikarus’ lips that fell with Theseus’ next question.

“Why else do you help me kill the beast?”

“What Minos is doing is wrong.”

“I’d wager that many believe that and do nothing.”

“Take us with you,” Ikarus blurted.

Theseus’ mouth hung open. “Us?”

“Ariadne, Phaedra, my father, and myself. We’re all stuck here, like the hems of robes beneath the king’s gold staff.”

The prince’s jaws parted and then shut several times. “Ikarus-”

“You have a ship don’t you?” Panic was etching deep, shadowy lines into the margins of his face.

“Waiting off-shore…”

“You could do worse then to have a famed inventor and craftsmen at your court. And a princess to marry-” he wasn’t sure why but the phrase suddenly lodged in his throat. The words poured from him in a tideless spew, “Ariadne would gladly accept your hand. The people of Athens would love her for helping you end their torment, bring their children home safe. She’d make an exceptional queen-”

“I do not doubt that.” When his speech didn’t end the torrent of Ikarus’ words Theseus took Ikarus’ hand in his own, giving it a squeeze. All at once the inventor’s son was out of breath, panting quietly. Ikarus’ hand was clammy and Theseus’ palm hot. A chill sept through his shift from the brick at his back. “I will try, I just, I don’t know how we’d accomplish sneaking five people from Knossos. Do you?”

Ikarus shrugged, his chest deflating. Exhaustion hung heavier than ever, like rocks threaded through his eyelids. “I don’t know,” he murmured.

“I’ll try,” the prince repeated as he released his hand.

The inventor’s son opened and closed his fist, fingers left cold. He ran his fingers through his dirty hair, regretted it, and leaned his head back on the wall. Theseus watched him. “What?” he asked, voice slurred with sleepiness.

“You remind me of someone I once knew.” The death was back in his pretty eyes.

“Someone… important?” Ikarus flashed a sleepy smile, half teasing.

The prince didn’t return it. “You could say that.” Expression hooded, Theseus turned his face. “Sleep now.”

Ikarus did.