“I can tell you are not a queen. Believe me, most of the families would rather have the gold. Now, are there any other—”
But she did not finish. She grunted and dug her nails into the arm of a handmaiden kneeling at her feet. I had not noticed the girl before, but I saw now that the skin of her arm was purple and smeared with blood.
“Out,” I said to her. “Out, all. This is no place for you.”
I felt a spurt of satisfaction at how fast the attendants fled.
I faced my sister. “Well?”
Her face was still contorted with pain. “What do you think? It’s been days and it hasn’t even moved. It needs to be cut out.”
She threw back her robes, revealing the swollen skin. A ripple passed across the surface of her belly, from left to right, then back again.
I knew little of childbirth. I had never attended my mother, nor any of my cousins. A few things I remembered hearing. “Have you tried pushing from your knees?”
“Of course I’ve tried it!” She screamed as the spasm came again. “I’ve had eight children! Just cut the fucking thing out of me!”
From my bag I drew out a pain draught.
“Are you stupid? I’m not going to be put to sleep like some infant. Give me the willow bark.”
“Willow is for headaches, not surgery.”
“Give it to me!”
I gave it, and she drained the bottle. “Daedalus,” she said, “take up the knife.”
I had forgotten he was there. He stood in the doorway, very still.
“Pasiphaë,” I said, “do not be perverse. You sent for me, now use me.”
She laughed, a savage sound. “You think I trust you with that? You are for after. Anyway, it is fitting that Daedalus should do it, he knows why. Don’t you, craftsman? Will you tell my sister now, or shall we let it be a surprise?”
“I will do it,” Daedalus said to me. “It is my task.” He stepped to the table and took up the knife. The blade was honed to a hair’s edge.
She seized his wrist. “Just remember,” she said. “Remember what I will do if you think to go astray.”
He nodded mildly, though for the first time I saw something like anger in his eyes.
She drew her nail across the lower portion of her belly, leaving a red slice. “There,” she said.
The room was hot and close. I felt my hands slicked with sweat. How Daedalus held that knife steady I do not know. The tip bit into my sister’s skin, and blood welled, red and gold mixed. His arms were taut with effort, his jaw set. It took a long time, for my sister’s immortal flesh fought back, but Daedalus cut on with utmost concentration, and at last the glistening muscles parted, and the flesh beneath gave way. The path lay bare to my sister’s womb.
“Now you,” she said, looking at me. Her voice was hoarse and torn. “Get it out.”
The couch beneath her was sopping. The room was filled with the overripe stink of her ambrosial blood. Her belly had stopped rippling when Daedalus began to cut. It was tensed now. As if it were waiting, I thought.
I looked at my sister. “What is in there?”
Her golden hair was matted. “What do you think? A baby.”
I put my hands to that gap in her flesh. The blood pulsed hot against me. Slowly, I pressed through the muscles and the wet. My sister made a strangled croak.
I searched in that slickness, and at last there it was: the soft mass of an arm.
A relief. I could not even say what I had feared. Just a baby.
“I have it,” I said. My fingers inched upwards for purchase. I remember telling myself that I must be careful to find its head. I did not want it twisted when I began to pull.
Pain burst in my fingers, so shocking I could not cry out. I thought some scrambled thing: that Daedalus must have dropped the scalpel inside of her, that a bone had broken in her labor and stabbed me. But the pain clamped harder, driving deep into my hand, grinding.
Teeth. It was teeth.
I did scream then. I tried to jerk my hand away, but it had me fast in its jaws. In a panic, I yanked. The lips of my sister’s wound parted and the thing slid forth. It thrashed like a fish on a hook, and muck flew across our faces.
My sister was shrieking. The thing was like an anchor dragging on my arm, and I felt my finger joints tearing. I screamed again, the agony white-hot, and fell on top of the creature, scrabbling for its throat with my hand. When I found it, I bore down, pinning its body beneath me. Its heels beat on the stone, its head twisted, side to side. At last I saw it clear: the nose broad and flat, shining wetly with birth fluid. The shaggy, thick face crowned with two sharp horns. Below, the froggy baby body bucked with unnatural strength. Its eyes were black and fixed on mine.
Dear gods, I thought, what is it?
The creature made a choking sound and opened its mouth. I snatched my hand away, bloody and mangled. I had lost my last two fingers and part of a third. The thing’s jaw worked, swallowing what it had taken. Its chin wrenched in my grip, trying to bite me again.
A shadow beside me. Daedalus, pale and blood-spattered. “I am here.”
“The knife,” I said.
“What are you doing? Do not hurt him, he must live!” My sister was struggling on her couch, but she could not rise with her muscles cut.
“The cord,” I said. It still ran gristle-thick between the creature and my sister’s womb. He sawed at it. My knees were wet where I knelt. My hands were a mass of broken pain and blood.
“Now a blanket,” I said. “A sack.”
He brought a thick wool coverlet, laid it on the floor beside me. With my torn fingers, I dragged the thing into its center. It fought still, moaning angrily, and twice I nearly lost it, for it seemed to have grown stronger even in those moments. But Daedalus gathered up the corners, and when he had them, I jerked my hands away. The creature thrashed in the blanket folds, unable to find purchase. I took the ends from him, lifting it off the floor.
I could hear the rasp of Daedalus’ breath. “A cage,” he said. “We need a cage.”
“Get one,” I said. “I will hold it.”
He ran. Inside its sack, the creature twisted like a snake. I saw its limbs lined against the fabric, that thick head, the points of horns.
Daedalus returned with a birdcage, the finches still fluttering inside. But it was stout, and large enough. I stuffed the blanket in, and he clanged shut the door. He threw another blanket over it, and the creature was hidden.
I looked at my sister. She was covered in blood, her belly a slaughter-yard. The drips fell wetly to the sodden rug beneath. Her eyes were wild.
“You did not hurt it?”
I stared at her. “Are you mad? It tried to eat my hand! Tell me how such an abomination came to be.”
“Stitch me up.”
“No,” I said. “You will tell me, or I will let you bleed yourself dry.”
“Bitch,” she said. But she was wheezing. The pain was wearing her away. Even my sister had an end in her, a place she could not go. We stared at each other, yellow eyes to yellow. “Well, Daedalus?” she said at last. “It is your moment. Tell my sister whose fault this creature is.”
He looked at me, face weary and streaked with blood. “Mine,” he said. “It is mine. I am the reason this beast lives.”
From the cage, a wet chewing sound. The finches had gone silent.
“The gods sent a bull, pure white, to bless the kingdom of Minos. The queen admired the creature and desired to see it more closely, yet it ran from any who came near. So I built the hollow likeness of a cow, with a place inside for her to sit. I gave it wheels, so we might roll it to the beach while the creature slept. I thought it would only be…I did not—”
“Oh, please,” my sister spat. “The world will be ended before you stammer to your finish. I fucked the sacred bull, all right? Now get the thread.”