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“Did your father ever teach you how to brew a cask?”
The question makes Ariadne yawn and stir. Her husband watches her with curious eyes, playfulness dancing behind them. They shift in color from violet to blue to black and Ariadne shakes her head, still unused to his ways. “No,” she admits. “That was the servant’s job, and then when I was older, I spent much of my time in the labyrinth.”
Dionysus grabs her hand, pulls her up out of bed. “That won’t do!” he says. “You’re adjunct to the god of wine now, and you have to learn how to prepare the most sumptuous brews for my acolytes!” His long hair turns rainbow-hued as he flings aside his sheet and strolls boldly across the floor toward their chamber door.
Ariadne giggles, and yet doubts she will ever get used to her husband’s boldness. She dons her robes and follows him downstairs and into the larder.
There, he effortlessly tugs a barrel free of the stores and flicks his finger. The vessel steams, and then another gesture fills its belly with a sackcloth stuffed full of golden grains. “Demeter always complains that she can never taste her good work in my brews. Well, let’s show ‘em, Ari.”
“Why am I not surprised that the Gods argue?” she remarks. She leans against his warm side and watches as another gesture fills the barrel with warm water.
He laughs. “Don’t get Hera going on the swan incident. She’ll start a thunderstorm and flood another village.” He sighs. “Well, that must steep. We’ll boil it, add hops soon, give it a little ice bath, etcetera, etcetera…” He raises an eyebrow as she kisses the nape of his neck. “Wife?”
“Did you say we have twenty minutes?” she asks.
He groans, folds himself into her soft curves. “And an eternity afterwards,” he tells her, and kisses her soundly.