Daedalus was sitting in a shaft of sunlight from a light-well, hunched over a table. Beside him on the table were foot-square sheets of golden yellow beeswax, precisely rolled out into even thicknesses. The beeswax was collected by the Priestesses -- Ariadne herself had often gone gathering with them. One holy order was even called the Melissae, after the bee.

After the honey had been extracted, the wax combs were melted down in hot water and poured into the sheet molds, emerging with an almost magical golden translucence.

Daedalus did not hear her enter, and Ariadne did not call. She stopped in the doorway, leaning back and watching his hands. She loved his hands. They were so strong and sure, like his mind. They sometimes looked like the hands of an older man, so scarred they were from burns and slipped chisels and the other hazards of the craftsman.

In some ways, she thought, she loved Daedalus more than she would ever love any other man. No other man could be what he had been to her -- teacher, companion, friend, and certainly, some day, lover. He was always giving her little delights, conjured up from that flashing mind and given real form in bronze or clay, or wood. He called them "dolls" but they were more than that. They were magic, the magic of the Goddess. Her mother knew it, too.

Ariadne leaned against the doorpost. She had to devise a small strategy, and she knew it . It was always difficult to get his full attention, and she desperately needed his full attention now.

Deliberately she brushed her hair across the side of her face, and stretched her tunic tightly across her small, firm breasts. When she felt she presented a sufficiently enticing picture, she began to hum a song.

In a moment Daedalus looked up, his eyes growing suddenly wider as he caught sight of her. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eyes, and then dropped her gaze to the floor. After a moment she glanced again, and he was still looking at her, as captivated by her as any cock partridge by a hen.

Ariadne tossed her golden hair playfully and came to stand beside him.

The sudden sight of the exquisite woman child had quite taken Daedalus' breath away. Her sexuality was so radiant in the tiny room it was like the color of the golden beeswax. And he knew that when she flirted so outrageously with him, it was going to mean a lot of work. But even when he expected it, his own involuntary reaction startled him.

It was, he thought, something about the way she glanced out of the corners of her eyes. Why would that be? He had once toyed with the idea that there was some hidden signal in seeing the whites of the eyes all at one side. For hours he had made faces in a polished bronze mirror, but had arrived at no conclusion. It seemed to make rather a large difference when the glance was from a sexually exciting young girl. It was certainly a phenomenon that was high on his list of mysteries to be investigated.

Ariadne, for her part, saw his mind begin to wander from her immediate presence, and moved to touch his shoulder with her hip, bending in pretended interest over the wax figure he was modeling.

"It is only three months to the Marriage," she said.

"I know, I know," Daedalus said. "I'm going to have a new mask for the Minotaur. The horns will be gilded wood, and there will be mother of pearl inlays on the muzzle. The eyes will be rock-crystal. What do you think of that? Do you think your mother will like it?"

"Of course," Ariadne said. She put her hand lightly across Daedalus' shoulders. "She likes everything you do, you know." Her golden hair fell lightly beside Daedalus' face, and she could hear a long intake of breath as he inhaled her fragrance. She snuggled a little closer, until the whole side of her body lightly touched him.

Daedalus let his breath out in a long sigh. Ariadne stole a glance and saw that his eyes were slightly sleepy as he luxuriated in her nearness.

"All right," he said finally. "What do you want?"

"Want?" Ariadne said, in mock surprise. "I don't want anything. I've just come to visit you, because I love you."

"Like all women, you love me more when you want something," Daedalus said drily.

"Well, if you think that, I'll just go," Ariadne said, her voice petulant. She pulled away from him, feeling his shock as their bodies ceased to touch.

"Oh, stop it, Ariadne," Daedalus said. He reached out to grasp her arm as she turned away. "Just tell me what you want."

"Well," she said innocently, "there is one thing. . ."

"Ah," said Daedalus. He put his arm around her waist and drew her nearer. He smiled up at her. "And what might that be, Shining One?"

"It's only three months until my mother marries the Minotaur," she said.

"You said that. I know how long it is."

"Yes, but that's not very long for everything there is to do," Ariadne said. "You know, there are all the bronze things, and you still have to make the trade things, and the new mask -- and I know how terribly busy you are."

"I appreciate your concern for my time," Daedalus said. "And -- ?"

"And I'm very busy, too, with the Partridge Dance and all. That's very important, too, you know."

Daedalus laughed. "Yes, I would say so, since it is the whole point of the ceremony. And -- ?"

"And I am leading the Dance, and I have to rehearse my dancers, of course."

Daedalus sighed. "And there is some mysterious problem that only I can solve."

"Yes, yes!" Ariadne said excitedly. She threw her arms around his neck and showered his face with kisses. "Oh, Daedalus, I knew you'd understand. You always understand what I need!"

The faintest shadow passed over Daedalus eyes, but was gone almost as soon as it had appeared. "And exactly what is it that you need, my sweet enticer?"

"Oh, Daedalus, I want so much to have a new dancing place, a new maze."

"A new Labyrinth? Why? What"s wrong with the old one?"

"It's all faded. People have been walking across the courtyard for years since the last Marriage, and you can hardly even see the lines to dance between."

"I can touch them up," Daedalus said. "I always do."

"But I want a new one," Ariadne pleaded. "This is the first time I've led the dance for mother's Marriage, and I want it to be perfect."

"It is perfect," Daedalus said, a little stiffly. "I designed that Labyrinth before you were born, Ariadne. I designed it for your Mother. She led the Partridge Dance three times before she became Queen, and she never found anything to complain about."

"Don't be angry, Daedalus."

"Well, I do good work," Daedalus said. "I do perfect work."

"Of course you do," Ariadne said sweetly. "I love all your work. You are my sweetest, dearest, most loving friend. But I don't dance exactly the way mother dances. I have some new ideas about the dance, and I want a new Labyrinth. "

"It takes a long time to lay out a good maze," Daedalus grumbled. "It takes a lot of thought. The Goddess is very particular about the maze."

"That is why only you can do it," Ariadne said. "The Goddess loves you for your skill."

"That's not what your mother says," Daedalus muttered under his breath.

"What?"

"Nothing. I just don't think I'll have time before the Marriage. We're very busy here."

"You sound like Talos. Please, Daedalus. Please, for me? For your Ariadne?" She wrapped her arms around his neck and softly nuzzled his ear. "You know I love you. You know that when Aphrodite comes to me, she shows me your face? Did you know that? What do you suppose that means?" Her eyes were wide and innocent.

Daedalus sighed. Ariadne could feel his resistance melting like beeswax in the sun.

"All right," he said finally. "I'll design a new maze. For you, my beloved. Just for you."

"It has to be soon," Ariadne said. "I have to rehearse the dancers, you know. It has to be in two weeks."

"Two weeks! To lay out a maze and paint it as well? Ariadne!!"

"I'll help you," Ariadne said.

"You can't help," Daedalus said. "The Labyrinth is all about geometry and . . ."

"No," Ariadne said. "It's about the dance. And I have to help. I want you to make it for my dancing, not my mother's. Daedalus? I want you to make the maze for me, only me. I will dance, and you will lay out the maze the way I dance."

"Impossible!"

"I'll dance just for you," Ariadne cajoled. "Would you like that?"

"I've seen many dancers," Daedalus said. "Many, many dancers in my day."

"But not me," Ariadne said. "Wouldn't you like it if I danced just for you, my sweet, loving Daedalus? Say the truth, now."

"Yes."

"Then I will dance for you, and you will make the new Labyrinth for the way I dance, and we will have a wonderful, wonderful time together! Wouldn't it be wonderful to work together, to be together?"

Daedalus shook his head despairingly. "And you are only a girl. By the Horns, what will you be like when you are a full grown woman?"

"I shall be Moon Goddess and Queen of the Kheftiu," Ariadne said quietly.

Daedalus looked up, startled by the seriousness of her tone, so unlike the light and golden rhythms of her flirtation.

"Yes," he said, regarding her carefully. "Yes, you shall. Sometimes I forget."

"Do not forget, my sweet Daedalus. Never forget that I am the Goddess."

Quickly her seriousness disappeared, and she hugged the man again. As she twirled to the doorway, her chiton spread about her like an inverted flower, her golden legs flashing in the reflected sunlight.

"We will begin tomorrow," she said. "Oh, and Daedalus, there is one other thing."

"And what is that?"

"Mother says I am to teach you to dance."

"To dance? Me? To dance?"

"You. To dance."

And then she was gone into the darkness, and it was as though a ray of sunlight had disappeared.