Page 10 of Crown of Serpents

“Of course he did,” Perseus muttered, his voice laced with bitterness.

“So, you really intend to slay the infamous gorgon with that rusty thing? Or perhaps we should head over to the warship, where they have actual weapons, so we stand a fighting chance?”

Perseus remained rooted in place, the guilt of this decision weighing him down.

Kleos crossed his arms in front of his broad chest. “That was meant to be a rhetorical question, Perseus…”

“I don’t want anyone to die because I was stupid enough to promise Polydectes Medusa’s head.”

“But you’re bound to fail if you go alone! Medusa has sunk entire fleets!” His friend added, frowning. “Why agree to thismission if you are not even going to try to win?”

Perseus’s shoulders slumped at that. He knew it had been a fool’s hope to search for a path where he could save his mother without endangering innocent bystanders. In the end, however, he’d always choose Danae’s happiness over anyone else – even Kleos. Still, a knot of guilt tightened in his gut as he followed his friend, feet dragging as he abandoned his beloved ship, while Kleos practically vibrated with excitement, his arms swinging wide as he walked.

Kleos clapped Perseus on the shoulder with too much force. “Good man. I almost thought I’d have to carry you over my shoulder like a damsel in distress.”

He winked at Perseus playfully, but Perseus was too consumed by worry to respond to his jest. His eyes roamed over the shining broad sword at his friend’s belt, the leather and bronze armour he had donned. A mix of anticipation and excitement gleamed in Kleos’s eyes, the earlier anger gone the moment Perseus had agreed to come with him.

How did he know Perseus would try to sneak away on his own?

…

Perseus stood frozen at the centre of the warship. It was at least thrice the size of his boat, the wooden deck still deep, unbleached brown. Two towering masts billowed with sails, each emblazoned with Seriphos's green crest. Two dozen oarlocks lined each side of the hull, ready to propel the galley when the wind failed.

All eyes turned to him the moment Perseus stepped aboard. The sailors carrying barrels of wine and sacks of grain paused, staring at him expectantly. Perseus felt their silent scrutiny, judging the man bold enough to hunt for the infamous beast — or, more likely, the fool who had doomed them all.

A group of five epetae, their bronze breastplates gleaming in the moonlight, stood at the ship's stern with the man Polydectes had called Linus. They watched swords at their sides, making no move to assist the sailors. They were not crewmen, but the king'sguard dogs, tasked with monitoring Perseus and reporting back to Polydectes, ready to intervene if he faltered. But with Danae's freedom hanging in the balance, Perseus knew he wouldn't dare stray from his mission.

After an eternity of uncomfortable silence, a tall man with silvery hair and olive skin approached Perseus. “Good evening, Sir. My name is Aetos, and I’m the captain of this ship … usually, at least,” he stammered, bowing awkwardly. “My crew is yours to command.”

Perseus could feel the eyes of the crew following him, their breath held in anticipation of his response. Kleos nudged him gently, beckoning him to speak.

Perseus shifted uncomfortably, then straightened his back and spoke. “Thank you for the welcome, Captain. I may lead this mission, but I would … would not presume to know this ship better than you. Please command your crew like you usually would.”

He tried to appear confident, but the men’s curious glances made his skin prickle.

“Of course, Sir, it would be my honour. I will get you to the Lesbos Strait in less than two weeks. We have reserved the captain’s cabin for you so you may use the journey to gather your strength and strategise with your men.”

At that, Aetos glanced nervously toward the king’s guards.

Did they assume Perseus to be one of Polydectes’s cronies? That would explain their constant bowing and deference.

Perseus attempted a forced smile. “That won’t be necessary, I—”

Before he could finish his sentence, Kleos interrupted him, clasping Perseus’ broad shoulder, “Perseus will gladly accept the cabin; what a thoughtful gesture, Aetos, was it?” He extended his large palm toward the captain, who took his hand with a nod. Kleos continued with a crooked grin, “My name is Kleos, by the way, son of Adamantios, and I’m Perseus’s right-hand man. I hope you have room in your bunks below deck for one more.”

Perseus shot his friend a glare. He wished Kleos hadn’t interfered. He didn’t want the captain’s cabin. He didn’t wantthese men to serve him. He didn’t want to lead them into danger.

Another sailor stepped forward, a serious-looking man with a round face, black hair, and a crooked nose. He extended his hand, first to Perseus, then to Kleos. “It is an honour to serve you both, brave Perseus and Kleos, son of Adamantios,” he said, though his facial expression made Perseus doubt that he meant it. “My name is Atticus, and I’m the first mate of this crew. Allow me to show you to your cabins,noble heroes.”

The way he pronounced his last words made them sound more like a taunt rather than an honorary title. Perseus couldn’t blame him. He had no great love for self-proclaimed heroes either. Unlike Kleos, who was now glowering at Atticus with flared nostrils, his temper rising to the challenge in Atticus’s tone.

Perseus stepped forward, diffusing the growing tension between his friend and the first mate, “That would be appreciated, Atticus.”

“Mikis,” Atticus barked, gesturing toward a young sailor with blond dishevelled hair and lanky limbs, “escort theheroesto their cabins.”

The boy, who looked barely more than seventeen, stumbled forward and bowed deeply. “Follow me please, Sir Perseus, Sir Kleos.”

He led them away as the remaining sailors continued loading supplies onto the deck. They descended the ladder leading below deck, and Mikis opened the first door on the right, gesturing for Perseus to enter with another bow. Perseus gritted his teeth.

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