Page 2 of Crown of Serpents

Agapetos frantically shook his head, whimpering.

Would Chrysanthe find a man to wed her even without a dowry? Agapetos couldn’t stand the thought of his little sister without any protection in this world. He clenched his fist at the thought of Chrysanthe losing the last of her family. He couldn’t abandon her, couldn’t die like this.

“Look at me”, she urged him, her voice lovely like a siren song.

Agapetos squeezed his eyes harder, desperately trying to resist the urge to give in to her demand. Her soft voice beckoned him to risk one glance. Just one. He knew he would obey eventually, knew that she would kill him. At least, he would stop burning with guilt and shame then. Being turned into stone was probably the merciful option. Better than having her gut him, rip out his throat, or let him slowly bleed out. Agapetos would embrace his death. So, he blinked and stared up at the creature that would end him. Her features had softened, and her head cocked slightly to the side. He gasped, staring into those eyes — as bright as the turquoise of the Aegean Sea. Swirls of deep green disrupted the vibrant colour of her irises. Her eyeswere slightly uptilted and framed with heavy lashes.

Even as his entire body went rigid and his organs turned to stone, he could only think that he had never seen eyes as beautiful as Medusa’s.

CHAPTER TWO

“Stop Perseus! You can’t keep doing things like this on your own!” Danae protested, folding her arms in front of her chest. His mother squared her shoulders, stepping between him and the exit from their cluttered kitchen, shelves lined with cracked clay pithoi that were once full of grain, oil, and wine.

“Don’t you see that I have to? Or what do you think will happen whenyoustand before Polydectes and confess that we don’t have the money for this year’s tithe?” Perseus sighed, furrowing his thick brows in irritation.

She could be so thick-headed sometimes. Why could she not see that there was no way he would let Danae offerher servicesto King Polydectes? The greedy smile of Seriphos’s anax flashed in his head, a memory of when Polydectes had first beheld his mother, his lingering gaze caressing her body. He suppressed a shudder at the sliver of memory. Though he knew many considered Danae beautiful — even after thirty-eight winters — with her soft smile and silken, ebony hair, the hunger inPolydectes’s stare still made his stomach revolt.

Danae did not relent, embers sparking in her hazel eyes — his eyes, “I — I don’t know but —”

Unfortunately for her, Perseus was just as stubborn as his mother. “We don’t have the sixty drachmae we owe or anything worth that much. I shall go bargain with him — offer my services in compensation. Just let me think of something.”

Every year, a tremor of dread ran through the island as the time for the tithe approached. Polydectes's demands escalated with each passing year, his greed devouring the hard-earned silver of the islanders. This wealth vanished into opulent feasts and an absurdly oversized army — three times the size needed to repel any invader for their tiny island. Yet not a single soul dared to defy him. Everybody knew the risk of failing to present an adequate offering to Seriphos’s ruler. Sometimes, the family members of those indebted disappeared mysteriously. Perseus suspected that Polydectes held them in his dungeon until the sum owed was paid in full. Other times, the missing villagers suddenly resurfaced on the local slave market, their citizenship status revoked. One way or another, everyone paid tribute to the anax of Seriphos.

Danae’s voice grew shrill as she continued to object, “I was supposed to make sure we had enough silver. I failed, not you! So, I should be the one to kneel before Polydectes and beg for his forgiveness. Not you!”

Perseus almost laughed at her. Did she honestly blame herself?

“The only ones to blame are scumbags that robbed us!” He drew a deep breath, suppressing the familiar surge of power that made his blood hum with electricity.

Perseus balled his fists at the thought of the bandits that had looted their cottage two months ago. But it was his fault. He had left his mother alone that day, fishing for the market the following day, even though robberies usually increased before the tithe. The bandits had been ruthless, kicking her into the dirt in front of their doorstep. They had taken everything: every last silver coin, their grain stock, and even the old goat they kept for making cheese. Perseus had been trembling with rage when hehad returned from the fishing boat. Her clothes had been filthy, and bruises had covered her entire body. If only he had been there with his mother. If only he had guarded their small cottage, built from rough boulders, crackled clay, and Perseus’s sweat.

“They probably just tried to feed their family,” Danae’s voice faltered.

They had had this argument before — when he had found her bruised, sweeping the floor, trying to fix their trashed home. He had demanded to know who had harmed her, but Danae had just shook her head, tears streaming down her face. She had wanted to protect him. She knew that he would have set out to hunt down the men that had hurt her. The inhabitants of Seriphos already gave him a wide berth when they passed Perseus on the street, many of them wary of the foreign fisherman with unnatural strength.

He took a deep breath. This was not the argument for today.

“It does not matter why they robbed us; we don’t have enough to pay Polydectes. So, you must let me go to the palace to settle this,” he failed to keep the bitterness and frustration from his voice.

They had tried everything to come up with the sum in time for the tithe. Perseus had set sail three hours earlier every morning and came home three hours later each night, barely sleeping to catch as many fish as possible. With each sunrise closer to the tithe, Danae’s purse strings tightened, dark circles beneath her eyes and hollowed-out cheeks marring her once bright face. She had barely eaten during the past weeks, insisting they sell whatever Perseus caught. Dictys, the old fisherman who had taken them in when they had first arrived on Seriphos’ shore, had given them some of his savings, though Perseus only reluctantly accepted. He already felt guilty because, after the incident, Dictys had stayed with Danae, guarding the house when Perseus was at sea.

It stung that after all this, they still came up short. Perseus and Danae had just under thirty-five drachmae, with a few bronzes they would keep for themselves.

It was as if the gods had forsaken them this year, not thatPerseus believed that the Olympians cared for mortals in the first place.

Danae’s shoulders sagged, tears dwelling in her eyes. “But I … I’m just afraid.”

Perseus gently took her hands in his calloused palms. He understood why she worried about sending him to the palace alone. Perseus shared the feeling. That was why he had to convinceherto stay behind. He would not let Polydectes get his clutches on her.

“I will do what I must to protect the life we’ve built here. If Polydectes demands I serve in his army to settle our debt, I will do it … but I need you to trust me.”

She cupped his tanned cheeks. “But that's the problem, Perseus. You would do anything to protect me, and I can’t let you risk your life for me. You are still my beloved boy.”

A croaky voice spoke behind Perseus, “Perseus has not been a boy for a long time, Danae. He is a man, and as such,hemust pay the tithe … not you.”

Betrayal and hurt flashed in Danae’s eyes as she spotted Dictys’s wrinkled face on their doorstep. Perseus sighed in relief. The old man was the closest thing he had ever had to a father. He had found them when Danae had first washed up on shore, half-conscious, with a babe in her arms. His mother did not like talking about her past, but Perseus knew that she had had to flee her home, Argos, when she had conceived Perseus out of wedlock. The fisherman had helped Danae raise him like he was his own. Dictys had lost his wife and only child during childbirth and had been alone since. He had helped Perseus and Danae build this cottage with the crooked roof and had taught Perseus how to fish and ride a horse. Now, the old man stood in the low doorframe, his arms crossed. Unlike Perseus, he didn’t shy away from the truth of why Danae couldn’t go to the palace.

“Danae, I know Polydectes better than anyone. Trust me when I say that you don’t want to be the one telling him you can’t pay the tithe. You won’t be leaving that palace after that. You have refused him once already, and he won’t let you do that again.”

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