Page 25 of Crown of Serpents

In the hushed sanctity of the healing chamber, Seraphine's voice rang out, calm but authoritative, “I need to know when exactly he fell ill and what he did beforehand to understand what caused his sickness. Speak now!”

The fisherman’s wife stepped forward, tears streaming down her face. “He … he didn’t do anything unusual,” she stammered. “This morning, he was out on the boat, fishing as always, and then, when he was hauling in the day's catch, he just ... collapsed.”

She broke off, sobbing quietly. A priestess helped her on a stool, patting her shoulders to calm her down.

“Your husband showed no signs of illness before today?” Seraphine asked.

The elderly woman shook her head.

Seraphine knelt beside the fisherman, examining his mouth and dilated pupils. A deep frown creased her brow as she noticed something unsettling. “What has he eaten this morning?”

Andromeda’s stomach dropped as it dawned on her why the priestess had asked that question. The fisherman’s tongue was swollen, turning a ghastly shade of purple. She had never observed such symptoms among the patients. It was almost as if the cause of his disease was not … natural.

“Nothing … he never eats before setting sail. We eat together after the morning market.”

“I must know if he consumed anything since last night. It could be food poisoning. Think!”

The priestesses exchanged worried glances. This was clearly more than just a case of food poisoning. The breath rattled in his chest, growing more erratic with each passing moment. They were running out of time.

Finally, one of the fishermen who had carried the man to the temple stepped forward. “Just before he collapsed, Thales bent down to wash his face in the river. I believe he also drank a sip of water.”

Andromeda's blood ran cold. The river was Joppa's lifeblood, coursing through the land and nourishing the city and surrounding villages. If its waters were tainted, the entirekingdom was in grave danger.

Suddenly, the fisherman convulsed, blood splattering over the stone floor.

Seraphine ushered the priestesses into action. “Get me the mustard seed and saltwater solution. We must rid his system of whatever he has ingested … and escort Thales’s family and friends to the courtyard. They don’t want to see this.”

Andromeda rushed forward, attempting to guide the wife toward the courtyard, sheltering the sight of her husband with her body, but the elderly woman stood rooted in her spot, clutching Andromeda’s arm.

“I want to stay,” she pleaded. “I made a promise long ago to stay by. His side until the end. Don't make me break that vow now.”

Her words pierced Andromeda’s heart. She nodded, ushering the woman to the corner to give the priestesses space to work. Kneeling beside Seraphine, Andromeda held the fisherman's head as the priestess forced the foul-tasting concoction down his throat. The man's skin burned against her touch like a branding iron. Andromeda swallowed hard, a knot of fear tightening in her chest. As he spilt more blood and the contents of his stomach, Andromeda knew that they were too late. Still, she held his shoulders and prayed to her goddess, Astarte, for her blessing to coax life back into the dying man. Yet, no ethereal glow covered her hands, nor Seraphine’s, or the other priestesses. This man was too far gone for any incantation to save him.

As they lay the man back down, his eyelids fluttered, and he groaned his last word, “Melissa.”

Seraphine stood, her shoulders slumping in defeat, while the other priestesses retreated quietly.

A heart-wrenching sob erupted from the fisherman’s wife as she fell to her knees, clutching his hand. “I'm here,” she choked out, her voice thick with anguish.

The sight broke Andromeda’s heart, a tear running down her cheek.

But before the grief could fully consume her, chaos erupted in the courtyard. More citizens stumbled up the temple steps, theirbodies wracked with coughs, blood staining their lips. They collapsed onto the stone floor, their cries for help a haunting chorus. Andromeda's mind reeled. Had the river truly been poisoned? What else could explain such a swift and devastating illness? Even plagues took time to spread from patient to patient. It always took a few days before the next person showed symptoms.

Alarm bells rang in her head, urging her to join the priestesses in their efforts. But Seraphine’s hand on her arm held her back. “You must leave, Princess.Now.”

Andromeda could not believe it. “But these people need help –”

“The people need their crown princess now more than ever. You are the future of this kingdom. Whether it is the plague … or the rivers have indeed turned poisonous … I cannot risk you getting infected.”

Sorrow filled her as she glanced at the suffering in the courtyard; her hands yearned to ease their pain. “What future queen abandons her people when they need her? I can help them … you know I can.”

Seraphine’s gaze softened as she smiled sadly. “There is nothing you can do for these people, Andromeda. They are beyond our aid. But you can go to the palace and warn the king and queen. The palace guard needs to stop the citizens from drinking the water and barricade the palace gates. In case … we are dealing with something more sinister than poison.”

Seraphine was right, of course. Still, Andromeda’s heart was heavy when she tore herself from the temple. She didn't retrace her steps through the city but instead sprinted toward the secret tunnel that connected the temple to the Southern wing of the palace. The once-vibrant streets of Joppa were now a scene of pandemonium, and she couldn't risk getting caught in the panicked crowds. With one last, longing glance at the temple, Andromeda plunged into the darkness of the tunnel, leaving the twisted bodies of Poseidon's first victims behind.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Medusa’s head throbbed with pain. Her dress clung to her skin, drenched in cold sweat. How long had it been since these men had dragged her from her cave? How much longer until her captor ended her misery and killed her?

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