Page 47 of Crown of Serpents

She cried out and slammed her head against the man who had stepped behind her to hold her chains, a futile attempt at breaking free.

Linus chuckled, “Kitty has claws.”

The water had reached her chest. Tears streamed down her face. She was pathetic. She had vowed never to be this helpless again, yet here she was, at the mercy of these brutes. Their hands roamed her body while carrying her on deck.

A wave crashed over her head and swallowed her whole.

…

The barmaid cowered before Medusa, a puddle of her piss pooling beneath her linen dress. Her entire body shook as she sobbed quietly. Medusa crouched before her against her better judgment. It was an instinct from long ago — still preserved from another lifetime — to comfort this broken figure before her. She resisted the urge to stroke the girl’s shoddy hair.

It is over now. You are safe. No one will touch you.

The words had formed in her mind, but before Medusa could voice them, the barmaid lifted her gaze. Blank hatred burned in her eyes as the girl drove the dagger home.

“This is for my brother, you monster.”

Medusa stumbled back, clutching her abdomen as a crimson stain bloomed on her dress. As her vision blurred, the barmaid's face shifted, transforming into a familiar figure with dark curls, broad shoulders, and hazel eyes. Perseus. But the warmth and curiosity she had seen in those eyes were gone, replaced by cold disgust and a cruel smirk.

He crouched down and pressed the cold blade of the dagger against her throat. “I told you that you are nothing but a feral beast. You deserve to be culled from this earth.”

With a single, fluid motion, Perseus slit her throat.

…

Medusa groaned as her eyes fluttered open. Her vision was blurry, her leg throbbed with pain, and the fever had taken hold of her once more.

The creaking of the ship and the sound of the waves crashing against its hull surrounded her. She was at sea again, aboard that wretched ship. But how long had she been unconscious?

As she tried to focus her gaze, she noticed a small figure standing beside her. Andromeda, her dark hair pulled back in a bun, frowned as she inspected the deep gash on Medusa's thigh. The blood still had not clotted.

Medusa winced as the princess delicately removed the old bandage, and Andromeda whipped her head toward her. “You’re finally awake. I was worried the fever would claim you.”

As Medusa stared into the girl’s gentle face, she realised she was no longer blindfolded. Instead, Andromeda had carefully draped Medusa's veil from the palace over her eyes. Medusa gulped at the gesture.

“How are you feeling?" Andromeda asked.

Medusa groaned in response and clenched her jaw. Her eyes, ordinarily sharp and piercing, were now dulled by pain. She took in her surroundings, no longer the damp cell but a small cabin with a rough cot. They had given her a woollen blanket that lay neatly folded next to a bucket with bloody strips of cotton, a bottle of clear alcohol, and a leather pouch filled with small viles and herbs. Across the room stood a small wooden desk overflowing with maps and correspondence. An assortment of bronze weapons adorned the walls — including a winged pair of sandals and a sword that looked all too familiar. Was she in the captain’s quarters?

Medusa realised too late that Andromeda was still waiting for a response as the girl said, “Sorry, that was a stupid question. With wounds this deep, the answer can only be … well, bad … can you sit up to drink some water?” Andromeda lifted a cup to her lips and reached to help her into an upright position.

Medusa flinched. “I can drink on my own.”

“Of course,” Andromeda replied smoothly, her eyes like molten gold in the dim light, betraying no hint of annoyance.

Medusa took the cup from Andromeda's hands and drank slowly. Every gulp was painful – her throat dry as sand. She mustered the princess with an assessing glance. No shackles, no bruises. She appeared unharmed, but appearances could be deceiving. This ship was no place for a young woman.

“Are they forcing you to take care of me?”

Perhaps the men were too afraid to approach her, so they'd coerced Andromeda into tending to her. Had they demanded this as payment for saving the girl from Cetus?

“Forcing me? No ... I offered to tend your wounds. I have some experience with healing.”

Medusa frowned, but the Joppan princess merely smiled and squeezed her hand reassuringly.

“Why?”

A million questions circled in Medusa’s mind. Why wasn’t Andromeda afraid of her? Why so much kindness toward a stranger? Had no one told her what Medusa was? Had she not witnessed the monstrous transformation on the coast?

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