Page 6 of Crown of Serpents

Despite the mockery, Perseus caught a spark of genuine interest in the king’s eyes. This was a bargain he was willing to strike. But why? Was it the lure of glory from slaying the beast or something more sinister? Perseus was trapped, unable to back down, even as doubt gnawed at him: What made him think he could succeed where countless others had failed?

The spark within him, the kernel of raw power he had buried deep as deep as he could, scraped at the back of his mind.You are not like them, it whispered, a tempting siren's call.

Perseus violently shoved the thought back down. He would not acknowledge this power nor the absentee father who had bequeathed it. He refused to dwell on why he outstripped other boys in strength and speed, why wounds healed so quickly, why his blood sang with electricity when anger ignited. And he certainly wouldn't reveal any of this to Polydectes, whose grin remained a grotesque parody of amusement.

Instead, his voice was cold steel, “I do not seek to mock you. I wish only to atone for the disrespect my mother and I have shown you. We have nothing of value to offer you. However, I can offer you something money cannot buy: glory. For you and for Seriphos. I swear upon the gods I will deliver Medusa’s head. In return, I ask only for your forgiveness and acceptance of the gorgon’s head as payment.”

Perseus met the king’s gaze unflinchingly, his spine rigid.

After a long pause, Polydectes leaned back on his throne and exhaled a reluctant sigh. “Many have made similar boasts, only to falter when faced with the beast. But something tells me you are different. And who am I to stand between a man and his death wish? As a show of good faith, tell me what you’ll need for this journey, and it shall be yours. Crew, supplies, anything.”

Perseus shifted uncomfortably. He hadn’t planned this far ahead. Instinct urged him to refuse Polydectes’s help and sail alone on his fishing boat. He had just challenged the three fates to cut his life thread short, and he did not wish to be responsible for the deaths of anyone else. “I would prefer to journey to the Lesbos Strait on my own, your majesty.”

“Why would you refuse my help, boy? If you truly intend to claim the gorgon’s head for me, shouldn’t you accept all the help you can get? Unless there is another reason you want to leave on your own?”

Perseus’s stomach tightened with dread. Did Polydectes insinuate that he might flee Seriphos? He would never abandon his mother and Dictys. Yet, a fleeting thought whispered that perhaps they should have run this morning instead of facing the king. Life as a fugitive would be preferable to facing Medusa.

“No, Perseus,” Polydectes declared, a calculating gleam in his eye. “Here is what we will do: I will give you a ship from my fleet, crewed by experienced sailors, stocked with supplies and weapons. In addition, just because I’m feeling generous, five elite members of my guard will accompany you.”

Kleos's father, his face a mask of concern, interjected, “Is this wise, Your Majesty? The cost of such an expedition far outweighs the boy's debt. Consider the risks—”

Polydectes silenced him with a dismissive wave, turning to a broad-shouldered guard in bronze armour with a dark beard and cold beady eyes. “Linus, you and your epetae will accompany Perseus on his quest.”

The man stepped forward, his fist striking his chest plate with a resounding clang as he bowed. He turned to Perseus with a chilling grin that did not reach his dark eyes. “It will be my honour, Anax, to ensure this mission succeeds.”

Perseus held Linus’s cold gaze, offering no pleasantries. He knew protesting the guard's presence would fall on deaf ears. Instead, he schooled his features into a mask of indifference, refusing to give Polydectes the satisfaction of witnessing his unease. Instead, he conceded, “Very well.”

Perseus, familiar only with the wooden practice sword he'd sparred with Kleos, was out of his depth. Still, the king's advisors, seasoned warriors themselves, outlined a strategy. They would equip Perseus and his crew with a shield, a shortsword, a bow and arrow, and a polearm. Each weapon catered to a different style: the sword for close-quarters combat, the bow for ranged attacks, the polearm and shield for mid-range offence and defence. A symphony of bronze, they hoped, might give them a fighting chance against the monstrous gorgon.

Finally, as shadows stretched across the throne room, Perseus was dismissed.

How long have those petitioners been waiting?he wondered, bowing stiffly, “Thank you, Anax. In your name, I will return victorious.”

As Perseus turned away to take his leave, Polydectes made his final remark, “Before you go, remember, you have until autumn equinox to settle your debt with me. Otherwise, I will seek compensation elsewhere.”

Perseus stopped dead in his tracks at that. It dawned on him why Polydectes had agreed to this bargain in the first place.

“Oh, and Danae remains on Seriphos while you’re gone. I want her close, just in case something … unfortunate … befalls you.”

CHAPTER FIVE

Chrsyanthe was barely two hours into her afternoon shift when old fisherman Xanthos burst through the tavern door. He leaned on the door frame for support as he panted heavily. Patrons paused, wine cups and bread mid-air, to stare.

Xanthos, a beloved fixture in Cisthene’s taverns, was renowned for his outlandish tales from his days at sea — back when he was still sailing to faraway shores fighting for glory against foreign armies. He would tell you of the men with fishtails and crab-claw forelegs for arms or sea monsters with six ravenous heads lurking in perilous straits. Chrysanthe relished these stories during her evening shifts when the fishing nets were emptied and the entire town squeezed into the tavern.

Today, Helios’s fiery wagon had just passed its peak when Xanthos burst through the door. He and the other fishermen should still be offshore on their boats or hauling their nets in the harbour. Something was wrong.

Chrysanthe’s stomach dropped. It had been over a week sinceAgapetos had sailed off toward Lesbos. Her sweet brother had left with a crew of mercenaries to hunt the monster ravaging these shores. The reward promised for the creature’s head would be enough to pay for her dowry to Pylyp.

Her palms grew clammy as Xanthos still gasped for air. “A shipwreck … near the beach,” he choked out. “We need hands to carry the bodies.”

The world stopped for a moment. Chrysanthe froze, her ears ringing. A shipwreck, so soon after her brother’s departure to face the monster that revelled in drowning sailors. She, who was believed to have the strength of the gods, and who feasted on the blood of her victims. Medusa.

Chrysanthe bolted after the dispersing crowd. Her sandals slapped against the cobblestones as she rushed for the beach.Perhaps they only needed help with the injured …

Tears welled in her eyes. As long as Agapetos was alive, she would bandage his wounds and nurse him back to health. It wouldn’t matter if he limped or could no longer fish. She would provide for them both, even if it meant selling her body to the drunken patrons of the tavern.

All she wanted was her brother back. But nothing could have prepared her for the scene that unfolded once she reached the beach. The ship, a splintered corpse itself, lay beached against the northern cliffs. Planks bobbed in the surf like shattered bones. Fishermen scurried across the sand, their shouts echoing in the salty air. Ropes dangled from the wreck, a macabre ladder for those retrieving the dead. Chrysanthe's tears flowed freely now. They weren't salvaging cargo; they were bearing makeshift stretchers fashioned from the ship's tattered sails.

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