Page 9 of Crown of Serpents

“Medusa’s existence, though tragic, presents an opportunity,” Athena countered. “An opportunity for a hero to emerge, for a son of divine blood to achieve greatness, to inspire tales of theirgodlike strength and courage. Our rule is strengthened every time a demigod overcomes a great evil, and Medusa is a formidable foe indeed.”

Whispers rippled through the marble hall. The gods murmured, their voices a cacophony of opinions and judgments. When Zeus stroked his dark beard in contemplation, Athena knew she had captured his full attention. Her plan was unfolding.

To her surprise, it was Aphrodite who spoke next, a dreamy smile on her sensuous lips, “Which handsome hero did you have in mind?”

The goddess of love, a mischievous glint in her honey-coloured eyes, was already weaving a tale of love and loss for the chosen champion. Athena would have to account for Aphrodite’s scheming in her plans. Too often had she witnessed heroes under her protection, falter under the sway of their own desires.

Athena’s gaze, mirroring the stormy grey of her father’s, remained fixed on Zeus. “Perseus, son of Zeus,” she declared, “fathered from the golden blessing of the lord of the skies and birthed by the beautiful Danae, princess of Argos. He shall claim victory in his father’s name and bring glory to us all.”

Athena fought back a victorious smile as the king of the gods offered a subtle nod of approval.

Only Poseidon, his anger still simmering, dared to challenge her. The earth beneath Mount Olympus trembled as he roared, “You would have us put the fate of countless sailors and travellers in the hands of one mortal?”

Athena’s voice was laced with venom, “You would question the strength of our lineage? Perseus is no mere mortal. He is the offspring of the king of the gods.”

Her words echoed through the silence. None of the Olympians dared utter another word lest it insult the lord of the skies, their eyes fixed on Zeus. His presence only grew as he pondered on the decision.

Finally, Zeus declared, “Very well, my wise daughter. Perseus shall slay the gorgon. He shall be the champion of the Olympians. Let the world witness the might and glory of mybloodline.”

The other gods erupted in cheers, a stark contrast to Poseidon, who remained seated, glowering. Athena rose, bowing deeply to Zeus — a gesture of respect she reserved solely for the King of the Skies. “I shall see to it personally that he succeeds.”

Just like she had pushed him to volunteer for this mission in the first place — though Perseus had required little persuasion.

“See that you do, daughter.”

Lightning flashed, reflecting off Athena’s silver armour, as she made her promise. Her fate was now intertwined with the young demigod’s. Athena would see him succeed as the protector of heroes and the favoured daughter of Zeus. Perseus would triumph over Medusa and claim glory in their father’s name. He had to. Her standing within the council of the gods depended on it.

CHAPTER EIGHT

The moon had risen above the horizon when Perseus strode down the dock toward Polydectes’s warship. A fresh breeze carried over the chatter of the sailors assigned to accompany him on his perilous journey.

Perseus froze in his tracks, turning left toward the footbridge leading to his fishing vessel. Another wave of laughter from his soon-to-be crew washed over him, and his stomach turned. He would condemn these men to die alongside him if he failed to claim Medusa’s head.

What if he slipped away into the darkness instead? Could he cross the Aegean Sea on his own boat, relying on the sack he carried with Danae’s dried fish, bread, and watered-down wine for supplies? Perseus traced the hilt of the rusty sword strapped to his belt with his fingers as he took a wavering step toward the pier that lay shrouded in shadows. Dictys had gifted it to him when Danae had finally accepted that there was nothing she could do but let him go. Once the weapon of a king, its bladewas now dull and chipped. Perseus didn’t care. He’d hone its blade until it was sharp enough to sever flesh once more. He could do this on his own. He would not risk any lives but his own for his lack of judgment.

Perseus took another step away from the king’s warship. Would Polydectes punish Danae for disobeying his orders and solo travelling to the Lesbos Strait? He hesitated, glancing back toward the flickering light of the torches that illuminated the well-crafted vessel emblazoned with Seriphos’s olive-green crest.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, a giant fist collided with his jaw. Perseus’s vision blurred as someone slammed him against the rough stone of the harbour wall, knocking the air from his lungs.

A mountain of a man loomed over him, a giant who could have passed for a titan’s descendant. Where had he come from? Anger flashed in his dark blue eyes, and his lips were twisted into a scowl — so unlike the wide grins Perseus was accustomed to.

“Going somewhere, Perseus?” Kleos asked, the accusation heavy in his voice.

Perseus rubbed his throbbing jaw, bewildered. Kleos had always been impulsive, but what had gotten into him? Did he have to hit him that hard?

Perseus shrugged, “Yes, to catch some fish. I’m a fisherman, remember?”

Kleos did not fall for his act, narrowing his eyes to slits as the crisp wind ruffled his long wheat-coloured hair. He could always tell when Perseus was lying.

“Bullshit, Perseus. I heard that you vowed to slay Medusa for Polydectes. I know he gave you a galley and crew for the mission. So, why are you sneaking off in the other direction to the moorage of your run-down fishing boat … armed with what? A rusty sword?” Kleos’s voice softened momentarily, a flicker of hurt crossing his face. “And without even saying goodbye.”

Perseus averted his gaze. Kleos would never have let him venture across the Aegean Sea alone. Not only because he was fiercely protective but also because he had dreamed of becoming a hero since he was a little boy. That was precisely why Perseuscouldn’t risk taking him along. He might have conceded to dragging Polydectes’s men into this mess for his mother's sake, but Kleos was his best friend and also an impulsive, reckless, bull-headed fool.

“How did you even find out?”

Kleos’s features hardened. “My father told me as soon as he returned home. He wouldn’t miss the opportunity to gloat about my oldest friend’s impending departure, another aspiring hero lost to their thirst for glory.”

Despite Kleos's even tone, Perseus could sense the turmoil beneath the surface. He had a complicated relationship with his father, to say the least. He was a merchant from Delphi, who had come to Seriphos hungry for power and riches. Adamantios was among the wealthiest men in Seriphos, and Kleos was his only son and heir, much to his father’s disappointment. For many years, Adamantios had tried and failed to shape Kleos into a worthy successor. Kleos, however, was a restless spirit and would never sit still during his lessons, be it algebra or philosophy. He squandered his allowance on wine, women, and gambling, and most importantly, he would seize any opportunity to escape and practice sword fighting on the beach. Adamantios had tried everything, even beating Kleos into submission when he had been a boy, but nothing deterred Kleos from sneaking off the next day again.

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