Chapter 21 #3
The old barkeeper returned the sacred gesture. “You’ll be wanting a bed then?”
“And food, if you have it.”
Dru nodded. “Leave the horses here, I’ll get Evan to tend to them. Evan!”
There was a clang from inside. A gangly boy came crashing through the curtain, almost knocking into Dru. His eyes widened at the towering height of Heracles and bulged still further at the sight of Atalanta in her silver armor.
“Here you go, lad.” Dolos took an obol from his purse and tossed it to the boy. Evan’s face stretched into a toothy grin.
“Wine, food and bed, in that order,” said Heracles.
Dru nodded and sent Evan scurrying to fetch the victuals, then beckoned them inside.
It transpired the kapeleion was also Dru’s dwelling. The single room was strewn with straw, barrels were stacked against the far wall and a single mat lay under a small window on the left.
Dru delved into a wooden chest and busied himself unrolling another mat. Then he straightened up and spread his arms wide.
“Beds for the ladies, I’m afraid you men will have to take the floor.”
Telamon stood in the doorway, arms folded. “This, over the palace at Mycenae?”
Heracles shot him a withering look. “Dru, I apologize for my companion’s rudeness. Telamon used to be a prince and never quite got over it.”
The flame-haired man feigned a wounded expression. A myriad of questions whirled through Danae’s mind. If she had to place Telamon’s origins, she would never have guessed royalty. He swore far too much for a start.
Dru smiled graciously. “Any friend of Heracles is a friend of mine. Come, you must be thirsty after your travels. We have a couple of fresh barrels from Epirus. Lovely vintage, I’m told.”
After stowing their packs inside, they followed the barkeeper back out into the square. The men who’d been drinking outside had made themselves scarce and Dru bustled around until he’d located enough mismatched stools.
As they sat, Evan emerged, carrying a tray of cups and a couple of jugs of wine.
Dolos emptied a pouch of coins into Dru’s hand as Atalanta downed the first jug in one go, then set about pouring the rest of the wine.
She left Danae’s cup empty. Biting back a comment, Danae reached for the second jug at the same time as Hylas.
Their fingers bumped, and he withdrew his hand, mumbling an apology while she sloshed wine into her cup.
When she looked up, she caught a gleam in Telamon’s eye.
She’d been teased enough by her brothers to know what came next.
Before Telamon had a chance to speak, she said, “So, was being a prince too much like hard work or were the silk sheets not soft enough for your liking?”
A spark of amusement cracked Atalanta’s scowl.
“She bites!” Telamon took a gulp of wine. “Oh, that is nice.” He turned back to Danae. “Who could resist the call of adventure, the promise of a blood-slicked sword and a chance to royally shove it to one’s father...” He looked around the table expectantly.
Atalanta groaned and drained her cup.
Danae raised her wine to her lips. She spluttered.
“It’s not mixed!”
“And?” said Atalanta, the tilt of her jaw daring Danae to continue.
Her mother said that drinking wine without mixing it with water was barbaric. But she wasn’t on Naxos anymore. She swallowed and took another sip of the strongest wine she’d ever tasted.
“All the better for it.”
The salivating scent of roasting meat wafted over from the outdoor oven. Dru was sizzling strips of what smelled like lamb on the open flames.
“Gods, that smells good,” said Hylas.
Evan returned to the table, a bowl of olives in one hand and a loaf of bread in the other, then went back for more wine as Dru shuffled over and set down a plate of steaming meat on the table.
They abandoned the bread and fell upon it.
The lamb was tender and smoky from the fire.
Danae couldn’t remember the last time she’d had meat so succulent.
Atalanta skewered a strip with her dagger, eyeballing Danae as she ripped it with her teeth.
Wilting under the warrior’s gaze, Danae glanced down at her food.
“Seer, why don’t you tell everyone about that rock you carry.”
The hairs rose on the back of Danae’s neck. She knew she had to tread carefully, was all too aware that these people probably wouldn’t hesitate to kill her if they found out she was deceiving them. And yet, the fire of confrontation burned in her belly.
“I consulted the omens last night—there are objects I have that help me do this—and I saw something. Something that concerns you, Atalanta.” The warrior’s eyes narrowed.
“I didn’t want to alarm you, but perhaps it’s best if you are prepared.
” She knew she should stop, but she couldn’t help relishing the rapt silence that had fallen over the table.
“A sickness will come upon you. Your mouth will dry and no water will quench your thirst. Your stomach will churn and your head will pound as though a horde of wild boar are trampling through your skull.”
A muscle pulsed in Atalanta’s jaw. “You’re lying.”
“I swear on the Styx I am not.” Danae’s face was grave. “I’ve watched you drink at least a jug and a half of wine already. I guarantee, tomorrow your headache will rival that of a farmer after his wedding night.”
The silence that followed was filled with the sizzle of lamb fat.
In a heartbeat Atalanta was on her feet, stool upended in the dirt, her knife stretched over the table, poised at Danae’s throat.
“You’re a liar! I see you!”
“Sit down, Atalanta.” Heracles pulled her away from Danae. “Learn how to take a joke.”
Telamon chuckled. “I like this one.”
Atalanta sat slowly, her eyes searing into Danae as she took a long, deep drink.
“I’ve heard the people of Colchis drink the blood of their enemies,” said Hylas.
“Poor bastards,” said Telamon. “They must be desperate for a decent libation. Perhaps we should take an amphora of this wine with us and trade it for the fleece.”
Atalanta flicked her gaze to him and snorted, then reached for the wine jug.
Danae’s shoulders loosened as the conversation trickled back to a steady pace, but she knew she’d been lucky.
She just had to anger the wolf.
Danae woke suddenly. She propped herself up on the mat.
The room was dark. Everyone else appeared to be asleep.
Telamon was snoring loudly and next to him, Heracles lay on the straw-covered floor, head resting on his lion hide, his scarred brow creased.
In sleep he looked younger, softer. She mapped the sharp angle of his jaw and the shape of his mouth, marvelling at how beauty and power were sculpted together into the lines of his face.
A shiver ran down her spine. A face so like his father’s.
As she watched him, a dash of movement flickered past the window. Careful not to wake Atalanta sleeping beside her, she slipped her hand into her bag and rose, clutching her knife.
Silently, she padded out into the moonlight.
The night was still, and the square appeared empty, save for the sleeping horses.
Then she heard the crunch of a stone underfoot.
Shaking off the lingering haze of the wine, she hugged the wall of the kapeleion and crept around the side.
Edging forward, she peered around the corner.
Behind the hut was a dirt track that continued up the mountain.
There was something large on the path where the road twisted.
She squinted, trying to make it out in the darkness.
It was a cart, its bulky contents covered by a tarpaulin.
A jet-black horse was harnessed to the front.
She glanced around, then darted across the path and concealed herself in the shadow of a protruding rock.
As the cart inched forward, a limp arm fell free of the cover.
The driver turned, as though sensing her gaze, and she stifled a gasp.
A pair of red eyes glinted beneath the charcoal hood.
Icy fear flooded her veins. For a moment she was paralyzed, then the sound of footsteps drew her back.
Someone else was on the path. A shadow, distorting the scenery it passed through.
Another shade. It was carrying something.
Someone. A shudder ran through her as she realized it was Evan. The boy appeared to be unconscious.
She could hear Arius crying as though he were right in front of her, his pitiful wails searing through her mind.
She would not let them take another.
The screaming intensified inside her skull, ringing in her ears until her whole body vibrated with noise and fury.
She leaped from behind the rock, knife raised and charged toward the shade holding Evan.
As her feet hit the path, the ground shook sending rocks cascading down the mountain.
The shade spun around to face her. It dropped Evan, its crimson eyes widening in fear.
Anger radiated out of her. She could feel it pulsing into the ground through the threads of light shooting from her feet into the earth.
It was happening again, the strange power inside her was erupting, but she didn’t care.
All she wanted was to inflict as much pain as possible on the creatures that had destroyed her family.
The cloaked shade driving the cart didn’t wait.
It cracked its whip and urged the wagon upward around the bend as Danae continued to shake earth.
The second shade fled after it, its camouflaged body near impossible to follow.
But she doggedly pursued it, tracking its blurred outline along the road.
Then the quake loosened a large rock above the path.
The second shade twisted, its crimson eyes flashing in the moonlight ahead of her as the boulder crashed into it and the shade tumbled down the mountain out of sight.
“Daeira!”
She turned and saw Heracles, sword in hand standing on the track behind her, legs braced against the shaking ground. At the sight of him, the thrumming inside her stopped and the earth stilled.
She was stunned to see that despite the chaos she had somehow left a clear path through the rubble.
Heracles was staring at her, a strange look in his eyes. Then the others appeared behind him, weapons drawn. They paused as they took in Danae, the unconscious boy and the rock-strewn path. Dolos was the first to move and rushed over to Evan.
“Drugged,” said the healer as he lifted the boy’s eyelids.
A sudden weakness washed over Danae and her legs sagged beneath her. She staggered, teetering on the edge of the track. Dolos ran over and caught her before she fell.
“Easy now.” He gently guided her to the ground.
“Shades—” she muttered “—with a cart. I think they’ve taken people. They tried to take Evan. You can’t see them, but their eyes—”
“You don’t have to explain,” said Dolos. “We know about shades.”
“Which way did they go?” asked Telamon.
Danae pointed up the path. Without hesitating, Telamon, Hylas and Atalanta set off after it.
Heracles remained. He hadn’t taken his eyes off her. Concern and intrigue swirled in his ocean-blue gaze. And something else, something like hunger. She wished she knew how long he’d been standing there. How much he’d seen.
She had to be more careful. Whatever strange power was growing inside her, she must keep it hidden until she reached Prometheus.