A strip of moonlight fell across Dolos’s face, illuminating a wry smile. “Despite appearances sense can, on occasion, prevail with him.”
Danae wiped a bead of sweat from her brow, her stomach writhing. Her hand twitched to her bag, where the freshly tipped darts were stowed. It had been Dolos’s idea. After the healer had almost trodden on a dart frog, he’d painstakingly rubbed the tips of the darts Danae had salvaged across the creature’s yellow and black skin. Using the pipe she’d found in the armory they planned to knock out the hunters. But they didn’t know how potent the raw poison would be or how long it would render a person unconscious. And with their limited number of darts, there was no room for mistakes. Even with Heracles’s fists, they would be no match for the hunters if they caught wind of the attack.
The image of rotting bodies and gleaming skulls flashed across her mind.
“I pray the gods look kindly on us tonight,” Dolos whispered.
Danae swallowed the lump in her throat. Part of her wished she still believed in prayer. It would be a comfort. But she knew better. They were in the hands of the fates, not the gods.
She could still feel it, fainter now, but it was there. The power lingering beneath her skin. She’d thought about using it, of course she had. But it would involve revealing herself to Dolos and Heracles. Rumbling the earth and blaming it on Poseidon was one thing, but she couldn’t hide behind the gods forever, and if Heracles found out the true extent of her powers...she didn’t want to think about it. The screams of the hunters he’d attacked the day they arrived on the beach were forever burned into her memory.
Finally, the pelt covering the entrance of the Hunters Hall was drawn back, and people spilled out into the clearing. Danae frowned. The Lemnians and Argonauts weren’t dispersing to their huts as usual but lingering around the giant structure of Artemis.
Then the crowd turned to the doorway, and a hush descended on the clearing. Hypsipyle and Jason emerged, silhouetted against the dying flames of the fire pit. Hypsipyle reached across the space between them and took Jason’s hand in hers, thrusting their arms up toward the moon.
“Tomorrow, by the glory of Artemis, the blessed Parthéna, I shall take this man as my husband.”
A foolish grin was plastered across Jason’s face. The crowd erupted with cheers, surged forward and lifted the couple onto their shoulders. A sea of hands reached to touch them, as though their joy was infectious. Danae turned to Dolos, but before she could speak the healer cried out in shock.
A lime-green snake had dropped from the trees above and was winding around his neck. Heracles surged forward and grabbed it, tossing its coiling length into the undergrowth.
But the damage was done.
Beyond the tree line the crowd fell silent. The hunters turned toward the jungle, reaching for their weapons.
So much for a stealth attack.
For a heartbeat, Danae, Dolos and Heracles looked at each other. Then the hero ripped through the foliage, torn vines trailing behind him as he lunged at the hunters.
Danae’s heart dropped through her stomach. Fingers clumsy in her haste, she rushed to undo the straps of her bag. “Take this.” She pulled out a bottle of reviving liquid and shoved it into Dolos’s hands. “Wake the others, I’ll take out as many hunters as I can.”
Dolos nodded and dived into the throng.
While the islanders scattered and the Argonauts floundered in confusion, the hunters closed ranks, forming protective rings around Hypsipyle and Jason while backing into the Hunters Hall. Heracles followed them, knocking through islanders like a bull thundering through a field of barley. His strength wasn’t what it had been when they’d arrived on the island, but even so he wielded the power of four men combined.
Through the chaos, Danae saw Telamon and Hylas running toward the armory. From their panicked faces, she gathered Dolos had revived them. But their path was soon blocked by three hunters, who emerged from the armory swinging axes.
She sprinted from the cover of the jungle and sheltered behind the effigy of Artemis. Fumbling a dart into the stolen pipe, she lifted it to her lips and blew toward one of the hunters outside the armory.
The dart fell short.
Cursing, she reloaded. She was too far away.
Breathe, said the voice.
She panicked for a moment, then forced herself to focus on the air in her lungs and felt for the pulse of her life-threads. She was swollen with them, her own piece of life’s tapestry engorged with the panther’s threads.
She lifted the pipe to her lips and locked eyes on her target. She blew again, and this time, glowing threads streamed behind the dart as it shot through the air. No one else seemed to be able to see them. The first hunter fell. She fired another and another. The other two hunters dropped their weapons and slumped to the ground.
Telamon and Hylas stared in confusion at their fallen attackers.
“You can thank me later,” said Danae as she appeared behind them.
“Daeira!” Hylas threw his arms around her. She pulled away, light with relief as she looked into his eyes, bright with their familiar warmth.
“I would ask you to fill us in, but we appear to be in a battle.” Telamon retrieved the hunters’ axes and threw one each to Danae and Hylas.
A splintering crack signaled that Heracles had punched through the wall of the Hunters Hall.
