The Argonauts did not need to wait for Jason’s command to dive for their weapons. Danae backed away from the side of the ship as the pirates rushed to leap aboard. Without even having to summon them, her life-threads clustered to her throbbing fingertips, aching to be released.
Save the crew,urged the voice.They need your help.
It was too risky, there were so many bodies crowded onto one small stretch of ship. She would be exposed, and besides, it looked as though the Argonauts were doing just fine without her.
Telamon and Atalanta had boarded the pirate vessel and were merrily gutting the men left behind. They could not have been more different; Telamon was all grace and technique as though he was dancing at court, whereas Atalanta fought like she drank, furiously and with an unholy appetite. Yet there was a rhythm that sang in both their bodies when they battled together, an awareness of each other’s patterns that could only be learned by years of fighting side by side.
Back on theArgothe rest of the crew were bludgeoning, maiming and—in the case of an overzealous Ancaeus—decapitating the pillagers who’d dared step foot on their ship. The twins, Pollux and Castor, hadn’t even paused to take up their weapons and were smashing their way through the pirates’ skulls like they were pottery.
Her back to the stern platform, Danae watched pirate blood spray over the deck. Then her eyes found Heracles. He stood at the other end of the mid-deck, leaning against the prow platform, his arms folded. A smile shadowed his mouth as though the pair of them were watching gladiators in a stadium, performing for their pleasure.
She scowled at him. He could end this tussle in a heartbeat, why was he just standing there? Even if he only donned his lion hide, the sight of it would probably be enough to scare the attackers back to their ship.
Then a pirate came careering toward her, sword in hand. His tunic was sliced open, his gut a bloody mess. He lunged at her with the reckless violence of a man with nothing left to lose.
It was inevitable. She could not stop it. Her power expanded inside her, igniting her skin with tingling energy as she reached for the man. He was dying, she could feel it, just as she had done with the panther, she could see his life-threads seeping out through his wound. She wanted them. She needed them.
Then Hylas dived between them. He parried the man’s sword with a blow that sent the weapon clattering to the deck and in one smooth motion drove his blade into the soft flesh between the pirate’s neck and shoulder. Danae felt the man’s death like a limb had been ripped from her body. All that wasted power.
A moan slipped from her lips.
“Did he hurt you?” Hylas put a hand on her arm, his eyes sweeping over her.
Danae managed to regain enough control to shake her head. Beyond him the fight was already over, and the Argonauts were busy heaving the pirates’ bodies into the sea.
“They’ve got wine!” Back on the pirate ship, Atalanta had prized open one of the locked crates to reveal it packed to the brim with amphorae. “A shitload of wine!”
Danae had never seen the warrior look so happy.
When the Hellespont finally opened into the sea of the Propontis, theArgodropped anchor in the shadow of the jagged Phrygian cliffs. The crew crowded onto the mid-deck under an indigo sky dappled with stars. Spirits were high after their victory over the pirates, fueled by the contraband wine they’d decanted into drinking skins.
“I’ve heard,” said Telamon, grinning at the twins, “that your sister is the most beautiful woman in all of Greece.”
“Which one?” said Castor. “We have five.”
“Five beautiful sisters?” Atalanta’s mouth curled into a smirk. “Nice.”
“You know which one.” Telamon wagged his finger. “Married to...oh, what’s his name... King of Sparta.”
“Helen,” said Pollux, with the resignation of someone who’d answered the same question many times before.
“That’s the one!” Telamon took a swig of wine. “This is what I want to know...is shereallyas beautiful as everyone says? Rumor has it she’s actually—” his eyes slid to Heracles “—the big man’s half sister.”
“Telamon, enough,” said Heracles.
Telamon looked offended. “I just want to know if the God of Thunder fucked their mother.”
Atalanta laughed. The twins glanced at each other, then lunged at Telamon. The three tussled together on the deck until Heracles grabbed the brothers and hurled them across the benches.
Unbidden, Alea stole into Danae’s mind. Her sister lay on their pallet, her legs curled into her chest, weaving a piece of their father’s fishing flax into a bracelet. She always used to lie like that. Danae would say she looked like an upended beetle. Then Alea would flap her legs to make Danae laugh.
She blinked away the memory. Despite locking her sister away, Alea kept escaping. Sometimes she appeared smiling, sometimes her eyes were cold with blame and sometimes she was a sea-bloated corpse rotting on the sand.
“Orpheus!” called Jason. “Sing us a song.”
The musician obliged and took up his lyre. He sang of his mountain village and Eurydice, the girl he’d left behind. It was a beautiful melody, sweet and tender, the lyrics full of longing and the hope of returning to her a worthy man.
The music faltered as an empty skin hit Orpheus in the face.
