Danae’s heart suddenly felt too heavy for her chest.
“Why will none of you admit to being wounded?” she said sharply and reached to undo the straps of Atalanta’s breastplate.
The warrior jerked away from her.
“I can’t get a good look without removing it.”
“I never take off my armor.”
“You did on Lemnos.” She regretted the words as soon as they’d left her lips.
A beat fell between them.
“I’m sorry. It must have been difficult, being back with a group of hunters and then—”
“You think you’re clever, don’t you?” Atalanta’s eyes grew hard as frosted iron. “You think the men respect you? The only reason you’re here is because ofthem—” she glanced to the heavens “—but the gods won’t protect you, Seer, no matter how special you think you are to them.” She gestured to the rowing benches. “I am faster, stronger, tougher than all those pricks, but I have to prove my worth every fucking day. You want to know why I don’t take off my armor?” She thumped her chest. “This was beaten from the breastplate of the man who murdered my people. Because he was faster, stronger, tougher...” She paused, her breath ragged. When she spoke again her words bit like a silent blade. “Don’t ever touch my armor again.”
Danae swallowed, her mouth dry. “If I don’t clean the wound, it will become infected. If it’s all right with you, I’d rather you didn’t die.”
The two women stared at each other. Atalanta’s dark eyes burned with an intensity that made Danae’s stomach writhe, but she did not look away.
“Fine. But the armor stays on.”
“Yes, you made that clear.”
Atalanta’s mouth twitched. Danae located the wineskin and, armed with a cloth retrieved silently from the store cabin, she eased herself back down beside the warrior and began to dab the gouge. Atalanta stiffened, but she didn’t make a sound, even as Danae pressed against her sore flesh to reach the tip of the wound beneath the armor.
“I’m sorry about your people.”
Atalanta grunted.
“They were hunters too, weren’t they?”
“Who told you?”
“Hylas.”
Atalanta was silent.
“I do not love the gods.” Danae didn’t know how the grain of truth had escaped, but there it was. “I channel their will, when they wish me to receive it, but I know that I am just a tool to them, nothing but a disposable mortal.” She didn’t try to hide the venom that seeped into her words, hating the half lie she had to weave.
Atalanta gently moved her hand away.
“Has Artemis ever spoken to you?”
“No.”
Atalanta’s frown deepened. “She used to hunt with my people.”
Danae’s heart tripped. “You’ve met her?”
“Yes,” Atalanta said with a quietness that betrayed her fear. “We were her mortals, just like the hunters of Lemnos. She promised no one would touch us, that we were under her protection. Then raiders came to our forest. We prayed to her to save us, but she did not come. When she did finally return she found all but three of us dead...” Atalanta paused, her mind flying somewhere far away. “After what they did to us, she didn’t think we were worth saving.”
The anger that lived beneath Danae’s skin singed her blood. She wanted to reach for the warrior, but she knew Atalanta would detest her pity.
“How did you escape?”
“Heracles.”
