Danae stared at him, then threw her arms around his thin neck and whispered, “I will be the reckoning. And when my work is done, I will tell the world the part that you and Manto had to play.”
As she drew away, Phineus clutched her hand.
“Before you go, tell me your name.”
She straightened up.
“My name is Danae.”
“Daeira!” called Jason, as Danae clambered down the boulders toward theArgo. “Thank the gods. I was beginning to think you were lost.”
By way of an explanation, she held up a full waterskin. She’d left the other with Phineus. Another person to add to the list of those she could not fail.
She took Castor’s arm, and he pulled her up over the side of the ship. Her wet dress clung to her legs as she landed on the deck. She’d washed off the harpy’s blood in the stream. Not for the first time she was grateful that seers always wore black.
Jason turned to address the crew. “We have a difficult journey ahead. The elements will only grow harsher the closer we come to Colchis.” He looked at Atalanta and Telamon who were once more restrained. “I hold no tolerance for mutiny, but we need rowers. I offer you both the chance to swear your allegiance to me as captain. If you refuse, we will leave you here without weapons or supplies.”
Telamon glanced at his brother, lying on his bed of furs behind the rowing benches and said quickly, “I pledge my service to you, Jason.”
Jason smiled. “Release him.” He nodded to Pollux.
Atalanta shook her head, staring resolutely at the deck. Danae’s heart drummed against her chest. She couldn’t see a world in which the warrior would ever swear loyalty to Jason.
Once free of his bonds, Telamon crouched beside Atalanta and whispered something in her ear. Her head snapped up, and she stared at Telamon with a look so penetrating it could have bent iron. Then her eyes found Danae’s.
Silently, Danae begged her with every bone, breath and life-thread in her body to choose life over pride.
Something softened in Atalanta’s eyes. She lowered her gaze and muttered, “I pledge my service.”
Relief cascaded through Danae.
“Louder please, for everyone to hear.”
“I pledge my service.”
Jason nodded and signaled for Pollux to release her too. “If you disobey me again you will be killed instantly, and your bodies will be tossed into the sea without burial rights.”
It was a heavy threat. Not only death but the promise of eternity spent wandering the banks of the River Styx.
Atalanta and Telamon were silent as they joined the men on the benches. As Danae watched Atalanta take up an oar, warmth spread through her chest. The warrior was safe, for now, and she had the rest of the voyage to win back her favor. Starting by sneaking her extra wine rations that evening.
As they set off, Danae looked to the horizon. The wind was strong, and soon the mainsail was bloated by gusts of salty air, driving theArgoonward, toward the mouth of the Black Sea.
36
Interlude on Thrace
Phineus leaned against the stones of the ruin, the last rays of sunlight warming his face. He wondered if he should have been more forthcoming with the last daughter. Divining prophecy was by no means an exact art. One had to be careful, especially when hearing the prophetic vision described secondhand. While he believed what he’d told her to be true, he had remained silent on the other possibilities that had presented themselves. Darker paths swathed in blood and destruction. She would end the reign of thunder, of that much he was certain. But at what cost?
She was right—she was not what he’d expected. He couldn’t deny that he’d hoped she would be better prepared, but it was fitting somehow that the champion of mankind should be an ordinary girl who would become extraordinary. Perhaps he’d been too hard on her. It was a mighty burden she carried. But there would be no softness in what was to come.
He took comfort in the knowledge that he’d guided her as best he could. Besides, soon none of it would matter to him. Soon he would join the souls of all those that had come before, in the Underworld. Soon he would be with his Manto again.
His staff was to his left, and the wrappings that carried his last meal lay to his right. He was glad he would meet death on a full stomach. A small mercy. Tucked into the sash of his robe were two coins he’d found in the temple. He had no idea what currency they were. Too small for drachmas and too large for obols, but he hoped they would be enough to pay the ferryman to take his soul across the River Styx.
A disturbance in the air pricked his attention. There was a sound, something other than the usual crash of the tide, whine of the sea wind and squawking of gulls. He tilted his head to the west and waited.
Soon, his patience was rewarded by the clink and thud of a pair of armored feet landing on the ground.
