The mortal’s corpse crumpled to the earth. It was a shame really. Hermes enjoyed talking to Phineus far more than his self-absorbed siblings.
The god tugged the helm from his head. He looked down in disgust at the spittle smeared on the golden cheek plate. He could already hear his stepmother chastising him.Foolish boy, the man could have been diseased, how many times do you have to be told?Hera had such a fear of catching mortal illnesses. He supposed it was understandable, given how many of her husband’s bastard children littered the earth.
Hermes knelt and wiped his helm on the grass. The craftsmanship really was stunning. The flawless gold was detailed with a filigree of ivy, winding up to two leaves that pointed upward like ears on either side. He only ever took it off when he was alone. He liked himself much better inside his armor.
He barely noticed the extra life-threads whirring through his veins, he’d grown so used to the sensation. But he could still remember the ecstasy of his first time, all those centuries ago. That was a feeling he would never forget.
As he lifted the helm, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirrored gold. The downy hairs on his chin that would never become a beard, the painful spots marring his rose-pale skin. He rammed the helm back over his face. Forever cursed to remain on the edge of boyhood. His father was so cruel. Not a day went by when Hermes didn’t wish Zeus had waited before performing the ritual, let him become a man first.
His thoughts were interrupted by a distant screech. The remaining harpies were searching for their sister. He’d better make himself scarce. Besides, Ares would be waiting. He sighed. Returning without information would cost him a beating, but not returning at all would be worse.
Hermes bent his knees and kicked into the air. The metal wings melded to his armored boots beat rapidly and propelled him into the sky. Flying never failed to bring him joy, and he smiled as he cut through the clouds like a golden spear.
37
Metal Skies
Thirty-two days had passed since theArgoentered the iron waters of the Black Sea. Danae knew this because she had been scoring a line on the wall of the store cabin each day before preparing the lunch rations. Each mark scratched was another day closer to Prometheus and discovering the true nature of her destiny.
Under Tiphys’s advice they kept to the coastline, landing only when they needed to replenish the ship’s store. Jason drove the Argonauts hard, only letting the rowers rest when the wind picked up and they could unfurl the mainsail. The closer they came to Colchis, the more he pushed. The crew pulled the oars from dawn until dusk, not dropping anchor until the starry cloak of night swept over the sky. They slept under the ship’s tarpaulin and as soon as dawn broke, took up the oars again.
A chill crept into the air. When the wind blew from the east, it cut to the bone, and even at its height, the sun didn’t warm the skin like it did back home. Danae was glad of the extra furs they’d taken from Lemnos. Rowing was tough, but at least the exertion kept the crew warm.
With no time alone to explore her powers, she spent most of her days with Peleus, tending to his wounds. At first, he seemed to be improving. Then came the day she peeled off the makeshift dressing and found his stitches were inflamed, yellow pus oozing between the twine. She hid the last two skins of wine from Atalanta and used the liquid to clean the wounds. But without Dolos’s expertise and bag of medicines, she knew Peleus had little chance of recovery.
“Tell me about your family,” Danae said to distract him as she dabbed a wine-sodden cloth against his infected flesh. Peleus winced.
“My wife, Thetis. You’ll not meet a cleverer woman. Nor a more tricksome one.” He chuckled then gasped in pain.
“You have a son, don’t you?”
“Yes.” Peleus’s pride was evident, even through clenched teeth. “My Achilles.”
“Telamon says he’s a good fighter.”
“He’s not good, he’s extraordinary. He was training with the palace guard at ten years old. I don’t know where he gets it from. I was useless at his age.”
She smiled. “I doubt that’s true. I’ve seen you and your brother in action. I bet you were a pair of troublemakers.”
She finished wiping Peleus’s wounds and began to wind a fresh piece of cloth around his torso. His skin was clammy beneath her fingers.
“I worry about him.”
“Achilles?” She realized Peleus was looking past her at the rowing benches. She glanced behind at Telamon. “Oh, that one can look after himself.”
“It wasn’t his fault.”
“What wasn’t?”
“He didn’t mean to do it.” Peleus sounded distressed.
She paused her wrapping and placed a hand on his forehead. He was burning up. Her heart sank. A fever meant the infection had spread.
“I’m sure he didn’t,” she said softly and continued bandaging.
“Father was so angry. But Telamon didn’t deserve to be cast out. He didn’t know Phocus was standing there.”
She had no idea what Peleus was talking about. He might well be delusional from the fever. She knew so little of Telamon’s origins, except that he used to be a prince.
