“What happened?”
Peleus made a sound somewhere between a whimper and a moan. “It was an accident. Telamon threw the discus, then poor Phocus appeared from nowhere. The sound was awful...his little skull cracked like an egg.” Peleus’s face crumpled in pain. At the memory or his wounds, she couldn’t tell.
She glanced back at Telamon. She remembered what Hylas said, about Heracles giving second chances to those others had shunned. The hero and Telamon had more in common than she’d realized.
“He still blames himself—I know he does. If anything happens...will you look after him? You’re a kind girl.”
Danae bit the inside of her lip until she drew blood. She’d been doing it a lot lately, and as a result her mouth was raw with ulcers. The pain helped distract from her guilt. He wouldn’t call her kind if he knew the choices she’d made.
The following day was relentless. The wind lulled to barely a whisper, and by the afternoon they’d run out of water. Danae offered the last skin around the benches, so the rowers could wet their lips, but it would be impossible to keep going without replenishing the barrels before nightfall. So, it came as a great relief to all when Tiphys spotted a break in the cliff face.
“Captain!” the navigator called. “There’s a beach ahead. Do we land?”
“Yes!” Jason barely let him finish. “Thank the gods. Steer her in.”
TheArgoground to a halt in the shallows, and the crew hauled in the oars.
“Argonauts,” Jason called from the prow deck. “You know the routine. We go in pairs and—”
“There’s someone on the beach!” shouted Pollux.
Danae turned. A figure was riding down the dunes toward the ship. Sunlight blazed behind them, the sand kicked up by the horse’s hooves a sparkling cloud of golden dust. The powerful flanks of the chestnut stallion gleamed, and the bronze fur flying behind its rider seemed to capture the sun itself.
She gasped. It couldn’t be.
Heracles.
“I fucking knew it!” Atalanta leaped onto her bench and punched the air.
“You beautiful bastard!” Telamon shouted, then lifted Atalanta off her feet and kissed her.
The warrior shoved him off and wiped her cheek, but she didn’t stop grinning.
Danae couldn’t believe it. A moment later another horse appeared. It was Dolos, charging after Heracles. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak, couldn’t even blink as she waited for Hylas to appear.
But he didn’t come.
Jason looked like he might vomit. None of the other Argonauts were celebrating. They floundered, eyes flicking between the approaching hero and their captain.
Danae didn’t move either. She stared resolutely at the horizon, waiting. Perhaps Hylas was lagging behind, his horse might not be as fast as the other two. Heracles wouldn’t have left the Doliones’ shore without him, she knew he wouldn’t.
The moments felt like years as they dragged by, each one chipping away at her hope until the awful truth swallowed the last glimmer.
Hylas was dead.
She felt like it was happening all over again. He was being taken from her afresh, and she was just standing there while the Earthborn dragged him away.
She was brought back to the present by the sound of Heracles shouting. But he was too far away for her to make it out.
“What’s he saying?” asked Telamon.
Heracles was waving now, his words still distorted by the wind. Danae strained to listen, running to the prow as the hero hurtled toward them.
“Get off the ship!” yelled Heracles. “Run!”
Shaken from his stupor, Jason shouted back, “Why?”
There was a choking sound from the stern deck. Danae spun around and saw Tiphys collapse, what appeared to be a bronze knife sticking out of his neck.
