As Danae looked up, she realized there was something at the center of the roiling clouds. A dark shape formed of more than smoke. Then the wind blew, and for a moment the tendrils parted. He was so far away, she only caught a glimpse of wings and gold before the blackened sky swallowed him again, but it was enough. He looked just like his counterpart standing guard over his temple.
Dread seeped through her. Apollo.
As she stood, petrified, another fireball crackled into being from where the clouds shrouded the god. It hurtled toward them and crashed into the roof of one of the brothel buildings. A moment later, a man staggered from the doorway, screaming as the flames melted his skin like wax.
“Hetaria!” Manto’s glassy eyes reflected the fire spreading from one wooden structure to another. In moments the entire row was blazing. There was no way anyone inside had survived.
The screams were terrible. Liquid terror coursed through Danae’s veins. She felt like she could do nothing but stand there and watch the city burn.
“This can’t be because of me...it can’t...it...”
“Come on.” Manto hoisted Lithos under one arm and grabbed Danae’s hand with the other. “I swore I’d protect you and I’m not going back on my word.”
They ran past the smoldering brothel houses just as another blast hit the gymnasium. It collapsed in on itself, belching a cloud of dust into the fiery air.
The streets were thick with people fleeing their homes. Some were weighed down by piles of belongings, others hadn’t even put on their sandals. The air was so dense with smoke, Danae could barely breathe. Manto pulled her through the burning streets, both of them tripping and skidding over a sea of lost belongings and broken pottery. Half blind and head pounding from the smog, Danae clutched Manto’s hand like it was a lifeline.
Eventually, they hurtled out onto the sacred way. The stone buildings that a day ago had looked so grand and pristine were blackened and crumbling. A plethora of burnt body parts protruded from the rubble. Those that could still run were fleeing the city. Pilgrims, priestesses, guards and citizens alike, all flocked to the gates. Danae and Manto were carried forward by the crush of people, out of the city onto the road at the base of Mount Parnassus. Here the crowd forked, some hurrying left around the base of the mountain toward Athens, others running in the opposite direction.
“What’s that way?” Danae shouted, pointing right.
“Port of Cirrha.”
She looked back at the sprawl of burning buildings on the mountainside. The flames ignited an anger deep inside her that had grown with every misfortune, every struggle unaided, every prayer unanswered. The gods didn’t care about mortals at all. Her family were good people, and the Twelve had done nothing while they were beaten into the ground by pious cruelty. Where were the gods when the villagers shunned them, when Arius was taken, when Alea drowned herself?
And now Apollo would raze an entire city just to eradicate one person.
As she watched Delphi burn, the wall of adamant that stood between her and the prophecy crumbled away. Manto was not the only one who believed Prometheus’s words were about her. The gods did too.
She was the last daughter.
17
Flight
As Danae stared at the burning city, the flames licked away the last of her resistance, leaving the truth gleaming like bones on a funeral pyre. The power that had awoken in her the day she found Alea’s body was no curse. It was fate. Her future was tied to Prometheus’s prophecy. And with that rush of realization, a voice spoke. It was inside her and yet not hers. It came from the part of her that knew things she did not yet understand.
This is only the beginning. You cannot hide from your destiny.
A thrill rippled through her body. She let it take her, and for a heartbeat she flew above her fear. She felt as though she was dissolving, while at the same time becoming part of something larger that she couldn’t quite comprehend.
Then the reality of their situation came flooding back. Manto’s network of Children of Prometheus members in Delphi had been destroyed. They had said it themselves, the rest of the organization guarded their anonymity. There was no one left they knew who could help her.
No mortal.
She turned back to Manto. “Is it true that Prometheus is chained to the highest peak of the Caucasus Mountains at the end of the world?”
They nodded. “That’s what my father said.”
Danae drew a deep breath. “He made the prophecy, and I think he might be the only one who can help me fulfil it.” She looked down the right fork of the road. “You say that way leads to a port?”
Manto nodded.
“Then let’s find ourselves a boat.”
It didn’t take Danae and Manto long to reach Cirrha. The town was a small cluster of low stone buildings, built on a protruding leg of Mount Parnassus. After the last row of houses the cliff fell away to a sheer drop below. The port itself was only accessible by deep, wide steps carved into the rock face.
Woken by the commotion, the inhabitants of Cirrha emerged from their homes to see a flood of people pouring through their little town. Most ran back inside and bolted their doors. Those who stayed to stare at the burning sky were absorbed by the throng and dragged with it.
