Danae’s palms ached. She could already feel blisters forming. There was nothing to look at, nothing to distract her from the pain of rowing, except the sparkling blue-on-blue horizon.
She glanced at her companion. The woman’s face was obscured by her hood, her pale fingers decked with rings. One, on the fourth finger of her left hand, was dazzling. It held the largest sapphire Danae had ever seen, set in a bed of diamonds. The woman winced every time they pulled their oar.
“It will hurt less if you take them off.”
The woman looked at her, and Danae caught a glimpse of her rowing mate’s face. There was something familiar about the shape of her jaw and tilt of her nose. The woman seemed skittish and avoided making eye contact. Danae couldn’t blame her after what they’d just been through.
“I can row alone for a moment.”
The woman nodded and Danae took over as she slipped her rings into her cloak pocket. “Thank you,” she said as she clutched her section of oar again.
If the jewels weren’t enough, her accent confirmed it. This woman was nobility.
From behind her blue hood, their eyes finally met, and Danae’s mind sparked with recognition. It must have been written on her face, because the woman muttered, “Please, I don’t want anyone to know who I am.”
Danae was suddenly cold despite the heat and exertion of rowing. Out of all the people in Delphi, she had ended up on a bench with the Queen of Athens.
“I won’t say anything.” She hoped she was unrecognizable from the last time Phaedra had seen her in her novice’s disguise.
“Thank you.” The queen’s words were stilted by the effort of rowing.
A few mores strokes of the oar fell between them.
Danae stole another glance at the queen. She was so like her sister. From what Ariadne had told her back on Naxos, she wondered if Phaedra even knew her sister was still alive.
She bit her lip. She knew it was risky, but she had to say something. She wouldn’t be able to live with herself if she didn’t.
“I’ve met your sister Ariadne.”
Phaedra’s hands jerked from the oar, sending their shaft bashing into the man in front.
“Middle left!” Dion shouted. “Keep rhythm!”
Fumbling with sweat-slicked hands, Danae and Phaedra regained control of their oar.
“You are mistaken.” The queen’s voice was all edges. “My sister died a long time ago.”
“I promise you, Ariadne is alive and well on Naxos. She lives with a collective of women, the Maenads. She’s happy.”
Phaedra was silent. Danae looked across and saw the front of the queen’s cloak was stained with tears.
“Theseus told me she was dead. All those wasted years.”
“You still have time.”
Phaedra shook her head. “There are some things you cannot come back from.”
“I know only one, death.”
The words came with a sharpness Danae hadn’t intended. Phaedra’s head snapped toward her. She bit the inside of her cheeks, but she couldn’t stop her thoughts from tumbling out.
“I would give anything, everything, to see my sister again. But she’s in the Underworld, and I will have to wait a lifetime. You could go to Ariadne now and live with her for the rest of your days. Don’t waste the time you have left.”
They continued to manipulate the oar in silence, their labored breathing the only sound between them.
“I’m sorry,” Phaedra said eventually. “About your sister.”
Danae didn’t trust herself to speak. She returned to gazing at the gleaming shards of sunlight skipping across the water. She wondered how long it would take her to reach the end of the world. Guilt twisted her stomach. She’d made a promise to Manto, yet without them she had little hope of finding their father. She didn’t even know his name. And ever constant, the words of the prophecy lay heavy in her heart.
