Danae’s shoulders loosened as the conversation trickled back to a steady pace, but she knew she’d been lucky.
She just had to anger the wolf.
Danae woke suddenly. She propped herself up on the mat. The room was dark. Everyone else appeared to be asleep. Telamon was snoring loudly and next to him, Heracles lay on the straw-covered floor, head resting on his lion hide, his scarred brow creased. In sleep he looked younger, softer. She mapped the sharp angle of his jaw and the shape of his mouth, marvelling at how beauty and power were sculpted together into the lines of his face. A shiver ran down her spine. A face so like his father’s.
As she watched him, a dash of movement flickered past the window. Careful not to wake Atalanta sleeping beside her, she slipped her hand into her bag and rose, clutching her knife.
Silently, she padded out into the moonlight. The night was still, and the square appeared empty, save for the sleeping horses. Then she heard the crunch of a stone underfoot. Shaking off the lingering haze of the wine, she hugged the wall of the kapeleion and crept around the side. Edging forward, she peered around the corner. Behind the hut was a dirt track that continued up the mountain. There was something large on the path where the road twisted. She squinted, trying to make it out in the darkness.
It was a cart, its bulky contents covered by a tarpaulin. A jet-black horse was harnessed to the front. She glanced around, then darted across the path and concealed herself in the shadow of a protruding rock. As the cart inched forward, a limp arm fell free of the cover. The driver turned, as though sensing her gaze, and she stifled a gasp.
A pair of red eyes glinted beneath the charcoal hood.
Icy fear flooded her veins. For a moment she was paralyzed, then the sound of footsteps drew her back. Someone else was on the path. A shadow, distorting the scenery it passed through. Another shade. It was carrying something. Someone. A shudder ran through her as she realized it was Evan. The boy appeared to be unconscious.
She could hear Arius crying as though he were right in front of her, his pitiful wails searing through her mind.
She would not let them take another.
The screaming intensified inside her skull, ringing in her ears until her whole body vibrated with noise and fury. She leaped from behind the rock, knife raised and charged toward the shade holding Evan. As her feet hit the path, the ground shook sending rocks cascading down the mountain. The shade spun around to face her. It dropped Evan, its crimson eyes widening in fear.
Anger radiated out of her. She could feel it pulsing into the ground through the threads of light shooting from her feet into the earth. It was happening again, the strange power inside her was erupting, but she didn’t care. All she wanted was to inflict as much pain as possible on the creatures that had destroyed her family.
The cloaked shade driving the cart didn’t wait. It cracked its whip and urged the wagon upward around the bend as Danae continued to shake earth. The second shade fled after it, its camouflaged body near impossible to follow. But she doggedly pursued it, tracking its blurred outline along the road. Then the quake loosened a large rock above the path. The second shade twisted, its crimson eyes flashing in the moonlight ahead of her as the boulder crashed into it and the shade tumbled down the mountain out of sight.
“Daeira!”
She turned and saw Heracles, sword in hand standing on the track behind her, legs braced against the shaking ground. At the sight of him, the thrumming inside her stopped and the earth stilled.
She was stunned to see that despite the chaos she had somehow left a clear path through the rubble.
Heracles was staring at her, a strange look in his eyes. Then the others appeared behind him, weapons drawn. They paused as they took in Danae, the unconscious boy and the rock-strewn path. Dolos was the first to move and rushed over to Evan.
“Drugged,” said the healer as he lifted the boy’s eyelids.
A sudden weakness washed over Danae and her legs sagged beneath her. She staggered, teetering on the edge of the track. Dolos ran over and caught her before she fell.
“Easy now.” He gently guided her to the ground.
“Shades—” she muttered “—with a cart. I think they’ve taken people. They tried to take Evan. You can’t see them, but their eyes—”
“You don’t have to explain,” said Dolos. “We know about shades.”
“Which way did they go?” asked Telamon.
Danae pointed up the path. Without hesitating, Telamon, Hylas and Atalanta set off after it.
Heracles remained. He hadn’t taken his eyes off her. Concern and intrigue swirled in his ocean-blue gaze. And something else, something like hunger. She wished she knew how long he’d been standing there. How much he’d seen.
She had to be more careful. Whatever strange power was growing inside her, she must keep it hidden until she reached Prometheus.
22
Heroes and Masters
“My boy!”
A woman, her cheeks streaked with tears, rushed over to Evan, who was hanging like a rag doll in Heracles’s arms. Dru also looked stricken.
