“Welcome, Heracles! May the Twelve see you and know you. We are honored by your presence.”
Heracles drew up his horse and dismounted. A servant in a green tunic ran forward to take his reins. The hero bowed deeply and touched his finger to his forehead.
“King Pelias, the honor is mine. I and my companions offer our service on your quest to retrieve the golden fleece of Colchis.”
A young man detached himself from the group of athletes and ran toward Heracles. His skin was deep brown, as were his eyes, set in a delicately handsome face.
“By the gods, you came!”
Heracles looked him up and down. “You are?”
“Jason, captain of theArgo.” The man beamed, exposing a row of dazzlingly symmetrical teeth.
Heracles looked as surprised as Danae felt. She’d expected Jason to be middle-aged and grizzled by years of sea taming. But he looked only a few years older than her, with not a single battle scar on his lithe limbs.
A hulking figure walked up behind Jason. It was hard to tell where the brown fur of his bearskin ended and his own hair began.
“Ancaeus.” Heracles nodded. The bearskin warrior did the same.
“Peleus!” Telamon dropped his pack and ran to embrace a man with sun-blushed skin and rust-colored hair. “You bastard, what are you doing here?”
“Telamon.” Peleus drew back and grasped Telamon’s face in his hands. “No one told me my little brother was coming along for the ride.”
The two men embraced, then Peleus grabbed Telamon in a headlock and rubbed a fist into his hair.
“That explains a lot,” said Atalanta.
“Who do we have here?” Jason smiled at Atalanta with the full force of his charm.
“These are my companions,” said Heracles. “Warriors who’ve fought by my side throughout my labors. This is Atalanta, Telamon, Hylas, Dolos, our healer, and the seer, Daeira.”
“Fantastic, we’re in need of a healer.”
Despite the joviality of Jason’s greeting, Danae noticed a gleam of ice in his eyes as his gaze slid past them to the royal box.
“You’re not suggesting these women come with us?” A bald man with a livid scar that sliced the tanned skin of his skull eyed Danae and Atalanta disparagingly.
“It’s bad luck,” growled his twin brother. If it weren’t for the first man’s scar, Danae would not have been able to tell them apart.
Atalanta sighed, reached into her pack and pulled out an apple. She threw it to Hylas, who caught it one-handed, drew back his arm and let the apple fly. The fruit soared into the air, far above the gathered warriors. Atalanta watched its progression for a moment, then lazily slung her bow from her shoulder and drew an arrow to her cheek. A breath later two apple halves fell to the sand.
She turned to the scarred twin and held out her bow. “Your turn.”
Jason laughed and stepped between them. “I see you ride with a talented group, Heracles. You’ve missed our competition, but there is no need to test your skill.” He turned to the crowd. “Heracles and all who travel with him are welcome aboard theArgo.” He looked up at King Pelias. “With your permission of course, Majesty.”
Danae sensed a tinge of mockery wrapped around that last word. Pelias’s eyes flickered in response, then the king inclined his head.
Jason turned to Danae. “The omens will surely be in our favor with two seers in our ranks.”
Her stomach clenched.
From behind the array of warriors emerged a thin man in a black robe. His hair was cut so short, she could see the outline of his skull.
“Idmon, meet Daeira.”
Danae bowed, squeezing her fists so her hands wouldn’t tremble. “May the Twelve see you and know you.”
Idmon touched his forehead and returned her bow, his beady eyes never leaving her face. She swallowed. Her disguise suddenly seemed a lot less infallible than it had before.
