‘How long ago?’ rasped Atalanta.
‘A thousand years.’
‘And Prometheus escaped …’
‘He did. Prometheus went into hiding, where he divined his prophecy from the shard of omphalos stone he’d rescued and spread his vision throughout the tribes of men. When the news reached Zeus, he hunted Prometheus down, but never recovered the missing shard of stone. The rest of the eye was reformed and placed in Delphi.’
Danae’s mouth dried as she listened, still crouched on all fours. Prometheus must have entrusted the shard to the first member of the Children of Prometheus, and it had been guarded by the order ever since, handed down through the years until Manto finally entrusted it to Danae. A wave of guilt swept through her at the thought of it lost in the Underworld.
She gazed down at Pegasus’ empty water bowl by her hand. The owl painted on its inside seemed to shift, as though it was about to beat its dark wings and fly away into the night. She recalled Metis saying it was a gift from her daughter. Then Danae thought of another likeness of the bird, cast in bronze with little green gems for eyes, pinned to her sister’s breast. The sacred animal of the Goddess of Wisdom and Warfare.
‘Athena …’ She pushed herself to standing and paced back into the hut. ‘Your daughter is Athena.’
Metis rose slowly, lingering smoke tendrils clinging to her like dawn mist.
‘Yes.’
The other three looked between them, eyes bloodshot.
‘I remained on Mount Olympus for a year after her birth, while Zeus began his campaign to convince mankind that he was a god. But as soon as she could fend without her mother I was exiled here, to Delos.’ Feeling swelled through thecracks of Metis’ shell, like damp soil beneath sun-split earth. ‘Zeus never forgave me for helping Prometheus escape.’
‘When I first arrived, you said your daughter used to come here … she brought you gifts …’ Danae’s limbs twitched, a familiar thrumming vibrating through her body.
‘Zeus allowed her to visit me while she was still mortal, but once she tasted the fruit of the Hesperides tree, became ageless and gained her powers, she came no more. That was centuries ago.’
‘You lay with him,’ Danae spat. ‘You loved him.’
‘When I saw what he truly was I stood against him. I attacked him, so Prometheus could escape.’ Metis stepped towards her around the smoking remains of the fire. ‘I know now what has guided him along this path. The same voice that whispers in your ear.’
Danae’s nails bit through the flesh of her palms, but before she could hurl back a retort, Heracles spoke.
‘Why did he do this to me?’ They turned to look at him. The hero had heaved himself up to standing, leaning against the stone wall. ‘Why didn’t he give me an apple?’
Danae’s heart ached at the rawness in his voice.
Metis gazed at him with eyes swollen with sadness. ‘I cannot say. Zeus has not created any more Titans since Hermes’ transformation centuries ago. I wonder if this is not of his choosing.’
‘Gold that grows bears no fruit,’ murmured Atalanta.
‘Exactly,’ said Metis. ‘Perhaps the Mother has cut him off from the power of the Hesperides fruit.’
A bolt of realization seared across Danae’s mind. ‘You knew about Heracles’ strength elixir. If Athena has not visited for centuries, then who told you? Who else has come to Delos in the last thirty years?’
Telamon and Atalanta rose to their feet.
Metis raised a hand. ‘It’s not what you think –’
‘Zeus.’ The name was venom on Danae’s lips.
There was a pause before Metis whispered, ‘Yes.’
Blood thumped in Danae’s ears. ‘When did he last set foot on this island?’
Metis looked as though she were crumbling. ‘A decade, at least a decade.’
Danae thought of her sister, her mind racing with images, each more terrible than the last. Alea lying limp in their brothers’ arms, her sea-bloated corpse, Zeus standing over her, his hands creeping over her flesh.
Metis had loved this man. This raping, murdering monster.
