She waited, the breath locked in her chest, convinced Telamon or at least Atalanta would rail against her. But to her astonishment, Atalanta slung her bow over her shoulder and grasped the side of the boat, tipping it onto its belly. A heartbeat later, Telamon sheathed his sword and helped her drag the vessel into the undergrowth.
Heracles remained. For the first time since arriving on Delos, Danae did not flinch at the loathing in his gaze.
‘You will never replace me,’ he whispered.
‘I don’t want to,’ she said softly.
She felt the urge to move towards him. ‘Heracles, please, you must hide …’ her fingers brushed his.
He recoiled from her touch and stalked after his companions into the trees. Danae clenched her fist, then crouched down, concealing herself in the bushes.
Before long, voices could be heard, carried on the wind.
‘It’s good of you to visit after all these years. As you can see, I am rather starved of company.’
‘You have the gulls.’ A male voice, deep and cold as a winter sea.
‘True, although they have a terrible sense of humour.’
‘You haven’t changed.’
‘Neither have you. Apart from the beard. Congratulations, you finally look older than Zeus.’
Poseidon laughed.
Danae’s skin prickled. They spoke like old friends. Like family.
A mocking lilt crept into Metis’ tone. ‘I wish I could offer you hospitality, but I have nothing worthy of the God of the Sea.’
‘A drink from the sweet water of your lake will suffice.’
Danae’s breath hitched in her throat. She peered between the leaves.
A figure clad in golden armour strode over the dusty earth. He was tall and powerfully built, a trident clutched in one hand, his helm in the other. He had always appeared sturdy and wild in his statues, with a great curling beard and long, shaggy hair. In the flesh, his skin was the colour of ripe grain, his hair the rich hue of an oak tree. He was cast in a rougher mould than Zeus and Hades, possessing none of the beauty his brother had passed onto Heracles, but there was a whisper of their shared blood in the lilt of his jaw and the furrow of his brow.
Metis hurried to place herself between the god and lake. ‘Spare me the niceties, Poseidon. Why are you here?’
Danae longed to check that the others were well concealed, but she dared not move.
Poseidon drove the end of his trident into the earth. ‘Hades and Persephone are dead.’
To her credit, Metis stiffened as though the news were a shock.
‘Slain by the very girl Prometheus prophesied would end Zeus’ reign. In a bitter twist of fate, the Titan too was killed by her hand.’
Danae’s mouth dried at the lie. She wanted to scream, to hurl herself from the undergrowth and savage him, but she willed herself to remain immobile as stone.
‘How can this be?’ breathed Metis.
‘She is a creature of pure malice that will stop at nothing until she has destroyed all Titans, Gaia’s chosen and Olympians alike. Prometheus was mistaken. The champion of mankind will be the end of us all.’
‘Why are you telling me this?’
‘I believe she might come here, seeking your help.’ He drew out a golden medallion from the pouch at his waist. ‘If she does, keep her here and send for me, then …’
Poseidon trailed off and tilted his face skyward.
Danae strained to see what was happening. Then she heard the beating of wings.
