‘We should say something,’ said Telamon.
Danae blinked, her thoughts returning to the hillside.
Atalanta and Telamon were gazing at her, waiting. The expectation in their weary eyes settled across her shoulders like a yoke.
Since learning she was the last daughter, she had sought out the people she believed would help her evolve into the warrior she must become. First Phineus and Prometheus, then Metis. Now there was no one left to teach her, no wise counsel to turn to. She had assumed that one day she would feel ready, that once she had mastered her powers she would unlock the secret of how to defeat Zeus. But now she knew that day would never come.
She would never stop being afraid, never stop feeling like she wasn’t prepared. But despite that, she had killed a god. Perhaps she was enough, broken and unskilled as she was.
She drew a breath. ‘From the earth we are born and to the earth we shall return. Gaia, take care of Metis’ ichor as she returns to the tapestry.’ She lowered the final stone cradled in her hand and placed it upon the burial mound.
The rusted grass shimmered about the island as it moved with the wind. Danae wondered if the woman’s life force was now woven into its blades. It seemed fitting that Metis’ threads should become part of the island she’d cared for.
‘We can’t stay here,’ Danae said. ‘The Olympians will send someone after Poseidon soon enough.’
‘Agreed,’ said Atalanta.
Danae’s eyes travelled again to Heracles. ‘You saw what happened with the sea-monster …’ She turned back to her companions. ‘He cannot come with us to face the false gods.’
Atalanta’s gaze sharpened. ‘We will not leave him behind. He has improved much these past weeks.’
Danae ran a hand over her face. ‘If he comes to Olympus, he will be killed.’
Telamon folded his arms, his jaw set. ‘If you want our help, Heracles is non-negotiable.’
You do not need them, whispered the voice.You alone are the reckoning.
But deep in her core, Danae knew that wasn’t true. She would not have survived Poseidon if it weren’t for Telamon and Atalanta. If it weren’t for Metis. She could not do this alone.
She fought the ache that rose in her chest at the thought of the sacrifice made by the woman now cold as the stones upon her skin.
She sighed. ‘Fine.’
They picked their way down the hillside to join Heracles and Pegasus beside the lake. The hero looked up as they approached, his eyes deep as the wine-dark sea.
‘What now?’ he rasped.
‘You three sail in the boat. I’ll follow above on Pegasus.’ Danae gazed towards the land beyond Delos. ‘We’ll head to Myconos first. Regroup, gather supplies, then on to Olympus.’
‘What are you going to do with Poseidon’s armour?’ asked Atalanta.
It lay in a golden pile beside the lake, along with the shattered remains of the trident, flecks of dried blood staining the metal like rust.
Danae had been wondering this herself. It’s power-amplifying properties could be useful. At first, she thought she might wear it, but it was far too large, designed for a man at least a head taller than her.
‘We take it. It could be of use, even if only as a disguiseonce we reach Olympus. A way to gain entry to the palace.’ She looked at Telamon. ‘I was thinking perhaps …’
His pale eyes widened. ‘You want me to dress up as the God of the Sea?’
‘You’re a similar build to Poseidon.’
‘We can’t justsneakinto the palace of the gods – and even if we could, they would surely kill me once they discovered the deception.’
‘I think it’s a good plan,’ said Atalanta.
‘You put the armour on, then!’
The warrior glared at him. ‘When did you become such a coward?’
