Danae was very aware of the sliver of air between their arms, the notes of oak, salt and honeysuckle woven into the other woman’s scent. She stole a glance at Atalanta and found the warrior watching her.
‘Back on Delos, did you like what you saw?’ Atalanta’s words were so softly voiced they were almost lost to the wind.
Danae’s lips parted. She thought of the lake, of the warrior’s discarded silver armour glinting in the sunlight, Atalanta’s lean body being lowered into the water’s embrace and the shining trails the droplets had trickled across her skin.
‘Yes,’ she breathed.
They stared at each other, heat rising in the pit of Danae’s stomach. There was something sharp and raw in the depths of those fierce, dark eyes. Something dampened by years of drinking, fighting and fucking.
‘I never meant to hurt you,’ Danae whispered, curling her fingers around Atalanta’s hand.
The warrior drew back as though a blade had been drawn between them. Her lip curled.
‘Don’t flatter yourself.’
‘Atalanta …’
Her eyes cold as starlight, the warrior leant close and whispered, ‘I’m no fool. If Heracles had his strength back and was here on this ship you would be fawning over him like a lovesick girl.’
The longing ache in Danae’s throat turned bitter. She rose, her head throbbing with the sudden movement.
‘If you really believe that, then youarea fool.’
She stalked away across the prow deck and had almost reached the rowing benches when the navigator shouted, ‘Land ahead!’
She spun on her heel. The green and gold hills of a verdant island stood proud against the sky.
Marching through the benches, she called to Odysseus, ‘That is not Troy!’
‘Indeed.’ He greeted her with an infuriating smile as she climbed up to the stern deck. ‘That is the island of Skyros.’
Rage bubbled inside her, life-threads automatically surging into her hands. ‘If you have tricked me, King of Ithaca, I will strike you down where you stand.’
Odysseus did not so much as blink. ‘We are on our way to Troy, be assured of that. But we have an important person to collect first. I was sailing to this island when Metis’ gull found me.’
Danae’s eyes narrowed. ‘Who is this person?’
‘The best of the Greeks. A young warrior named Achilles.’
40. The Best of the Greeks
Recollection sparked in Danae’s mind. Telamon’s brother, Peleus, had spoken of a son, Achilles, aboard theArgo.
‘He’s your nephew?’
Telamon nodded, his brow furrowed.
‘Is that so?’ Odysseus gestured for Telamon to join them on the prow deck. ‘The fates have indeed placed you in our path. I predict Achilles will not come with us willingly. He may need some encouragement to join the Greek army.’
‘Why?’ asked Danae.
‘He had … a disagreement with King Agamemnon.’
‘Go on.’
Odysseus sighed. ‘The Greek army congregated at Aulis before sailing for Troy. Plague broke out, and Calchas, Agamemnon’s seer, told him that the gods demanded a pure sacrifice of royal blood or the entire Greek force would be decimated by disease. Agamemnon sent for his daughter, Iphigenia, under the false claim he wished to give her in marriage to Achilles. Instead, she was killed as an offering.’
Danae’s heart grew hard and heavy as stone.
