Daedalus wiped his brow with the back of his hand. ‘Wasn’t easy; I could tell as soon as the lad brought me the pieces that this was different. Gold’s weak you see. We don’t make weapons out of it, not because it’s expensive, but because it’s soft. This, though,’ he sucked a breath through his teeth, ‘this was different.’ He seemed to brighten as he spoke, eyes sparking in the dark caverns of their sockets. ‘It has been infused with something to strengthen it.’
Danae thought of the bronze medallion Metis had sent to Odysseus. The king said its homing properties were powered by his blood. Perhaps the Olympians used similar methods when forging their golden amulets. ‘I think the gods pour their blood into their homing medallions, perhaps they did the same when forging their weapons. They can store power. I felt it, when I smashed the trident.’
‘Yes,’ Daedalus gestured excitedly towards the weapon, ‘I thought something similar myself. Blood and power, poured together into the molten metal during the forging. I had tobe so careful when I melded the pieces together not to upset the constitutional balance of the gold and render it useless.’
‘What of the armour?’ asked Hylas.
‘That will take more time,’ said Daedalus. ‘It is delicately made, and I will need the right proportions to fit it to.’ He looked at Danae.
For a breath she imagined herself encased in gold, striding towards Mount Olympus, the gods quaking before her.
‘Tomorrow I must remain in my seer’s disguise, but I will return after the battle. We can fit the armour then. There will be more fights to come.’
She gripped the stem of the trident with both hands and closed her eyes. She felt its presence waiting to be filled. She plucked a single life-thread and fed it into the gold. Once the connection was made the trident sang in her grasp, like another limb.
‘Are you pleased?’ asked Hylas.
She opened her eyes, smiling.
‘I love it. Thank you, Daedalus. Thank you both.’
The inventor made a rough sound at the back of his throat and nodded once.
‘You should keep it covered, don’t let any of the soldiers see it,’ prompted Hylas.
‘Yes,’ Danae murmured, running her hands along the gold before wrapping it back in its cloth. Then she paused. ‘What became of the iron collar I brought from Delos?’
‘You mean this?’ Daedalus produced the collar from his work bench.
‘I will need that too.’ She reached for it.
‘Ah,’ the inventor’s fingers lingered on the metal. ‘I was hoping to run some experiments; it’s a fascinating contraption, no clear locking mechanism …’
‘If all goes to plan, you may run all the experiments you desire after the battle.’
Daedalus clung on for a heartbeat, then nodded and released the collar.
As they moved towards the doorway Daedalus added, ‘If tomorrow goes in our favour, I’d like to speak more on what you know of the Olympians’ weaponry.’
Danae looked over her shoulder. ‘I know very little, but don’t worry, I’ll come back. I have a destiny to fulfil, remember?’
A shadow passed over Daedalus’ face. ‘I’ll believe it when I see it.’
Danae and Hylas stepped out into the dusky camp, and the inventor slammed the door behind them.
‘He is one of the strangest men I’ve ever met,’ said Danae as they walked through the darkening tents.
‘Because he didn’t kiss the ground at your feet?’
She hit him gently with the end of the wrapped trident. ‘He is one of us, yet in the presence of the last daughter, the only thing that seemed to interest him was divine weaponry.’
Hylas glanced at her. ‘He lost his son.’
‘Oh …’
‘He and his boy, Icarus, were imprisoned by old King Minos of Crete, forced to serve him and only him. But Daedalus planned their escape, spent years fashioning two pairs of wings from the feathers of birds that landed on their tower. Once the contraptions were ready, Daedalus and Icarus flew away from Crete, over the sea. But there was a fault with Icarus’ wings; the wax-like substance Daedalus had used to hold the feathers failed, and the boy fell to his death.’
‘That’s terrible.’
