He is afraid, she realized.Afraid of what he does not know.
Danae looked up at Eurystheus and smiled. ‘It is worse than you could ever imagine.’
The king faltered, and she seized the moment. Her legs screamed as she leapt up, slipping past Eurystheus and the soldiers beside her, who evidently had not expected her to run.
As though taking his cue from her, Hylas ripped his mane free of his sentries’ hands, leaving strands of white hair wound around their fingers, and flicked out his wings, knocking down the soldiers either side of him. Danae sprinted to the horse and swung herself onto his back. Eurystheus’ men surged forward, but Hylas launched into the air, out of their grasp.
Danae clung to Heracles and, as Hylas ascended, shouted at Telamon and Atalanta, ‘An island that sounds like the healer!’ Hoping they would understand her riddle.
A slew of arrows followed them as Hylas continued into the air. Danae’s vision crackled from the effort of their escape, but she forced herself to hold on to the horse’s mane with one hand, Heracles with the other. She could just about feel the hero’s chest moving beneath her arms as he clung to life. She tried not to look at the Missing staring up at her, delivered from the realm of one tyrannical master into the clasp of another. As Atalanta had said, she could not save everyone. That didn’t make it any easier.
Danae, Heracles and Hylas soared across the ceruleanocean. As the cries behind them faded, Prometheus’ parting words echoed in her mind.
Seek out Metis on Delos, she will help you.
Without the aid of the omphalos shard, she had nowhere else to go.
‘Hylas,’ she gasped, ‘take us to Delos.’
She did not know who this Metis was, but they were her only hope of regaining her powers and saving Heracles.
As the sea and sky stretched out around them, the tightness in her chest finally began to ease. She had wasted enough time doubting the truths Prometheus had revealed, the reality that she had always known deep down yet could not accept.
Hades was dead, along with his wife, Persephone. The Twelve were now eleven. Danae’s actions had led to the release of Typhon, the dragon, from its watery cage. She had set free the giants, Heracles and the Missing. She had destroyed Tartarus. All without her powers.
The world was a dark and terrible place, and she must fill it with light. She was the last daughter and finally she was ready to meet her destiny.
Part Two
21. The Island
Danae hit the sea like a chisel cracking marble.
Her body responded before her mind had recovered from the fall. She struck out against the swell and broke the surface, gasping. Through stinging eyes, she watched Hylas collapse on the little beach, his white coat gleaming with sweat. Her chest ached at the invasion of salt in her wounds, but the wind was so strong and her arms so weak, she couldn’t have held on to the horse a moment longer. And falling into the sea was preferable to smacking into hard earth.
She couldn’t see Heracles. Heart thundering, she twisted about, then caught sight of a long shape drifting a yard or so behind her. She swam towards it. The gouges on her chest screamed, the collar growing heavier with each stroke, but she forced her limbs to keep slicing through the ocean.
When she reached Heracles, she flipped him onto his back and threaded his bony arm through hers, then kicked towards the shore.
The muscles beneath her collarbone felt like they were tearing as she dragged him through clouds of seaweed up onto the sand. He was so tall and thin it looked as though he’d been stretched, like the jealous sea had tried to keep hold of him.
As she gazed down at the hero, memory threatened to envelop her. Another beach, another body, a life swept away by the tide.
Not this time.
She let out a guttural moan as she heaved Heracles onto his side and thumped his back.
‘Breathe, gods damn you.’ She hit him again and again.
The hero coughed, and the memory of Alea was sent scurrying back to the depths of her mind as Heracles retched onto the sand. She rubbed his back, his bones sharp beneath her fingers. Her movements slowed as she traced the familiar scars, remembering a time when they lay together on a different shore; the strength of him then, his weight pressing into her, the power corded in his limbs. She held onto the sensation of being circled in his arms, feeling safe for the first time since fleeing Naxos.
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I’m so sorry.’ Her cheeks were damp. From the sea or sorrow, she could not tell.
Heracles’ eyes were closed. His breath, a rattling rasp.
Danae sagged back on her heels and flopped down beside him, gazing up at the cloud-speckled sky through heavy lids. A lone gull hovered above her, buffeted by the wind. Every part of her ached. She knew she had to find help or they would both perish, but she could not move.
After escaping Lerna, they’d flown for hours. All the while Danae had clung to Heracles for fear of him falling. When Hylas eventually spotted Delos and dipped his wings, she almost cried with relief, before her limbs failed her and she slipped into the azure arms of the Aegean Sea.
