Heracles pulled the cloak up to his collarbones. ‘Liar.’ The rise and fall of his bony chest quickened with every breath.
Through the mire of guilt and shame, Danae found an anchor of logic and clung to it. ‘You can ask Metis if you don’t believe me.’
Heracles barked out a harsh laugh. ‘Destroy the son, then kill the father. Was that your plan?’ He looked wild, spittle flecking his cracked lips. ‘Telamon and Atalanta would never abandon me. You killed them too, didn’t you?’
‘No! I would never … You aren’t listening to me. I cared for you, I …’
She could not say it.
She had comforted herself with the belief that she could have meant little to a man like Heracles. He was a great hero, and she … she did not know what she was any more. The girl she used to be had loved the fantasy of the man who was unstoppable, the mighty Heracles who could stand by her side and take on the Olympians. Everything had changed that night in the snow-swathed clearing at the feet of the Caucasus Mountains. Dolos’ revelation had torn Heracles from the lofty plinth she’d elevated him to before she’d ever set eyes on him. Now he sat before her, a man in all his complexityand pain, and she did not have the strength to fight for his affection. The storm had raged, and now all that remained of the intimacy they’d shared was flotsam floating on the tide of fate.
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered.
His eyes flashed. ‘Save your pity, Daeira.’
The breath caught in her throat. The name she had adopted while disguised as a seer. One last lie to crush.
‘My name isn’t Daeira. It’s Danae.’
Heracles shook his head. ‘I was a fool to think you ever needed saving.’
Tears bloomed in the corners of her eyes. She blinked them away.
‘You told me once you wished you’d been born an ordinary man. Well, you were. You are. When you are well enough you can leave this island and do anything, be anyone.’
Heracles drew a deep, rattling breath. ‘You would not speak this way if you were me, stripped of everything that made you worth anything.’
‘I know how hard it is to feel powerless,’ she said softly. ‘My own powers were taken from me for a time. But, Heracles, you were never meant to be unnaturally strong. You are more than just your name.’
‘I might as well be dead,’ he murmured. ‘There is no life for me in this body.’ He squeezed his bony fingers into a fist. ‘This weak, pathetic shell.’
‘You don’t mean that.’
Heracles’ lip curled. ‘You are just like my father. You used me, until I was no longer needed.’
Of all the arrows he had thrown, this found its mark. Heracles’ face tightened as he watched her, as though her silence laid bare her heart.
‘Get out.’
Tears fell, she could dam them no longer. ‘Heracles, I’m sorry, I’m so …’
She reached across the gulf between them. He recoiled as though her touch would brand him.
‘I said, get out.’
She stood and ran out onto the rocky hillside, the wind stinging her wet cheeks.
There was nothing left but hatred in Heracles’ gaze. Eyes that had been so blue and bright, she’d once thought she could dive into their depths and swim in their waters until her final breath.
28. Allies
That night, Danae slept beneath Pegasus’ wing in the shelter of the boulder outside the stone hut. Now that Heracles was awake, inside the dwelling felt too small, the air too thick.
As Pegasus snored beside her, she listened to the murmured tones of Metis and Heracles conversing until they fell silent. Even then, when there was no sound save the pulse of the horse’s heartbeat, the rush of the sea and the ever-keening wind, sleep evaded her and she lay awake long into the night.
The following morning, she woke bleary-eyed to Metis standing in front of her, brandishing a basket and fishing spear. Danae took them gladly, grateful for anything that would keep her from the pain in Heracles’ eyes.
When Danae reached the crescent bay, she sprinted across the seaweed-crisped sand and splashed into the shallows. The cool water lapping at her legs was a balm as she waded deeper, the basket slung over one shoulder, the spear clutched in her hand.
