Page 19 of Crown of Serpents (Curse of Olympus #1)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Even though the morning sun had not yet risen above the city walls, Joppa was bustling with life. Wooden carts rattled toward the market square, and the vendors began clamouring, urging passersby to buy their goods.
Andromeda wrapped her shawl tighter around her face, keeping her head low, as she joined the morning traffic. Her simple gown and worn sandals allowed her to move unnoticed, a princess disguised in plain sight.
Her heart pounded with a fervent rhythm of both excitement and rebellion. She was on her way to the temple of Astarte, a place veiled in the morning mist, where secrets and ancient knowledge whispered on the wind. A small smile spread across Andromeda’s face as she turned onto the winding path that led to the temple. Each step brought her closer to her sanctuary, the place where she could escape the weight of her responsibilities as crown princess and heir of Cepheus, king of Joppa, where she buried her hands in the soil and her soul intertwined with the blooming life in the herb garden.
She relished the quiet mornings, working side-by-side with the priestesses and acolytes. Though brief, ending before the scorching midday sun, these moments were a precious taste of freedom for a princess who was not meant to be free. She was going to become queen — or the mother of the future king. For the sake of her kingdom, Andromeda never complained.
The scents of thyme, lavender, and rosemary mingled in the air, soothing her senses as she climbed the final steps. Inhaling deeply, she closed her eyes in anticipation. Before her lay the temple's tranquil courtyard, bathed in the gentle light of the crescent moon. Tall, ancient pillars rose like silent sentinels, guarding over the priestesses who tended to the plants that thrived under their care. A wave of belonging washed over Andromeda as she approached, her fingertips brushing the velvety leaves of a healing herb.
Astarte, the patron goddess of Joppa, had many faces, but this was Andromeda’s favourite: the goddess of healers and midwives. Her father revered Astarte as the goddess of war and the kingmaker, praying for good fortune for his reign, while her attendants beseeched her to grant them love and beauty. However, to Andromeda, there was nothing more wondrous than the gentle glow emanating from a priestess’s hands as she healed a patient with Astarte’s guidance.
“Andromeda,” a stern voice shattered the stillness.
Andromeda turned to find Headpriestess Seraphine scowling at her, yet a twinkle of amusement danced in her warm eyes. “You know that you should not be here, child. It is unseemly for a princess to dirty herself tending to herbs and the sick … even for a princess as gifted as you.”
Andromeda lowered her gaze, her cheeks flushed. “I know, Seraphine, but I cannot help myself. The garden calls to me, and I can't ignore it.”
Seraphine remained silent, her arms crossed.
Andromeda pressed on, a disarming smile gracing her lips. “Besides,” she added, “I heard some of your priestesses are still on bed rest, recovering from the cold they caught from those merchants accompanying the Egyptian envoy. I see you only have two priestesses helping you with the acolytes today, so I'm sure I could be of assistance. And isn't it a princess's duty to tend to her subjects' needs?”
The elderly priestess sighed, her features softening, “Your heart is strong, my dear, and you have the touch of a true healer. Come along then … I need some new potions after using so many of them in the past weeks. Just don’t let your father find out.”
Andromeda waited for Seraphine to turn around before a triumphant grin spread across her lips. The elder priestess had yet to refuse her help. Without voicing her thoughts, the princess followed the senior woman into the depths of Astarte’s gardens.
Keeping her head lowered, a demure smile plastered across her face, Andromeda received Seraphine’s instructions and began preparing the poultices and salves that needed restocking after the recent flu outbreak. As the sun painted the horizon with hues of rose and gold, Andromeda lost herself in the dance of healing, her hands moving with practised grace as she harvested thyme and elderberry. Time slipped away, wrapped in the cocoon of tranquillity that only the herb garden could weave.
Just when she began mixing the harvested herbs with soothing honey, a gut-wrenching cry shattered her blissful serenity. Andromeda's head snapped up, her heart pounding as she followed the commotion to the temple entrance. A group of fishermen carried the lifeless body of an older man up the temple steps, their faces etched with terror and exhaustion. Behind them, a wailing woman stumbled toward the temple, her frail hand clutching the unconscious fisherman's.
Andromeda hurried after Seraphine to the courtyard to receive the group while another priestess ushered the young acolytes to the temple. She helped strap the sick man onto a stretcher, her fingers calm and steady despite her racing heart.Together, they carried him into the temple.
Andromeda inspected the patient. His skin was pasty, beads of sweat covering his face. His breath was shallow, interrupted by moans of pain. She squeezed the man’s hand in reassurance. Astarte’s priestesses were the finest healers in the land. If anyone could help this poor man, it was Seraphine .
In the hushed sanctity of the healing chamber, Seraphine's voice rang out, calm but authoritative, “I need to know when exactly he fell ill and what he did beforehand to understand what caused his sickness. Speak now!”
The fisherman’s wife stepped forward, tears streaming down her face. “He … he didn’t do anything unusual,” she stammered. “This morning, he was out on the boat, fishing as always, and then, when he was hauling in the day's catch, he just ... collapsed.”
She broke off, sobbing quietly. A priestess helped her on a stool, patting her shoulders to calm her down.
“Your husband showed no signs of illness before today?” Seraphine asked.
The elderly woman shook her head.
Seraphine knelt beside the fisherman, examining his mouth and dilated pupils. A deep frown creased her brow as she noticed something unsettling. “What has he eaten this morning?”
Andromeda’s stomach dropped as it dawned on her why the priestess had asked that question. The fisherman’s tongue was swollen, turning a ghastly shade of purple. She had never observed such symptoms among the patients. It was almost as if the cause of his disease was not … natural.
“Nothing … he never eats before setting sail. We eat together after the morning market.”
“I must know if he consumed anything since last night. It could be food poisoning. Think!”
The priestesses exchanged worried glances. This was clearly more than just a case of food poisoning. The breath rattled in his chest, growing more erratic with each passing moment. They were running out of time.
Finally, one of the fishermen who had carried the man to the temple stepped forward. “Just before he collapsed, Thales bent down to wash his face in the river. I believe he also drank a sip of water.”
Andromeda's blood ran cold. The river was Joppa's lifeblood, coursing through the land and nourishing the city and surrounding villages. If its waters were tainted, the entire kingdom was in grave danger.
Suddenly, the fisherman convulsed, blood splattering over the stone floor.
Seraphine ushered the priestesses into action. “Get me the mustard seed and saltwater solution. We must rid his system of whatever he has ingested … and escort Thales’s family and friends to the courtyard. They don’t want to see this.”
Andromeda rushed forward, attempting to guide the wife toward the courtyard, sheltering the sight of her husband with her body, but the elderly woman stood rooted in her spot, clutching Andromeda’s arm.
“I want to stay,” she pleaded. “I made a promise long ago to stay by. His side until the end. Don't make me break that vow now.”
Her words pierced Andromeda’s heart. She nodded, ushering the woman to the corner to give the priestesses space to work. Kneeling beside Seraphine, Andromeda held the fisherman's head as the priestess forced the foul-tasting concoction down his throat. The man's skin burned against her touch like a branding iron. Andromeda swallowed hard, a knot of fear tightening in her chest. As he spilt more blood and the contents of his stomach, Andromeda knew that they were too late. Still, she held his shoulders and prayed to her goddess, Astarte, for her blessing to coax life back into the dying man. Yet, no ethereal glow covered her hands, nor Seraphine’s, or the other priestesses. This man was too far gone for any incantation to save him.
As they lay the man back down, his eyelids fluttered, and he groaned his last word, “Melissa.”
Seraphine stood, her shoulders slumping in defeat, while the other priestesses retreated quietly.
A heart-wrenching sob erupted from the fisherman’s wife as she fell to her knees, clutching his hand. “I'm here,” she choked out, her voice thick with anguish.
The sight broke Andromeda’s heart, a tear running down her cheek.
But before the grief could fully consume her, chaos erupted in the courtyard. More citizens stumbled up the temple steps, their bodies wracked with coughs, blood staining their lips. They collapsed onto the stone floor, their cries for help a haunting chorus. Andromeda's mind reeled. Had the river truly been poisoned? What else could explain such a swift and devastating illness? Even plagues took time to spread from patient to patient. It always took a few days before the next person showed symptoms.
Alarm bells rang in her head, urging her to join the priestesses in their efforts. But Seraphine’s hand on her arm held her back. “You must leave, Princess. Now .”
Andromeda could not believe it. “But these people need help –”
“The people need their crown princess now more than ever. You are the future of this kingdom. Whether it is the plague … or the rivers have indeed turned poisonous … I cannot risk you getting infected.”
Sorrow filled her as she glanced at the suffering in the courtyard; her hands yearned to ease their pain. “What future queen abandons her people when they need her? I can help them … you know I can.”
Seraphine’s gaze softened as she smiled sadly. “There is nothing you can do for these people, Andromeda. They are beyond our aid. But you can go to the palace and warn the king and queen. The palace guard needs to stop the citizens from drinking the water and barricade the palace gates. In case … we are dealing with something more sinister than poison.”
Seraphine was right, of course. Still, Andromeda’s heart was heavy when she tore herself from the temple. She didn't retrace her steps through the city but instead sprinted toward the secret tunnel that connected the temple to the Southern wing of the palace. The once-vibrant streets of Joppa were now a scene of pandemonium, and she couldn't risk getting caught in the panicked crowds. With one last, longing glance at the temple, Andromeda plunged into the darkness of the tunnel, leaving the twisted bodies of Poseidon's first victims behind.