Page 3 of Crown of Serpents (Curse of Olympus #1)
CHAPTER TWO
“Stop Perseus! You can’t keep doing things like this on your own!” Danae protested, folding her arms in front of her chest. His mother squared her shoulders, stepping between him and the exit from their cluttered kitchen, shelves lined with cracked clay pithoi that were once full of grain, oil, and wine.
“Don’t you see that I have to? Or what do you think will happen when you stand before Polydectes and confess that we don’t have the money for this year’s tithe?” Perseus sighed, furrowing his thick brows in irritation.
She could be so thick-headed sometimes. Why could she not see that there was no way he would let Danae offer her services to King Polydectes? The greedy smile of Seriphos’s anax flashed in his head, a memory of when Polydectes had first beheld his mother, his lingering gaze caressing her body. He suppressed a shudder at the sliver of memory. Though he knew many considered Danae beautiful — even after thirty-eight winters — with her soft smile and silken, ebony hair, the hunger in Polydectes’s stare still made his stomach revolt.
Danae did not relent, embers sparking in her hazel eyes — his eyes, “I — I don’t know but —”
Unfortunately for her, Perseus was just as stubborn as his mother. “We don’t have the sixty drachmae we owe or anything worth that much. I shall go bargain with him — offer my services in compensation. Just let me think of something.”
Every year, a tremor of dread ran through the island as the time for the tithe approached. Polydectes's demands escalated with each passing year, his greed devouring the hard-earned silver of the islanders. This wealth vanished into opulent feasts and an absurdly oversized army — three times the size needed to repel any invader for their tiny island. Yet not a single soul dared to defy him. Everybody knew the risk of failing to present an adequate offering to Seriphos’s ruler. Sometimes, the family members of those indebted disappeared mysteriously. Perseus suspected that Polydectes held them in his dungeon until the sum owed was paid in full. Other times, the missing villagers suddenly resurfaced on the local slave market, their citizenship status revoked. One way or another, everyone paid tribute to the anax of Seriphos.
Danae’s voice grew shrill as she continued to object, “I was supposed to make sure we had enough silver. I failed, not you! So, I should be the one to kneel before Polydectes and beg for his forgiveness. Not you!”
Perseus almost laughed at her. Did she honestly blame herself?
“The only ones to blame are scumbags that robbed us!” He drew a deep breath, suppressing the familiar surge of power that made his blood hum with electricity.
Perseus balled his fists at the thought of the bandits that had looted their cottage two months ago. But it was his fault. He had left his mother alone that day, fishing for the market the following day, even though robberies usually increased before the tithe. The bandits had been ruthless, kicking her into the dirt in front of their doorstep. They had taken everything: every last silver coin, their grain stock, and even the old goat they kept for making cheese. Perseus had been trembling with rage when he had returned from the fishing boat. Her clothes had been filthy, and bruises had covered her entire body. If only he had been there with his mother. If only he had guarded their small cottage, built from rough boulders, crackled clay, and Perseus’s sweat.
“They probably just tried to feed their family,” Danae’s voice faltered.
They had had this argument before — when he had found her bruised, sweeping the floor, trying to fix their trashed home. He had demanded to know who had harmed her, but Danae had just shook her head, tears streaming down her face. She had wanted to protect him. She knew that he would have set out to hunt down the men that had hurt her. The inhabitants of Seriphos already gave him a wide berth when they passed Perseus on the street, many of them wary of the foreign fisherman with unnatural strength.
He took a deep breath. This was not the argument for today.
“It does not matter why they robbed us; we don’t have enough to pay Polydectes. So, you must let me go to the palace to settle this,” he failed to keep the bitterness and frustration from his voice.
They had tried everything to come up with the sum in time for the tithe. Perseus had set sail three hours earlier every morning and came home three hours later each night, barely sleeping to catch as many fish as possible. With each sunrise closer to the tithe, Danae’s purse strings tightened, dark circles beneath her eyes and hollowed-out cheeks marring her once bright face. She had barely eaten during the past weeks, insisting they sell whatever Perseus caught. Dictys, the old fisherman who had taken them in when they had first arrived on Seriphos’ shore, had given them some of his savings, though Perseus only reluctantly accepted. He already felt guilty because, after the incident, Dictys had stayed with Danae, guarding the house when Perseus was at sea.
It stung that after all this, they still came up short. Perseus and Danae had just under thirty-five drachmae, with a few bronzes they would keep for themselves.
It was as if the gods had forsaken them this year, not that Perseus believed that the Olympians cared for mortals in the first place.
Danae’s shoulders sagged, tears dwelling in her eyes. “But I … I’m just afraid.”
Perseus gently took her hands in his calloused palms. He understood why she worried about sending him to the palace alone. Perseus shared the feeling. That was why he had to convince her to stay behind. He would not let Polydectes get his clutches on her.
“I will do what I must to protect the life we’ve built here. If Polydectes demands I serve in his army to settle our debt, I will do it … but I need you to trust me.”
She cupped his tanned cheeks. “But that's the problem, Perseus. You would do anything to protect me, and I can’t let you risk your life for me. You are still my beloved boy.”
A croaky voice spoke behind Perseus, “Perseus has not been a boy for a long time, Danae. He is a man, and as such, he must pay the tithe … not you.”
Betrayal and hurt flashed in Danae’s eyes as she spotted Dictys’s wrinkled face on their doorstep. Perseus sighed in relief. The old man was the closest thing he had ever had to a father. He had found them when Danae had first washed up on shore, half-conscious, with a babe in her arms. His mother did not like talking about her past, but Perseus knew that she had had to flee her home, Argos, when she had conceived Perseus out of wedlock. The fisherman had helped Danae raise him like he was his own. Dictys had lost his wife and only child during childbirth and had been alone since. He had helped Perseus and Danae build this cottage with the crooked roof and had taught Perseus how to fish and ride a horse. Now, the old man stood in the low doorframe, his arms crossed. Unlike Perseus, he didn’t shy away from the truth of why Danae couldn’t go to the palace.
“Danae, I know Polydectes better than anyone. Trust me when I say that you don’t want to be the one telling him you can’t pay the tithe. You won’t be leaving that palace after that. You have refused him once already, and he won’t let you do that again.”
Danae opened her mouth as if she wanted to protest and closed it again, her head hanging in defeat.
Perseus kissed his mother’s brow. “I will be back in no time. You don’t have to worry about me.”
He grabbed the pouch of drachmae, the only money they had, patted Dictys’s shoulder, and left the small fisherman’s hut behind him. It would be an hour-long trek over the island’s jagged cliffs and dusty terrain. The incessant chirping of the cicadas spurred him on. He had to hurry. Every citizen of Seriphos had to report to the palace before midday, and the sun was fast approaching its zenith, burning the tanned skin on his neck. He had taken too long, debating with his stubborn, protective mother.
In the agonising time it took for him to reach the city, his thoughts circled back to Polydectes and his greedy sneer. He couldn’t help it. Ever since he was a boy, Perseus had despised the entitlement of powerful men. He had been an angry child from the day Danae had told him how his grandfather had first imprisoned her and then tossed her in the sea. She had not just been an ordinary girl from Argos, but a princess, daughter of King Acrisius. He had locked her in a bronze cage when she was thirteen because the Oracle of Delphi had foretold that his grandson would become his demise. If Perseus ever met his grandsire, he would ensure the oracle had spoken the truth.
In that cage, some deity had “blessed” Danae with a shower of gold that had impregnated her. Danae refused to tell Perseus which god it had been. Once Acrisius had discovered that she was with child, he had vowed to kill his daughter. Only his fear of Perseus’s unknown sire had stopped him. Instead, he had tossed Danae and her child in the Aegean Sea in a wooden crate to face her fate. Polydectes was no better than King Acrisius or even his father. They took what they wanted without considering how their actions might impact those under their influence.
Perseus shook his head to drain out the thoughts as he reached the city gate. He had long given up his icy wrath, burying it deep inside. There was no use agonising over the injustice of it all. It was not like he could change it. Instead, he better devise a plan for paying his tithe .
He kept his head down as he walked through the capital’s winding streets, pushing through the downtrodden crowd headed for the palace, feet shuffling and heads low as they carried their annual tribute toward their cruel ruler. He instinctively reached for the hood of his chlamys to hide his face, only to realise that he had left his cloak at home due to the sweltering summer heat. As soon as they spotted Perseus’s ebony curls and broad shoulders, the city-dwellers gave him a wide berth, murmuring to each other as their gazes followed him.
The city’s houses were simple, made of stone from the rocky shores and clay. Most of them were simultaneously used for living and as a storefront or workshop for the local potters, smiths, and artisans. Hand-painted pithoi and leather goods were sprawled on wooden carts, the scent of freshly baked bread, oregano, and cumin wafting out of the windows of a low house. Seriphos had only a few multistory buildings. These had all been built by renowned architects from Crete, hired by Polydectes, who sought similar grandeur for his city. As if the rocky island could ever compare to Knossos, the pulsating city with its shimmering mosaics, the famed scarlet columns of the majestic palace, and the thriving community of artists and inventors dwelling there. In Seriphos, the bright marble of Polydectes’ palace and the recently built temple of Poseidon looked out of place, towering over the remaining buildings. Perseus frowned as he pushed on, following the stream of people heading for the palace, paying the clamouring of the merchants no heed. It was almost midday; he had to hurry.
Close to the palace’s main entrance, a grim-looking man in his forties yelled, “Men, soldiers, heroes! Do you have what it takes? Are you strong, brave, and skilled with a sword? Then, we have a unique opportunity for you. King Polydectes has put a bounty on the head of the creature ravaging the Aegean Sea, Medusa, the terrible gorgon!A vile creature, her skin scaled and slithery, serpents writhing on her head, and fangs that love tearing through the flesh of sailors. Our generous king pledges to give five hundred drachmae to the brave crew that slays the disgusting beast! ”
Some people stopped hesitantly; their interest peaked by the handsome number of drachmae. Perseus merely shook his head and continued walking. Unlike his best friend Kleos, he had no desire to become a hero. No mercenaries who had sailed to slay the beast had returned. Venturing to the Lesbos Strait to confront the gorgon was as good as a death sentence. And all because some shipments of valuable silks and spices from Asia Minor had been lost.
Finally, Perseus reached the crowded palace steps, the scent of sweat, perfumed aristocrats, and livestock overwhelming his senses. Each citizen brought their tribute, a pouch of silver, or goods of the same value as sixty drachmae. Perseus got in line behind the wealthy merchants with chests full of jewels and delicate fabrics and slavers hauling their human “products” along. One man had brought an onyx bull while a few shepherds herded their scrawny goats to the palace gates. He frowned, unsure if Polydectes would accept these offerings as payment; he was not known for his mercy.
Time warped under the relentless glare of the sun. Each agonising minute stretched into an eternity. Finally, the line lurched forward, allowing Perseus to escape the inferno and find refuge in the cool shadows of the colonnade. With a sigh of relief, he watched as the heavily armed guards directed the mass of citizens toward the central patio.
Perseus could not help but marvel at the richly decorated walls and frescoes of various sea creatures adorning the hallways to the megaron. Of course, he had never known anything like this or indulged in any finery. Yet, for Polydectes to put such luxury on display in a passageway… a passageway that led to his throne room, where he would command a small fortune as an offering from his citizens. Perseus’s disgust grew as he entered the palace, glancing toward the shepherd behind him, tugging a single sickly goat along. How many others would not be able to pay the tithe this year? People like him all lined up to cower at the feet of a ruler who did nothing but waste their money on feasts and expensive buildings.
Suddenly, a gruff voice barked in his ear, “You’re coming with me, Perseus. ”
He whipped his head toward the sneering guard carrying a bronze-tipped lance. “Where am I going?”
The man dragged him along to the front of the line. What had he done to be singled out?
“To see the king, you came to make an offering, didn’t you?”
Perseus’s stomach dropped. He still hadn't the faintest clue what he could possibly offer the king. The crowd parted for Perseus, their murmurs a low rumble of speculation. What had earned him this summons to the front of the line? Perseus’s skin crawled in discomfort as their curious eyes followed him.
Having made his way through the chaotic throng of merchants, pompous aristocrats with their entourages, and a group of hulking slavers, Perseus finally reached the imposing doorway. The oak door led to the megaron and , ultimately, to Polydectes. Empty-handed and with no plan, he stood before the king's threshold, a knot of dread tightening in his throat.