Page 39 of Crown of Serpents (Curse of Olympus #1)
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Perseus and Medusa stumbled the last steps to the small inn at the edge of the pine forest. The buttery light shining through the windows beckoned them in. Perseus's muscles ached, his skin caked with dirt and pine needles. Medusa, her hair a tangled mess of twigs and leaves, stood beside him, the veil still shrouding her face.
Perseus hesitated on the inn’s doorstep. She couldn’t enter unveiled, but the fabric would raise suspicions. Medusa would not be able to pose as one of Apollo’s acolytes here, or the other guests might wonder why she was travelling alone with Perseus. They might assume that he had stolen her from her temple or that she had run off with him. The punishment for either offence was brutal. Perseus gulped, glancing at Medusa, who hovered beside him on the threshold.
“What is it, godling?”
There was only one other justification for her veil — a reason Medusa would despise. A slow smile spread across his lips as he opened the door. “After you, my love.”
She cocked her head, her eyes full of suspicion, as she stepped into the warmth of the tavern. Perseus followed close behind, muttering in her ear before they reached the counter, where a heavy-set man handed out jugs of watered-down wine. “We’ll need to blend in, so I need you to follow my lead.”
Medusa said nothing. Her eyes scanned the room, taking in the rustic tables, the flickering oil lamps, and the patrons hunched over their meals. The scent of mutton and thyme mingled with the lilting melody of a lyre. It had been a long time since she had walked among mortals, a lone wolf amongst a flock of sheep.
Perseus turned to the burly barkeeper, a practised smile on his face. “Good evening. My bride and I need a room for the night and something to eat and drink.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Medusa’s head snap toward him, her eyes flashing danger.
The stocky barkeep eyed their dishevelled appearance. “Interesting attire for a wedding night.”
“We celebrated at my father-in-law’s home,” Perseus explained smoothly. “But a wild boar spooked our horse, forcing us to walk the rest of the way. My wife is exhausted. Do you have a room?”
Perseus put a protective arm around Medusa’s shoulder, feeling her stiffen in protest.
“One room left,” the barkeep grunted. “Three drachmae, with dinner.” He eyed their attire again. “Upfront.”
The price was steep. Apparently, the sacred laws of hospitality were easily forgotten when the guests looked like wild beasts who had just crawled out of the underbrush — which Perseus and Medusa had. Still, Perseus didn’t argue over the outrageous sum, eager to get out of earshot before Medusa could erupt. He put three silver coins on the counter and guided his wife toward a table in the back, carefully placing his palm at the centre of her back.
She elbowed him as they walked, hissing, “Call me your wife one more time, and I will gut you with my bare hands.”
He fought back a grin, her threat like music to his ears. “I needed a plausible story,” he whispered, pulling out a chair for her. “Or would you rather sleep in the cold forest, my love ?”
The green fire in Medusa’s eyes flared, and a giddy feeling washed over him.
“A thousand times, yes. I would rather —“
Medusa broke off as a waitress approached with two clay bowls filled with steaming mutton stew, bread, and a jug of olive oil. Pity. Perseus would have liked to hear all the horrid things she would rather do than pretend to be his wife. She did not indulge him; her hungry eyes fixated on the meal before her. “Just know that I will make you pay for this, godling,” she muttered before digging into the stew.
They ate in silence, hungry and exhausted from the agonising chase and the long trek through the pine wood. The adrenaline from the harpy attack still thrummed in Perseus's veins. But as he watched Medusa, the flickering lamplight illuminating the sharp angles of her face, he couldn't help but notice how her eyes softened as she observed the tavern's lively atmosphere. She seemed to soak in the sounds and sights, her ears twitching at the snippets of conversation. A smile even graced her lips as she listened to a boisterous tale from a nearby table. The familiar yearning in her eyes was unmistakable.
“Do you sometimes miss being human?” Perseus asked, the words slipping out before he could stop them.
Medusa’s eyes snapped to his, the dreamy expression gone. He did not expect her to answer; the question was too bold, too personal.
Yet, her voice, soft and laced with melancholy, surprised him, ?Sometimes. Not the frail body, but … I miss not having to worry about hurting everyone around me, not having to constantly wrestle for control with the power crawling beneath my skin. Being able to blend in—”
Her voice trailed off, a wistfulness in her sea-green eyes.
Perseus instinctively reached for her cold hand, yearning to comfort her. He suddenly understood how lonely Medusa must have been all those years, the writhing snakes on her head her only companions. Hiding in caves along the coastline to ambush merchant ships would have severely limited her human contact. He remembered the statues of the villagers that had chased her from Cisthene. Was that the last time she had been close to a tavern like this, hiding in the shadows of a back alley to murder some drunkards? Weeks ago, he would have frowned in disgust at the thought of her victims, but now he could not bring himself to resent her for it, too consumed by the sorrow in her eyes.
“Sometimes I wish I could take off this veil without endangering Andromeda … or you.” Medusa looked down then, avoiding his gaze at the admission.
Kleos had told him of the claw marks on the princess’s arm.
His throat bobbed. “I know the feeling — the fear of your own power ... the fear of hurting those you care for.”
Medusa's eyes met his, a flicker of curiosity sparking in their depths. “Afraid you’ll turn into your father, godling?”
Pictures flashed in his mind: Lightning splintering wood, his crew’s terrified faces, Danae’s eyes wide with horror and concern when he had challenged Polydectes as a boy, people scrambling out of his way in the streets of Seriphos …
“Yes,” Perseus admitted, squeezing her smooth hand. “I'm terrified.”
“You won’t become like him. I know you won’t — not as long as you fear how your power might affect those around you.”
Her words were a caress to his soul. He had not realised how badly he had needed to hear them, especially from her.
But then, a shadow fell across Medusa’s face. “You and I are not the same, though. You can control how you use your immortal strength — I can’t.Anyone who looks into my eyes dies.”
Her shoulders slumped, her eyes lined with streaks of silver, and Perseus bit his tongue. She was right, of course. He couldn’t imagine the burden Medusa carried every day, the isolation of her curse. What could he say to make her feel better? He had to do something.
Perseus rose to his feet, extending his hand toward her.
Medusa raised an eyebrow in confusion.
“Do you want to dance?”
Medusa did not look like she did, but the shadow had lifted off her beautiful face. He had been right then. She had not just danced with Joppa’s captain of the guard to piss Perseus off but because she loved dancing. Understanding his intention, the musician began playing an upbeat melody, a light-hearted tune that swirled through the dim tavern. Medusa did not rise, but the stormy look vanished from her eyes. She cocked her head in a playful challenge. “Are you going to try to interrogate me again?”
“Depends. Will you try to rob me again?”
“Actually, I didn’t rob you while we were dancing. I merely put Heron’s shackles on your belt.”
She knew everything better, didn’t she?
“Well, will you try to palm off another man’s belongings on me then?”
“No.”
“Then, I won’t interrogate you either.” He held out his hand, his heart pounding as he awaited her response.
She glanced at his outstretched palm, hesitating for a few agonising heartbeats. Then she took his hand, her touch sending a shiver down his spine.
He led her to the centre of the room. Slowly, they began circling one another, the sway of the music carrying their steps. Medusa’s movements were fluid as she effortlessly followed the rhythm. The tension left her body, and she gave herself to the music. She was magnificent, and he couldn’t take his eyes off her.
Unfortunately, he did not share in her natural grace. He had asked her to dance, but there was no doubt that she was leading this duet. Perseus stumbled over his feet, and Medusa’s eyes sparkled with amusement. Laughter bubbled up inside his throat, and he twirled her around, trying to conceal his misstep. She let him spin her, her feet moving in perfect harmony.
The music picked up in pace as the other patrons began clapping their hands and stomping their feet to the rhythm. Medusa’s eyes were lit with excitement that spread like wildfire through the room. Other guests jumped to their feet, joining in, starting to swirl around them. Perseus spun Medusa again until a silvery laughter bubbled from her mouth. Drunk on the sound of her glee, Perseus lifted her, whirling her through the air .
As the music faded, they found themselves breathless, Perseus's hand still resting on her back, hers in his.
“I did not take you for a dancer, godling,” she said, panting.
“I am not, but I figured I should dance with my wife if people are to believe our story.”
Perseus held his breath then, waiting for her reaction. Would she act on her promise to gut him?
She didn’t. Instead, she tipped back her head laughing.
The sound was so sweet; something warm started glowing in Perseus’s chest.