Page 54 of Crown of Serpents (Curse of Olympus #1)
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
Perseus paused before the central courtyard, lingering in the darkness. From the corner of his eye, he watched Medusa and Kleos weave through the shadows of the colonnade before turning left towards the servants’ wing. He would have to turn right and lead his crew unnoticed through the richly decorated hallway to Seriphos’s throne room.
He peeked around the corner. Two lone noblemen occupied the courtyard: one passed out on a bench, the other sat by the small fountain, his face buried in the neck of a young woman in a sheer dress.
Perseus turned to the crew. “That’s it. We're Seriphos' elite tonight. Act the part and blend in.”
They nodded in agreement.
“Kleos gave us these clothes, and the guards usually check invitations at the main gate, but it’s crucial that you remember the cover name.”
Orestes and Kleos had compiled a list back on the Queen Cassiopeia. Each name they had picked was connected to the wealthiest families of Seriphos, yet they were individuals who rarely attended court, second sons and cousins, who were often sent to sail for the furthest trading outposts, where no one wanted to go.
Perseus continued, his voice calm despite the storm brewing inside, “Now, split up into smaller groups. It would be suspicious if we marched in there as a unified front. Meliton and Elias, you are coming with me. Orestes, you will take the rear with your group.”
He draped an arm over Elias’s shoulder as they walked onto the moonlit colonnade circling the central courtyard. Neither of the guests paid any attention to them. The man close to the fountain did not even lift his eyes, his full attention on the woman’s hemline. Kleos had not exaggerated what palace feasts were like.
They reached the mouth of the megaron. The distant hum of music grew louder. He stepped into the buttery light of the candle-lit hallway, flanked by Meliton and Elias. Elias instinctively reached for Meliton’s hand when they spotted the guards lining the walls.
“Don’t look so scared,” Perseus murmured. “You belong here.”
The guards’ uniforms were more polished than usual, bronze broadswords glinting in the flickering light at their sides. Their eyes followed Perseus as they passed.
The hallway was eerily quiet. Where were the other guests?
Perseus glanced over his shoulders. The next group had reached the corridor, walking in swaying steps past the guards. Their impersonation of drunk partygoers was much more convincing than what Perseus and his companions were doing. Why had none of the guards questioned their sudden hours after the start of the feast?
Doubt crept through his mind. Their plan was far from perfect. But he couldn’t turn around now.
The guards that flanked the massive door sprang into action, opening it for them as Perseus, Meliton, and Elias approached. They did not ask for their names or speak at all, but Perseus’s skin prickled with unease. The sentinel to the left stared at him outright, his eyes burning into Perseus’s back as they strode into the throne room. Meliton and Elias exchanged tight-lipped nod before following.
Perseus took in the megaron as the oak door closed behind him. It was not a bustling feast he had expected. No one danced to the upbeat music of harp and flute. Instead, the richly dressed men clung to the walls, engrossed in hushed conversations as if they were waiting for something — or someone.
His eyes searched for the grand spread Kleos had described, but it was nowhere to be seen. Instead, his eyes met Polydectes’s, who lounged on his dark throne, an arrogant smile lifting his lips. Perseus’s blood froze as the king of Seriphos’s gaze pinned him down. The music abruptly stopped, and a thick silence enveloped the room.
“I see we have some late-comers,” Polydectes said. “Approach and kneel before me.”
Behind Perseus, the door groaned open again as more of his crew filled the space behind him. He didn’t dare turn, his eyes locked on the king. Slowly, he approached the dais, his heart hammering in his chest. The silence of the room was suffocating, every eye trained on him. He counted the epetae, their number doubled since the day of the tithe. This was no ambush. This was a trap.
Perseus stopped at the foot of the dais, his head held high. He would not kneel for this man.
Polydectes sighed, a theatrical gesture of excitement. “Ah, Perseus, it is you. How good to see you after such a long time. Now, did you bring my prize?”
The king’s eyes swept over Perseus and his men.
“I did not bring you Medusa’s head today.”
The King raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise. “Oh? Then why have you returned, if not to grovel for mercy?”
A muscle ticked in Perseus’s jaw, but he inhaled deeply, to quell the rising power in his blood. He had to choose his next words wisely. The epetae outnumbered them, but perhaps the watching courtiers could be swayed. Behind him, the heavy oak doors thudded shut. They were sealed in .
?No, I did not come to grovel,” Perseus retorted. “I should have never agreed to this bargain in the first place.”
He fixed Polydectes with a defiant glare. “It is not right for a king to exploit his citizens to enrich himself. It is not right that you would demand my mother as compensation for our debts … debts we only incurred because we were robbed weeks before the tithe.” Perseus turned, his voice echoing through the hall, addressing the silent noblemen lining the walls. “A true king cares for his people. A true king protects his people. A true king would have shown mercy — rather than use his citizens’ misfortune to send them on a deadly quest, all so he can boast about having overcome the gorgon at his next dinner part.” He met the men’s gazes, one by one, his voice ringing with conviction.
Polydectes’s eyes narrowed to slits, the knuckles of his clenched fists white.
Perseus turned back to him, his voice hardening. “And that is why I have come today to challenge you, Polydectes, in the name of Zeus, the lord of the skies, and Athena, goddess of warcraft and protector of heroes.”
A whisper rippled through the crowd as he invoked the names of the Olympians. The courtiers muttered beneath their breath in disbelief, but Polydectes only smiled, a slow, menacing curl of his lips. “I know why you have returned, Perseus.”
His icy tone sent shivers down Perseus’s spine. Behind him, his crew shifted restlessly.
Another voice, familiar and chilling, cut through the tension. “Seize the traitors. Barricade the door.” Kyros, the captain of the guard, stood at the dais, his armour gleaming.
The sentinels pushed off the walls, circling the crew of ragtag sailors who had recklessly put their faith in Perseus. They formed a barrier of swords and armour between his men and the noblemen watching the spectacle with hungry eyes. A boom erupted behind Perseus as a wooden beam barred the only exit from the megaron.
Kyros grinned, drawing his sword. But it was a broad-shouldered sentinel who lunged at Perseus first, swinging his blade for Perseus’s head. He rolled aside, barely avoiding the deadly arc of the blade. Perseus drew his own rusty blade, parrying a second attack from his left. Sparks flew as bronze met bronze.
Four epetae circled him, their movements slowed by their heavy armour. Perseus lunged, his movement quick as lightning, as he jabbed his weapon between the chest and shoulder plate of his first assailant’s armour. When he pulled his bloody weapon free, the man wailed in pain.
An auburn-haired sentinel charged from the right. He aimed his blade at Perseus’s abdomen, forcing him to jump backwards, right where another sentinel waited for him. He twisted aside, but not fast enough. A sharp pain erupted in his left arm, the guard's blade piercing his tunic. Perseus ignored the sting as he whirled his weapon again, a bloody stain spreading on the sleeve of his tunic.
An agonising scream pierced through the noise of clashing metal. Perseus watched in horror as Elias rushed towards Meliton, a blade protruding from his lover's chest. Meliton toppled over, and Elias stretched out his arms as if to catch him.
But before Elias could reach him, a broad-shouldered soldier slammed him down, the sickening crack of his skull echoing through the hall.
Elias was undeterred, crawling towards Meliton, who lay crumpled on the floor, bleeding out slowly. He was two meters away when a guard’s swift swing cut Elias’s head off his shoulders. He collapsed, just out of reach of Meliton’s limp hand.
Tears burned in Perseus’s eyes; he would not lose another man. His eyes found Orestes, wounded but defiant, holding his ground against three soldiers.
“To the door! Retreat!” Perseus bellowed although the words tasted bitter in his mouth. It was an admission of defeat, but they needed to get out of here if they wanted to survive.
Orestes nodded, fighting towards the oak door.
Perseus's rusty sword whirled with renewed vigour despite the strain in his muscles. He ignored the biting pain and whirled his blade in a wild motion. He did not care about sparing the king’s epetae anymore. It did not matter that they only followed Polydectes’s orders, for they were butchering his men. Perseus spun and dug his blade into the side of a guard. Before the man hit the ground, Perseus had sunk his sword into the neck of another one. He would save his crew or die trying.
Amidst the carnage, Perseus tallied the dead: five of his men lay on the ground, each surrounded by a crimson pool of blood. Perseus gulped, his vision blurring as he bit back nausea.
His gaze Orestes, flanked by two men, fighting towards the oak door. Chares, on Orestes' right, crumpled under a lance. Fear tightened Perseus's throat. He had to help them.
But a wall of sentinels barred his path. At least twenty against one. Perseus knew that even he could do nothing to help his crew now. Still, he raised his sword as they slowly pushed him back, widening the gap between him and his men. They coordinated their attacks, lunging for him in groups of three or four. Sweat dripped from his forehead as his muscles grew more and more tired. It dawned upon him then that he might not get to keep his promise to Medusa. He might die before he could tell her that —
Perseus’s eyes widened as Orestes finally reached the oak door. The last guard that stood between him and the exit collapsed to his knees. But the heavy beam barring it would not budge. Orestes slammed against the wood again and again, desperation fuelling his efforts. But the beam held. He wasn’t strong enough to lift it on his own.
There was no escape. They were locked in here to die.
Orestes sank to his knees, his palm still against the oak door. Before Perseus could warn him, a guard broke rank, decapitating the veteran. Orestes' head rolled across the floor. A desperate wail ripped from Perseus's throat.
He gripped Dictys' old blade tighter, sweat and blood slicking the hilt. He might die today, but he would go down with a fight. At least some part of his family would be with him when he fell at last.