Page 56 of Crown of Serpents (Curse of Olympus #1)
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
Medusa sprinted through the palace, her feet hammering against the cold, hard ground. She did not bother hiding in the shadows, as it would only slow her down. She wouldn't hesitate to cut down anyone who stood between her and Perseus.
Her heart hammered in her chest as she rounded the corner, heading toward the central courtyard. Each breath came sharp and fast, her mind frantically retracing the path to the megaron. She veered right, the opposite direction from where she and Kleos had gone before. The lantern-lit corridor stretched out before her, its walls adorned with frescoes of vibrant sea creatures that seemed to dance in the flickering light. The burning in her sides intensified, but Medusa gritted her teeth and pushed through the pain, her footsteps echoing off the stone walls as she pressed on.
Reaching the end, she hesitated, unsure whether she should turn left or right. She cursed, trying to remember Orestes’ crude map .
A gut-wrenching scream from the right decided for her. Her stomach dropped as she ran toward the escalating sounds of battle, realising it was too late. The trap had already snapped shut.
She turned the final corner. Ten guards faced her, swords raised before a massive oak door.
Medusa stared down her opponents, snakes writhing atop her head. The guards pointed their weapons at her — a challenge she gladly accepted. Medusa gave in to her dark power — to the thrum in her veins that demanded blood. She slashed, whirled, and stabbed, bodies falling around her, staining the marble tiles in puddles of crimson. She barely noticed when one soldier sliced her shoulder with his blade. A stream of hot blood ran down her arm, but her attention remained on the door and the cries for help beyond.
With a final spin, Medusa beheaded the last guard who stood between her and the door, his head rolling to her feet. She stepped around the slumping body and threw herself against the door. It didn't budge. Barred from the inside.
Panic rolled over her like a wave. She stepped back a few steps and hurled herself against the door again. A sickening crack echoed against the high walls, one of her ribs shattering from the impact.
Suddenly, a body slumped against the door from the other side, a sword clattering. In horror, Medusa watched the blood seep under the doorsill. Then she heard him scream. Perseus. He was hurt, but he was alive .
She began pounding the door, splinters flying. It would not open. Tears brimmed her eyes as she stared at her bloody knuckles. She had defeated the guards, only to be trapped, forced to listen to her friends die. And unable to help Perseus.
No, Medusa decided. This couldn't be the end. There had to be another way in.
Medusa turned her back to the door and raced toward a smaller corridor on the left, visualising the palace layout. Orestes had mentioned that the megaron was built on the highest cliff, overlooking both the island and the sea. A portico stretched around the lower level of the palace, which was typically patrolled by guards. Medusa flew down the stairs.
She skidded to a halt on the portico. In the silver moonlight, the megaron towered above the cliff to her right.
Without hesitation, she sprinted toward it, flung herself against the last column lining the corridor. She tried to get a hold, but her palms and feet slipped on the smooth marble. Medusa almost plummeted down the cliff but threw herself onto the portico instead. She tried again, using her talons to climb but fell once more.
Medusa panted, tears of desperation dwelling in her eyes. She was wasting valuable time. Medusa inhaled deeply and wedged herself between the closest column and the wall. The stone against her back was rough, but she used her legs to push herself upwards regardless. This time, Medusa did not slip. She reached the ledge, dangling for a few terrifying moments above the rocks and water. Then, she swung herself onto the roof and scrambled to her feet. Medusa clung to the facade as she slowly crept forward, cautious not to slip on a loose tile.
The window to the throne room was within reach, but the megaron was eerily silent. Cold dread spread throughout her body.
When Medusa finally hoisted herself onto the windowsill, she understood why. The blood froze in her veins at the sight before her. The walls were blood-splattered and lined with guards in bronze armour. At their feet lay mangled corpses, only some of which Medusa could recognise. In the centre, Perseus knelt at the feet of a dark-haired figure, his tunic was stained with blood, his nose broken. Three guards flanked him, one with a blade at Perseus’s throat.