Page 59 of Crown of Serpents (Curse of Olympus #1)
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
Medusa scrambled for Perseus, nearly tripping over her torn dress as she sank to her knees at his side. Her head was still ringing from the power drain, her ribs battered and bruised, but all of that was forgotten as she beheld Perseus. His breath came ragged as he groaned in pain. Poseidon’s trident was buried deep in his chest, blood pooling around them, staining the marble floor crimson.
A sob escaped Medusa’s throat. It was her fault. He had the blow meant for her. If only she hadn't frozen ...
Perseus coughed blood, his body twisting. She had to get the trident out and stop the bleeding. Why hadn’t Danae returned with Andromeda yet?
Perseus’s face paled, his lifeblood seeping away. She could not wait any longer. With trembling hands, Medusa grasped the shaft of the trident, the celestial bronze burning in her hands. She hissed and pulled, a sickening wet sound echoing against the walls as she removed the weapon and threw it to the ground. Blood gushed forth, a relentless tide. Medusa pressed her hands to the wound, the warmth of his life seeping between her fingers. She cursed the gods. Medusa would not let Perseus die. He couldn’t. He — he promised he would come back to her. He promised she would not be alone anymore.
Tears blurred her vision as panic and desperation began to surge. She ripped at her tattered dress, pressing the fabric against the wound. The linen turned crimson instantly. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“Medusa,” Perseus croaked, “look at me.”
Medusa shook her head, tears dripping from her chin. She couldn’t. She was not wearing a veil. She would not lose him like this.
Perseus cupped her cheek, his hand trembling and cold. “Please, I want to look into your eyes … at least once.”
She whimpered, understanding what his words meant. It wasn’t fair. Yet, for once, she wasn’t filled with fury. The hiss of her snakes had retreated, her wet hair hanging drab in her face. They had abandoned her, alone with her grief.
Medusa lifted her head. Their gazes met, the dimming light in his hazel eyes sending ripples of emotion through her. But seconds later, his body remained unchanged, his skin ashen but still soft beneath her touch. Her breath hitched. He hadn’t turned to stone...
A weak smile spread across Perseus’s face, triumph glimmering in his eyes as if he knew he could survive her gaze. “You … are so beautiful, Medusa. Thank you for –”
“No!” She couldn’t bear his farewell. ?You — you promised we’d win … you promised …”
He tugged a strand of hair behind her ear. “We did win. We saved my mother, you defeated Poseidon —” Perseus’s breath rattled as he struggled to continue, but she could see the pride shining on his face. “And now, I … I get to die in your arms, knowing you’re safe. I can’t think of a better end.”
Medusa shook her head, her lips trembling.
“I love you, Medusa.”
His words pierced her heart, a painful echo of her own unspoken feelings. She had fallen for Perseus, irrevocably. He had healed her fractured soul, allowing her to see beyond her hatred and rage, which made her want to set the world ablaze and dance in its ashes. Perseus had torn down her protective walls, allowing her to be vulnerable in his arms. He was hers, and now she finally realised that she was his too — until his last breath.
Before Medusa could reply, she felt the air shift behind her. The otherworldly presence sent shivers down her spine as a silver glow illuminated the room.
Medusa didn’t have to turn to recognise the cold, smooth voice behind her, “Tragedy always follows when a hero falls in love,” Athena said.
Medusa whirled, snakes uncoiling and hissing. She snarled at the goddess, who had interrupted the precious moments she had left with Perseus.
To her surprise, Athena flinched, averting her gaze.
“What do you want? To finish what Poseidon couldn’t?”
She didn’t have the time or energy for another Olympian to interfere with her fate — not as she felt Perseus fade in her arms. Medusa shielded him with her body.
Athena glanced at the bleeding Perseus. “Be at ease, young one. I come to help,” she said, her voice devoid of warmth. “You fulfilled your bargain. Let me bestow my blessing upon you both, restore the hero’s life, and lift your curse.”
Medusa blinked, suspicion warring with desperate hope. “Why heal him? That wasn't our deal.”
Athena shifted uneasily, her typically imperious facade cracking. “Let me help you, child. I can make you mortal again. Surrender your power to me, and … you two can finally be together.”
It was what Medusa had dreamed of these past weeks. Even before Perseus had told her how he felt, she had longed to look into his eyes, kiss him freely, laugh with Andromeda, and walk among the crew without worrying that she might hurt them. And yet — relinquishing her powers would not turn her back into the young girl she once was. She looked at her bloodied hands. It would not erase what she had done, change who she had become. It would only make her weak again .
But if that was the price for Perseus’s life? She would sacrifice anything to keep him at her side — but only if there was no other way.
Medusa rose to her feet, Poseidon’s trident in hand, as she faced the goddess that had abandoned the crying child who had prayed at her feet for protection. She gritted her teeth, her gaze fixated on Athena, forcing her to look away: “Why would I relinquish my powers? You told me you bestowed them upon me so I might protect myself.”
Anger flashed in Athena’s silver eyes. “Your powers were never meant to be used as a weapon against the gods.” Athena stepped forward, but her hesitation was telling. The goddess of war was afraid.
Medusa mused, emboldened by the goddess’s new-found fear.“Tell me this then, Athena , what good would the powers you have bestowed on me have been if they could not have protected me against a god? You and I both know that it was Poseidon who harmed me; it has always been the gods from whom I have needed protection. But you never meant to help me, did you? When he violated me in your temple, he dishonoured you as well. But you were too cowardly to face him, weren't you? Instead, you turned your wrath on me, cursing me, punishing me for his sins!”
The silver goddess was quiet for a moment, assessing her with a cold stare. “It would have been a poor strategy to risk my standing in the council of the gods as Zeus’s right hand for the misfortune of a single mortal.”
Medusa balled her fists as the words sunk in. She had lost her family and home because of power politics on Mount Olympus. Burning hatred filled Medusa once more. She struggled to leash the raw power in her core, beckoning her to tear through the goddess before her. But Athena’s blessing was the only thing that could save Perseus.
No, she wouldn't let the gods dictate her fate again. Medusa would keep her powers, and she would save Perseus — or she would make them pay.
Medusa plucked Poseidon’s discarded trident, the celestial bronze thrumming in her hand. She advanced on Athena, who drew her spear, its tip flashing in a warning.
“I will not relinquish my powers,” Medusa declared, “but you will save Perseus regardless.”
The goddess scoffed, raising an eyebrow.
“You will save his life because if he dies, I swear this to you and the other gods: I will claim Seriphos’ throne for myself, not in Zeus’s name but yours. I will raise armies in the name of Pallas Athena to conquer every city under the protection of another god until they eventually turn on you as you have turned on me. I won’t stop before they have expelled you from the council of the gods like you have chased me from your temple.”
Medusa’s words echoed between them, and Athena’s eyes widened. “You cannot threaten me. I am an Olympian goddess.”
“I believe I just did.”
A tense silence enveloped the room. Medusa’s skin prickled under the goddess’s silver gaze, seizing her up, estimating the size of the threat she posed. She prepared herself for Athena’s impending attack, flexing her exhausted muscles and drawing on her dwindling power. Her eyes flashed brightly, promising violence. Still, Medusa knew that Athena would eventually overpower her should she attack.
After what felt like an eternity, the goddess of wisdom fell for her bluff. With a resigned sigh, Athena loosened the grip on her spear.
“I will restore his life,” she said, her face impassive, “if you swear on the river Styx that he will rule Seriphos in his father's name ... and if you relinquish Poseidon's weapon.”
The bronze trident flashed in Medusa’s hand. She nodded, swearing in a solemn tone: “I promise.”
Silently, the goddess approached Perseus’s side. He was barely breathing, eyes unfocused. Athena knelt beside Perseus, reaching a graceful hand for his chest as a silver light emanated from her palm. The wounds in Perseus’s chest knit together, colour returning to his face. His eyelids fluttered.
When he gasped, sitting up in one swift movement, his eyes searching and finding hers, a cry tore from Medusa’s throat. She sunk to her knees, discarding Poseidon’s weapon .
Their hands and mouths met as they closed the space between them. She could feel warmth seeping back into his body as she buried her face in his neck, inhaling his scent.
He would live. He would not leave her. He was hers.
Tears of joy streamed down her face as she kissed him. “I love you too, Perseus.”