Page 6 of Crown of Serpents (Curse of Olympus #1)
CHAPTER FIVE
Chrsyanthe was barely two hours into her afternoon shift when old fisherman Xanthos burst through the tavern door. He leaned on the door frame for support as he panted heavily. Patrons paused, wine cups and bread mid-air, to stare.
Xanthos, a beloved fixture in Cisthene’s taverns, was renowned for his outlandish tales from his days at sea — back when he was still sailing to faraway shores fighting for glory against foreign armies. He would tell you of the men with fishtails and crab-claw forelegs for arms or sea monsters with six ravenous heads lurking in perilous straits. Chrysanthe relished these stories during her evening shifts when the fishing nets were emptied and the entire town squeezed into the tavern.
Today, Helios’s fiery wagon had just passed its peak when Xanthos burst through the door. He and the other fishermen should still be offshore on their boats or hauling their nets in the harbour. Something was wrong.
Chrysanthe’s stomach dropped. It had been over a week since Agapetos had sailed off toward Lesbos. Her sweet brother had left with a crew of mercenaries to hunt the monster ravaging these shores. The reward promised for the creature’s head would be enough to pay for her dowry to Pylyp.
Her palms grew clammy as Xanthos still gasped for air. “A shipwreck … near the beach,” he choked out. “We need hands to carry the bodies.”
The world stopped for a moment. Chrysanthe froze, her ears ringing. A shipwreck, so soon after her brother’s departure to face the monster that revelled in drowning sailors. She, who was believed to have the strength of the gods, and who feasted on the blood of her victims. Medusa.
Chrysanthe bolted after the dispersing crowd. Her sandals slapped against the cobblestones as she rushed for the beach. Perhaps they only needed help with the injured …
Tears welled in her eyes. As long as Agapetos was alive, she would bandage his wounds and nurse him back to health. It wouldn’t matter if he limped or could no longer fish. She would provide for them both, even if it meant selling her body to the drunken patrons of the tavern.
All she wanted was her brother back. But nothing could have prepared her for the scene that unfolded once she reached the beach. The ship, a splintered corpse itself, lay beached against the northern cliffs. Planks bobbed in the surf like shattered bones. Fishermen scurried across the sand, their shouts echoing in the salty air. Ropes dangled from the wreck, a macabre ladder for those retrieving the dead. Chrysanthe's tears flowed freely now. They weren't salvaging cargo; they were bearing makeshift stretchers fashioned from the ship's tattered sails.
Chrysanthe tiptoed toward the bodies laid out on the sand, their clothes ripped and stained with blood. She counted. Four, seven, twelve, fourteen … Over two dozen men had sailed with Agapetos.Her heart pounded in her chest as she walked the grim line of corpses. Some looked like statues, their faces etched with frozen — the crew that had dared to hunt Medusa. Others bore gruesome wounds, evidence of a violent struggle. The sight of mangled limbs and torn flesh made her stomach churn, but she pressed on, determined to find her brother .
She passed the corpse of a mercenary, his broad shoulders and faded cheek scar a grim testament to a life of battle. Daggers still sheathed in worn leather, hinted at a fight never joined — Medusa’s swift work. If this beast of a man had succumbed, what chance did her gentle brother have? The sound of her ragged breaths filled her ears, drowning out the cries of the fishermen and the crashing waves.
Then, she saw him. Or what remained of him.
Even though his form was frozen in stone, Chrysanthe immediately recognised him. The familiar contours of his face, the gentle curve of his jaw, and the tousled mop of hair — it was him. But his eyes, once filled with warmth and mischief, were now empty and lifeless. A single tear solidified on his cheek, marking his final moment of despair.
No. No. No.
Chrysanthe collapsed to her knees as the world around her disappeared. There was only her and the lump of rock that used to be her brother, her last connection to family. Motherless, fatherless, now brotherless.
Silent sobs wracked her body as she reached out a trembling hand, caressing his cold cheek as if to wipe away the tear, eternally etched on his face.
She was alone. Alone. Alone.
Chrysanthe rocked back and forth, her mind reeling. He had boarded this shipwreck to pay for her dowry. Agapetos may not have been a strong man, but he had loved fiercely. He would have given anything to create a better life for his sister. Now, he had paid the ultimate price. He was gone because of her.
No. She was not the one who had murdered her brother. Hatred seeped into her sorrow, reigniting the fire that had died in her chest. Medusa was responsible for taking Agapetos away from her. The tears on her cheeks dried as she slowly rose to her feet with steely determination.
Chrysanthe had no one left in this world. No one would care for her until the end of her sorrowful life. She only had one reason left to live. Clenching her fists, she let the burning hatred spread through her body. Anger made her blood hum, and she inhaled deeply, welcoming the overwhelming need for retribution that warmed her body. It was an ugly emotion that made her gut twist as she resisted the urge to break something. Yet, her rage felt infinitely better than the hollow emptiness that Agapetos had left behind. She closed her eyes, visualising the face of the monster that had taken him from her. Chrysanthe did not know how or when, but she vowed to avenge her beloved brother. One day, she would bury a knife inside Medusa’s heart, even if it was the last thing she ever did.