Page 7 of Crown of Serpents (Curse of Olympus #1)
CHAPTER SIX
It was evening when Perseus arrived home. The sun dipped behind the house he had grown up in, casting the sky in amber hues. For a few heartbeats, he stood unmoving, taking in the sight of rolling foothills, distant pine trees and charred fields, and the lemon tree on the front porch. Smoke curled from the chimney, and the clatter from the kitchen told him his mother was preparing dinner. She had always been a messy cook, prone to spilling oil and covering the entire place in flour whenever she baked bread. He would miss cleaning up after Danae.
Dictys had kept his promise to stay with Danae. The weathered man with salt-and-pepper hair stood on the roof, muttering to himself as he struggled to secure the ever-loose clay tiles. Perseus sighed, pushing down his sentimental thoughts, and climbed the wooden ladder beside him.
“How many times have I told you, old man,” Perseus said, “that I don’t want you climbing around on my roof? You should leave this kind of work to me! ”
Dictys did not lift his gaze, merely taking the hammer from Perseus’s hands. He muttered, his voice rough as always, “Well, now I’m already up here, so I might as well finish what I’ve started. If you help me, I’ll be down faster.”
Perseus knew it was no use arguing with him. Dictys was stubborn as a mule — a trait that probably ran in the family, even though they weren’t technically related. He grabbed a broken tile, fixing it with some clay. They worked side by side in silence, the minutes passing by as the sun sank further behind the horizon, the fiery orange of the sky turning violet. It was a comfortable silence; one they had shared many times during their years together. Dictys was a man of few words, often in thought, a slight frown on his face. Perseus suspected that in those moments, the old man drifted off into happier memories — back when his wife was still alive. He had never dared ask, though.
After what felt like an eternity, Dictys finally spoke, “So, how did it go with my brother? How will you have to compensate Polydectes?”
Perseus glanced at him, trying to read the old man’s emotions. He rarely referred to Polydectes as his brother. They weren’t close — not since Dictys had given up the throne after losing his queen and heir in a single night. Polydectes had been a little too eager to seize power.
“I have offered my services,” Perseus replied. His thoughts had been racing the entire way home, agonising over what he might tell his family. Some part of him wanted to confide in Dictys, but another part wanted to leave without saying goodbye — to spare them the heartache.
“I see”, Dictys said dryly, “so what exactly has the king asked you to do?”
Perseus gulped. “I have offered to slay the gorgon Medusa in his name. If I succeed, we will be absolved of our debt. If I don’t —”
He broke off, unable to finish the sentence.
Dictys looked at him, his eyes endless pools of swirling sorrow. He shook his head in disbelief. Without saying a word, Perseus understood his grief. He had just told him that he would lose another one of his children. That was how close they were. The weight of his gaze became unbearable, and Perseus almost wished that Dictys might scream at him in anger. It would be better than the sadness in his eyes. But Dictys never got angry.
Instead, he shook his head. “You fool … do you realise what you have done?”
“I do.”
He would not insult Dictys by denying that his actions had been stupid. He still didn’t fully understand what had driven him to offer Polydectes the gorgon’s head.
“No one who has ventured to defeat Medusa has returned, and Polydectes knows that! He has wanted you gone since you threatened him as a boy, and now he has gotten his wish.”
“I am fully aware of my chances of survival.”
“Then, why would you strike such a foolish bargain?”
Suddenly, Perseus felt exhausted. He knew what he signed up for, but what alternative had he had? He explained quietly, to ensure Danae wouldn’t hear, “The only other compensation he would have accepted was Danae as his concubine. You know I could not let that happen.”
A flash of anger and guilt flickered across Dictys’s face. Perseus sometimes wondered if the old man felt responsible for how Polydectes ruled Seriphos.
“If I fail, Polydectes will come for my mother. He has given me until the autumn equinox to return with the gorgon’s head, but I don’t trust that he will wait. I need you to hide her while I’m gone — to keep her safe.”
“You know I would do anything for Danae.”
Perseus sighed in relief. He almost hugged the man, but he had not done that since he was seven. Instead, he clasped his shoulder in gratitude.
However, Dictys wasn’t finished. “But, Perseus, you must promise to come back to her. I have never seen a love as fierce as Danae’s love for you. From the moment I fished her out of the sea, in the wooden crate, you enveloped in her arms, she has fought for you. I will make sure she is safe, but you must return. Because if you don't, she'll perish, even if Polydectes spares her.”
Dictys’s eyes shimmered with fatherly love. Danae had always been the daughter he had never had, Perseus, the beloved grandchild. He gulped. He wouldn’t just be leaving Danae behind, but Dictys, too. His eyes started to burn with tears at the thought. Suddenly, it was all too much. He needed to be strong now — for them.
“I will try my best, old man.”
It was all he could promise. He didn’t want his last words to Dictys to be a lie.
Perseus climbed down the wooden ladder, retreating before the old man could see the glimmer of fear in his hazel eyes. Time was running out, and he hadn’t yet said farewell to his mother. His throat grew tight. How would he explain to her what he had done? Maybe he could tell her he would serve in the navy or the king’s guard for a few months. If she knew what he was really risking, she might willingly offer herself to Polydectes to save him.
As if reading his thoughts, Dictys shouted after him, “And, Perseus, when you say goodbye to your mother, tell her the truth. She deserves to be as proud as I am to have raised such a brave young man!”
Still, Perseus hesitated. He even lifted his shaky hand as if wanting to knock on the door to his own home. He inhaled deeply before opening the creaking door. The buttery light from the kitchen greeted him. The smell of rich stew, dried fish, and freshly baked bread mingled in the air, beckoning him inside. He could do this. He had no choice. His crew was waiting for him in the harbour, waiting for him to lead them eastward toward the Lesbos Strait.