Page 8 of Crown of Serpents (Curse of Olympus #1)
CHAPTER SEVEN
Thunder rumbled across Mount Olympus. The earth shook beneath Athena’s every step as she strode down the marble hall. A flash of lightning illuminated the throne room of the gods as an icy wind whipped between ornate columns, tugging at the robes and hair of the assembled Olympians. None of the gods seemed particularly impressed by Zeus’ latest display of temper — his lightning bolts were a threat they’d grown accustomed to.
The king of the gods sat with a grim expression on his throne, his dark hair billowing in the storm, grey eyes sparkling with electricity. Zeus’s throne, crafted from solid gold,dwarfed other seats arranged in a semi-circle around it. Athena, goddess of wisdom and warcraft, approached her gilded chair to her father’s right, her steps unwavering, though the presence of all twelve Olympians was a rare occurrence and a clear sign that the matter at hand was of great importance.
Poseidon, lord of the seas, spoke first, his booming voice shaking the marble floor, “I will not tolerate this, Zeus! The seas are my domain, and every mortal setting sail is under my jurisdiction. She threatens my authority, for my worshippers’ prayers have gone unanswered too many times. Too many sailors have died. I demand that this … this creature be dealt with, or I will strike her down myself!”
Zeus’s face remained stoic. The sea and the skies had quarrelled for millennia, but Zeus’s rule over the Olympians remained unchallenged. Poseidon had learned not to openly oppose him.
Athena interceded, her voice cool and smooth, “What is the cause of this uproar, father? Uncle?”
She exchanged a glare with the sea god, whose turquoise eyes were filled with disdain.
“Ah … Athena, my beloved daughter,” Zeus regarded her, his rough features, which looked like they had been carved from marble, softening ever so slightly, “you have arrived just in time to explain why the monster you created is terrorising sailors in the Strait of Lesbos?”
Despite addressing her with untypical warmth, Athena noticed the challenge in his statement. The council of the gods was watching her, judging her, and she knew it.
She surveyed the other Olympians with an assessing gaze, analysing their responses to Zeus’s accusation. Hera, queen of the heavens, had placed a delicate hand on her brother’s arm, demonstrating her support for her age-old ally, Poseidon. Ares sneered at Athena, his bloodred eyes glowing with wicked delight at her wisdom being openly questioned. Deep concern was written across the faces of the remaining gods. Even Hermes’s perpetual smirk had been replaced by a frown – a strange look for the boyish face of the god of trickery and travel.
“I cannot say why the creature has chosen the Strait of Lesbos, nor why it targets sailors. I have no control over the beast,” Athena declared, withstanding the weight of her father’s stare.
Her words were only partially true. While she did not control the beast, the goddess knew why it undermined Poseidon’s rule. However, revealing this knowledge in front of the gods assembled would be unwise. Athena would not risk her standing with Zeus over the antics of a vengeful mortal .
Hera, seated to her Zeus’s left, asked in a sharp tone, “If you have no control over the gorgon, why create the beast in the first place? It’s hard to believe the goddess of wisdom and strategy would not have foreseen the consequences of such an act.”
The queen of the gods clicked her tongue in disapproval, glancing at her husband and king, seeking his affirmation. Yet, the lord of the skies remained fixed on Athena, ignoring his wife as usual despite her regal purple gown and the gilded laurel wreath crowning her as his equal – in theory, at least. Hera resented Athena’s recent gain in influence among the council of the gods.
Ares, god of war and bloodshed, chimed in, his broad hands caressing the hilt of the adamantine broadsword he always carried, “Indeed, what did you seek to achieve by creating such a powerful weapon?”
Poseidon glared at her, his bronze trident glinting dangerously. He bared his perfect teeth, a silent threat that any provocation from the gorgon would be met with swift and brutal retribution.
Athena inclined her head to Hera, “You are correct, my Queen. I foresaw the consequences of transforming one of my priestesses into such a vile creature. However, I resent the insinuation that I would have done so to undermine my beloved uncle’s domain.” She turned toward Poseidon with steely eyes, reminding him of his involvement in the mortal’s transformation. She had kept silent about his transgression against her domain. “No one regrets Medusa’s existence more than I, for I cursed her due to the grave insult she caused me. Still, I remind you that every creature, every monster, serves a purpose. They are no mere accidents but tools of the great gods of Olympus, each in their own way.”
Still, Poseidon, brimming with anger that made the wind rise to a howl, would not see reason, “Enlighten me, then, my dear niece, how does this abhorrent beast serve me? By slaughtering my most devout worshippers?”
“Medusa’s existence, though tragic, presents an opportunity,” Athena countered. “An opportunity for a hero to emerge, for a son of divine blood to achieve greatness, to inspire tales of their godlike strength and courage. Our rule is strengthened every time a demigod overcomes a great evil, and Medusa is a formidable foe indeed.”
Whispers rippled through the marble hall. The gods murmured, their voices a cacophony of opinions and judgments. When Zeus stroked his dark beard in contemplation, Athena knew she had captured his full attention. Her plan was unfolding.
To her surprise, it was Aphrodite who spoke next, a dreamy smile on her sensuous lips, “Which handsome hero did you have in mind?”
The goddess of love, a mischievous glint in her honey-coloured eyes, was already weaving a tale of love and loss for the chosen champion. Athena would have to account for Aphrodite’s scheming in her plans. Too often had she witnessed heroes under her protection, falter under the sway of their own desires.
Athena’s gaze, mirroring the stormy grey of her father’s, remained fixed on Zeus. “Perseus, son of Zeus,” she declared, “fathered from the golden blessing of the lord of the skies and birthed by the beautiful Danae, princess of Argos. He shall claim victory in his father’s name and bring glory to us all.”
Athena fought back a victorious smile as the king of the gods offered a subtle nod of approval.
Only Poseidon, his anger still simmering, dared to challenge her. The earth beneath Mount Olympus trembled as he roared, “You would have us put the fate of countless sailors and travellers in the hands of one mortal?”
Athena’s voice was laced with venom, “You would question the strength of our lineage? Perseus is no mere mortal. He is the offspring of the king of the gods.”
Her words echoed through the silence. None of the Olympians dared utter another word lest it insult the lord of the skies, their eyes fixed on Zeus. His presence only grew as he pondered on the decision.
Finally, Zeus declared, “Very well, my wise daughter. Perseus shall slay the gorgon. He shall be the champion of the Olympians. Let the world witness the might and glory of my bloodline.”
The other gods erupted in cheers, a stark contrast to Poseidon, who remained seated, glowering. Athena rose, bowing deeply to Zeus — a gesture of respect she reserved solely for the King of the Skies. “I shall see to it personally that he succeeds.”
Just like she had pushed him to volunteer for this mission in the first place — though Perseus had required little persuasion.
“See that you do, daughter.”
Lightning flashed, reflecting off Athena’s silver armour, as she made her promise. Her fate was now intertwined with the young demigod’s. Athena would see him succeed as the protector of heroes and the favoured daughter of Zeus. Perseus would triumph over Medusa and claim glory in their father’s name. He had to. Her standing within the council of the gods depended on it.