Page 9 of Crown of Serpents (Curse of Olympus #1)

CHAPTER EIGHT

The moon had risen above the horizon when Perseus strode down the dock toward Polydectes’s warship. A fresh breeze carried over the chatter of the sailors assigned to accompany him on his perilous journey.

Perseus froze in his tracks, turning left toward the footbridge leading to his fishing vessel. Another wave of laughter from his soon-to-be crew washed over him, and his stomach turned. He would condemn these men to die alongside him if he failed to claim Medusa’s head.

What if he slipped away into the darkness instead? Could he cross the Aegean Sea on his own boat, relying on the sack he carried with Danae’s dried fish, bread, and watered-down wine for supplies? Perseus traced the hilt of the rusty sword strapped to his belt with his fingers as he took a wavering step toward the pier that lay shrouded in shadows. Dictys had gifted it to him when Danae had finally accepted that there was nothing she could do but let him go. Once the weapon of a king, its blade was now dull and chipped. Perseus didn’t care. He’d hone its blade until it was sharp enough to sever flesh once more. He could do this on his own. He would not risk any lives but his own for his lack of judgment.

Perseus took another step away from the king’s warship. Would Polydectes punish Danae for disobeying his orders and solo travelling to the Lesbos Strait? He hesitated, glancing back toward the flickering light of the torches that illuminated the well-crafted vessel emblazoned with Seriphos’s olive-green crest.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, a giant fist collided with his jaw. Perseus’s vision blurred as someone slammed him against the rough stone of the harbour wall, knocking the air from his lungs.

A mountain of a man loomed over him, a giant who could have passed for a titan’s descendant. Where had he come from? Anger flashed in his dark blue eyes, and his lips were twisted into a scowl — so unlike the wide grins Perseus was accustomed to.

“Going somewhere, Perseus?” Kleos asked, the accusation heavy in his voice.

Perseus rubbed his throbbing jaw, bewildered. Kleos had always been impulsive, but what had gotten into him? Did he have to hit him that hard?

Perseus shrugged, “Yes, to catch some fish. I’m a fisherman, remember?”

Kleos did not fall for his act, narrowing his eyes to slits as the crisp wind ruffled his long wheat-coloured hair. He could always tell when Perseus was lying.

“Bullshit, Perseus. I heard that you vowed to slay Medusa for Polydectes. I know he gave you a galley and crew for the mission. So, why are you sneaking off in the other direction to the moorage of your run-down fishing boat … armed with what? A rusty sword?” Kleos’s voice softened momentarily, a flicker of hurt crossing his face. “And without even saying goodbye.”

Perseus averted his gaze. Kleos would never have let him venture across the Aegean Sea alone. Not only because he was fiercely protective but also because he had dreamed of becoming a hero since he was a little boy. That was precisely why Perseus couldn’t risk taking him along. He might have conceded to dragging Polydectes’s men into this mess for his mother's sake, but Kleos was his best friend and also an impulsive, reckless, bull-headed fool.

“How did you even find out?”

Kleos’s features hardened. “My father told me as soon as he returned home. He wouldn’t miss the opportunity to gloat about my oldest friend’s impending departure, another aspiring hero lost to their thirst for glory.”

Despite Kleos's even tone, Perseus could sense the turmoil beneath the surface. He had a complicated relationship with his father, to say the least. He was a merchant from Delphi, who had come to Seriphos hungry for power and riches. Adamantios was among the wealthiest men in Seriphos, and Kleos was his only son and heir, much to his father’s disappointment. For many years, Adamantios had tried and failed to shape Kleos into a worthy successor. Kleos, however, was a restless spirit and would never sit still during his lessons, be it algebra or philosophy. He squandered his allowance on wine, women, and gambling, and most importantly, he would seize any opportunity to escape and practice sword fighting on the beach. Adamantios had tried everything, even beating Kleos into submission when he had been a boy, but nothing deterred Kleos from sneaking off the next day again.

“Of course he did,” Perseus muttered, his voice laced with bitterness.

“So, you really intend to slay the infamous gorgon with that rusty thing? Or perhaps we should head over to the warship, where they have actual weapons, so we stand a fighting chance?”

Perseus remained rooted in place, the guilt of this decision weighing him down.

Kleos crossed his arms in front of his broad chest. “That was meant to be a rhetorical question, Perseus…”

“I don’t want anyone to die because I was stupid enough to promise Polydectes Medusa’s head.”

“But you’re bound to fail if you go alone! Medusa has sunk entire fleets!” His friend added, frowning. “Why agree to this mission if you are not even going to try to win?”

Perseus’s shoulders slumped at that. He knew it had been a fool’s hope to search for a path where he could save his mother without endangering innocent bystanders. In the end, however, he’d always choose Danae’s happiness over anyone else – even Kleos. Still, a knot of guilt tightened in his gut as he followed his friend, feet dragging as he abandoned his beloved ship, while Kleos practically vibrated with excitement, his arms swinging wide as he walked.

Kleos clapped Perseus on the shoulder with too much force. “Good man. I almost thought I’d have to carry you over my shoulder like a damsel in distress.”

He winked at Perseus playfully, but Perseus was too consumed by worry to respond to his jest. His eyes roamed over the shining broad sword at his friend’s belt, the leather and bronze armour he had donned. A mix of anticipation and excitement gleamed in Kleos’s eyes, the earlier anger gone the moment Perseus had agreed to come with him.

How did he know Perseus would try to sneak away on his own?

…

Perseus stood frozen at the centre of the warship. It was at least thrice the size of his boat, the wooden deck still deep, unbleached brown. Two towering masts billowed with sails, each emblazoned with Seriphos's green crest. Two dozen oarlocks lined each side of the hull, ready to propel the galley when the wind failed.

All eyes turned to him the moment Perseus stepped aboard. The sailors carrying barrels of wine and sacks of grain paused, staring at him expectantly. Perseus felt their silent scrutiny, judging the man bold enough to hunt for the infamous beast — or, more likely, the fool who had doomed them all.

A group of five epetae, their bronze breastplates gleaming in the moonlight, stood at the ship's stern with the man Polydectes had called Linus. They watched swords at their sides, making no move to assist the sailors. They were not crewmen, but the king's guard dogs, tasked with monitoring Perseus and reporting back to Polydectes, ready to intervene if he faltered. But with Danae's freedom hanging in the balance, Perseus knew he wouldn't dare stray from his mission.

After an eternity of uncomfortable silence, a tall man with silvery hair and olive skin approached Perseus. “Good evening, Sir. My name is Aetos, and I’m the captain of this ship … usually, at least,” he stammered, bowing awkwardly. “My crew is yours to command.”

Perseus could feel the eyes of the crew following him, their breath held in anticipation of his response. Kleos nudged him gently, beckoning him to speak.

Perseus shifted uncomfortably, then straightened his back and spoke. “Thank you for the welcome, Captain. I may lead this mission, but I would … would not presume to know this ship better than you. Please command your crew like you usually would.”

He tried to appear confident, but the men’s curious glances made his skin prickle.

“Of course, Sir, it would be my honour. I will get you to the Lesbos Strait in less than two weeks. We have reserved the captain’s cabin for you so you may use the journey to gather your strength and strategise with your men.”

At that, Aetos glanced nervously toward the king’s guards.

Did they assume Perseus to be one of Polydectes’s cronies? That would explain their constant bowing and deference.

Perseus attempted a forced smile. “That won’t be necessary, I—”

Before he could finish his sentence, Kleos interrupted him, clasping Perseus’ broad shoulder, “Perseus will gladly accept the cabin; what a thoughtful gesture, Aetos, was it?” He extended his large palm toward the captain, who took his hand with a nod. Kleos continued with a crooked grin, “My name is Kleos, by the way, son of Adamantios, and I’m Perseus’s right-hand man. I hope you have room in your bunks below deck for one more.”

Perseus shot his friend a glare. He wished Kleos hadn’t interfered. He didn’t want the captain’s cabin. He didn’t want these men to serve him. He didn’t want to lead them into danger.

Another sailor stepped forward, a serious-looking man with a round face, black hair, and a crooked nose. He extended his hand, first to Perseus, then to Kleos. “It is an honour to serve you both, brave Perseus and Kleos, son of Adamantios,” he said, though his facial expression made Perseus doubt that he meant it. “My name is Atticus, and I’m the first mate of this crew. Allow me to show you to your cabins, noble heroes .”

The way he pronounced his last words made them sound more like a taunt rather than an honorary title. Perseus couldn’t blame him. He had no great love for self-proclaimed heroes either. Unlike Kleos, who was now glowering at Atticus with flared nostrils, his temper rising to the challenge in Atticus’s tone.

Perseus stepped forward, diffusing the growing tension between his friend and the first mate, “That would be appreciated, Atticus.”

“Mikis,” Atticus barked, gesturing toward a young sailor with blond dishevelled hair and lanky limbs, “escort the heroes to their cabins.”

The boy, who looked barely more than seventeen, stumbled forward and bowed deeply. “Follow me please, Sir Perseus, Sir Kleos.”

He led them away as the remaining sailors continued loading supplies onto the deck. They descended the ladder leading below deck, and Mikis opened the first door on the right, gesturing for Perseus to enter with another bow. Perseus gritted his teeth.

?This is the captain’s cabin,” Mikis said, “And we have another one next to it if Sir Kleos also wants his own room. The rest of us will sleep in the common area.”

Kleos clapped Mikis’s shoulder with a wink, his deep-blue eyes sparkling with mischief. “Thanks, lad, but I don’t mind bunking with the crew. You can tell your captain that he can have the other cabin.”

Perseus glared at his friend, suppressing a groan, as Mikis’s cheeks flushed crimson under Kleos’s gaze. The gangly boy almost stumbled over his own feet as he scurried away. When they were out of earshot, Perseus shoved Kleos. “You don’t mind bunking with the crew? Then why did you tell Aetos that I’d take his cabin? These men are already risking their lives for me; I don’t need them to grovel at my feet, too.”

He did not bother chastising his friend for toying with the young sailor.

Kleos laughed, unfazed by Perseus’s anger. “It’s precisely because of the danger these men will face that you must command their respect. In less than two weeks, we’ll challenge the most vicious creature in the Aegean. When we fight the gorgon, they need to follow your orders without hesitation. If they doubt your leadership, it will be chaos, and more of them will die than necessary.”

“And you suppose I’ll earn their respect by sleeping in a secluded cabin like a coddled aristocrat.”

“No, you’ll earn their respect on the battlefield, but for now, you should set yourself apart as their superior.”

Perseus frowned. “I’m no one’s superior.”

“True, but you better make them believe you are.”

His friend gently nudged his shoulder at that, and Perseus sighed in exasperation. A wide grin split Kleos’s lips, knowing he had won the argument.

Kleos paused on the doorstep. “There is one thing I don’t understand, Perseus. You always said you didn’t want to be a hero. You’ve only laughed when I fantasised about the monsters we could slay together, the battles we could win … so, why did you tell Polydectes you’d kill the gorgon?”

Perseus frowned, not understanding what his friend was getting at. “To settle my debt …”

“But there would have been other ways to pay for the tithe. Why didn’t you come to me? I would have gladly given you the money.”

“Only it is not your money to give.”

“My father would not have even noticed the few missing drachmae!”

Perseus bit his tongue, ignoring the sting of his friend’s words. A few missing drachmae. He wouldn’t tell Kleos that sixty drachmae was a small fortune to most citizens on Seriphos, nor that his father would have definitely noticed the missing coins. He would have likely had Kleos whipped for stealing or even disowned him. He had punished him countless times already when Kleos had overindulged with the lavish gifts for his lovers — whether they were pearls, fine-spun dresses, or heavily decorated swords. No, the old miser wouldn’t shed a tear for his son. But Perseus would never say that to Kleos.

Perseus’s head was pounding. He had been agonising over his decision to go after Medusa all evening. “I am tired, Kleos,” he sighed. “Please, leave me alone.”

“Just so you know, I took the money anyway,” Kleos retorted, a defiant edge to his voice. “I figured we'd need it for this journey, so not asking for my help changed nothing! Except maybe the mortal danger we're about to face.” Kleos scoffed, slamming the door behind him.