‘She is not a child any longer. She is a woman and soon men will come calling. And when they do, the Oracle’s prophecy will come true.’
‘It is a wonder the Oracle did not prophesy that you die at my hand, Acrisius, for soon I feel it is likely to happen.’
Acrisius blew the air from his lungs, as a small boy hopes to blow a ship from the shore. One by one, he picked up the bruising fruit from around his feet before he moved to Eurydice’s side and took her hand.
‘I know it is difficult to see. But it is for her own good.’ His voice was soft and melodious as he guided her over to the window’s edge. ‘Look at this world we have made, you and I,’ he said. ‘Look at our kinship. Our people, are they not happy?’
‘You know that they are. But if you cage their beloved princess in a dungeon beneath the ground, they shall not be. You must think carefully, Acrisius, or our people shall grow fearful like those on Crete. They shall whisper and gossip, and stories will stir of how we, too, conceal a beast within our depth. We, too, will require sacrifices to keep the beast satiated.’
‘But this is not true.’ Acrisius had paled, uncertainty shimmering in his eyes.
‘Since when did truth play a part in gossip?’ Eurydice replied.
Her words were met with silence, causing a private smile to flicker within her.
‘It will not take long for the city to be rife with discontent. We all know of the unrest in Crete. Would you bring that to our shores?’
Acrisius pulled at the beard on his chin, a sure sign of his self-doubt. A slight breeze drifted in through the window, causing Eurydice’s hair to whip her around the shoulders. Turning to correct it, she kept her smile concealed within. She had played a good hand but would not count her winnings until all the tiles had been played.
‘Well, what would you suggest?’ Acrisius bit. ‘You will not let me kill the girl?’
‘Of course I will not let you kill her. She is our daughter. We will contain her in the tower.’ Eurydice pointed out the same window that Acrisius had led her to. ‘She can live in the tower, away from the gaze and persuasions of men.’
‘How is that different from the dungeon?’
‘How?’ Closing her eyes, Eurydice drew the cool air into her lungs and placed herself there, in her daughter’s future. Raw and torrid wounds gaped in her heart as she considered everything her child would be missing. Was it better, she wondered, letting her live out her days, imprisoned? Held captive by those who were supposed to protect her? But it would be a life, no matter how atrophied that existence. ‘She will be able to see the sky,’ she whispered, eyes still closed, the heat of the sun’s rays on her cheeks. ‘She will be able to smell the salt of the sea and hear the cawing of the birds above her. She will hear the sounds of the city below her. Smell the meats in the market, the blossom on the trees.’ She pressed the words with all the feeling she could muster. ‘And in turn, the people will hear her. They will know that she is above them, watching them. A guardian, not a prisoner. They will understand your burden as a father to keep such a delicate creature safe from the rogues of the world. This is right, Acrisius. You understand that this is the right thing to do.’
Chapter 16
Dawn remained Danae’s preferred time of day. There was something about that hour before the world began to stir beneath her that filled her with a sense of calm. Sometimes, the day’s arrival was tranquil; a single birdsong followed by another, then another, until the air around her quivered with their music. At other times, the new day would roll in on a storm, thunderous and deep in its tremor, with dark clouds that masked the hour and rendered the songbirds mute. Sooner or later, though, no matter how bright or muted, the sun would always splinter into shards as it breached the horizon. And those first rays of light would reflect off the walls of her confines and remind her of her place in the world.
With dawn, came hope. Hope that this was the day her father saw sanity; the day he trusted her at her word and allowed her to leave this prison in which he had cast her. Hope that this was the day they discovered a bastard child on whom the Oracle’s prophecy could lay or, worst hope of all, that if her father’s prophecy were to come true, this was the day when her suitor would come and take her to freedom.
Her tower offered no windows from which to glimpse the outside world. Only air and light from the open roof, allowing the gods alone to view her and cast the elements down on her as they saw fit. In the summer, the air became humid and sticky, so much so that her clothes would stick to her skin, and she would cast them off and lie naked in the sun. In the winter, her breath would fog, and crystals would form on the walls of her tower. Yet, despite this, she was still a prisoner of relative comfort. Still a princess. Never wanting. Passing maids or childhood friends who had run with her on the seashores and dirtied their hands together with her in the palace orchards would be slipped into the bottom of the tower at her mother’s request and
