Myths and Monsters: A Limited Edition Anthology

without the blood of Zeus in his veins, he might well have died from the force of her embrace as she clutched him to her. Fervent, fearful; she would not and could not have let go. Holding Perseus to the end was all that mattered. Making every second with him one of warmth. One of feeling his mother’s heartbeat. Her father would not do this himself, she thought again as she looked at him. No matter what the Oracle had predicted. Killing his own grandchild was barbaric even beyond his level. Spears and knives glinted in the grey light of the approaching storm. Any of his footmen could be the one to cast the final blow. Danae was imagining their last moments when her eyes fell upon the chest lying in the sand behind her father and the armoured men. The dull wood had not been sanded or polished like the hull of a ship, and its coarse, matt edges looked more suitable for a farmer’s store or a place to hold clothes in the servants’ quarters than to survive the elements out at sea. Beside it sat a pile of chains and heavy padlocks, strong enough to seal a vault. Dread prickled her skin.

‘Father,’ she whispered.

‘You may have your wish,’ Acrisius spoke with sombre enunciation. ‘He will not be taken from you.’

They took them out to sea, no doubt afraid that the fetid, bloated remains of Acrisius’ handiwork could wash back up upon his own shores if not taken far enough away. She did not scream or bang on the sides to be let out. There was little point. She would not have the last hours of her son’s life as ones in which he heard only screaming and anguish. Instead, she sang to him every song she could ever remember hearing as a child. Silent tears ran down her cheeks as she recalled verse after verse. Perhaps the rules were different for half-gods, she prayed. For he would get no proper burial this way. No obols to pay Charon for passage across the Acheron. There would be no crossing to Hades for either of them. The thought caught in her chest. What kind of fate was that for a baby? He was the son of Zeus; she attempted to comfort herself. Surely, he would be protected. That was what mattered the most. That Perseus was protected.

In her dark confines, Danae had just grown used to the sway of the ship when she felt her motion change.

‘Drink,’ she said, holding Perseus to her breast. ‘Drink and go to sleep, my love. It’s time for us to go to sleep.’

Chapter 18

Perseus marched from one wall to another. His belly was full of rage; rage, which he directed at them all.

‘You never thought that we had the right to know?’ He spoke the words to Dictys. ‘Eighteen years, you called me a son. For eighteen years, I trusted you. And we hear this now, not from your lips but from his. Tell me then, if he had not shown his face at this house, would we ever have known you were a brother to the King of Seriphos? Brother to that vile tyrant, Polydectes?’

His words and rage were met by silence, which only served to infuriate him more. Over the years, Perseus had grown, and the house in which he had lived on the island of Seriphos had been spacious enough. Always, he had found room in this home to sing, to play, and to gut the fish that he caught with Dictys on the boat. This day, however, the walls had closed in, pushing him closer and closer to those from which he wished to move farther away.

‘Perseus, my boy, the King is not part of my world, and I am not part of his,’ Dictys said when he eventually spoke. ‘Yes, we are related by blood, but you and your mother are more family to me than he ever was or will be.’

The answer did little to satisfy Perseus, so he turned to his mother. ‘Did you know, Mother? Were you party to this secret?’

‘Not until I told Dictys that I had been sent word of the King’s interest in me.’

‘Then why are you not mad? Why? This man whose roof you live under, he lied to you, and you do not feel anger at this?’

Danae tilted her head and frowned. ‘You wish me to show anger? How?’ she asked. ‘How can I show anger to Dictys, who plucked two half-drowned children, one but a few days old, from the shore and gave them a new life or, to Clymene, who raised my child as her own and was a mother to me when mine couldn’t be?’ Perseus pouted at her lack of allegiance, although Danae was not yet finished. ‘You wish me to question those who never questioned me. Or you. Trust does not require answers, Perseus. Trust requires acceptance.’

Perseus pursed his lips and glowered.

‘Only now do we find out that Dictys is the brother of a king.’

‘And I am the daughter of one. And you are the grandson of one. Dictys has never lied to you. Never did he force me to disclose all the lurid tales of my past, and never once did I expect him to do the same. The life we have had is because of him, Perseus. I did not raise you to show such disrespect.’

Perseus folded his arms across his chest.

‘This cannot happen. You cannot marry Polydectes.’

‘Perseus, please, he merely wishes to meet with me.’

‘He will try to lay a claim on you. I know he will, Mother. I can feel it.’

‘Perseus, you cannot fret about a future that may never happen.’

He felt as though he were talking to a simpleton. That his words would have been as much use spewed at the men who sat cross-legged by the ports, brains addled with wine, jabbering of the time they fought Ares in their youth. Enraged further by