Page 17 of Heroines of Olympus

He blocks out the sun as he crouches over her, grabbing her by the metal collar of her chest plate and yanking her helmet off.

“Yield,” he orders.

“Not a chance.” She answers.

He rears back and punches her in her face hard enough to have her seeing stars, and she is pretty sure her nose is broken.

She turns her head to the side, spitting out blood, noticing that hers now joins the macabre abstract painting that has become the arena floor.

Her fingers grip in the sand beneath her, and she flings it up in his face. He jerks up to full standing with a roar and she rolls between his legs and climbs onto his back. In a blink, she has him in a chokehold, one of her daggers directly below his chin and it is her commanding him to yield.

He thrashes for a moment, trying to throw her from his back, but her grip is iron and she puts enough pressure on the dagger to make blood run down his neck.

“Fine, I yield!” He bellows.

She immediately releases him, dropping from his back. She tosses her dagger on the ground next to her discarded sword and turns to face the podium and her assessors, only now hearing the fervor of the crowd over her victory.

Ares beckons for her to come forward, and she walks over.

9

MEDUSA

Medusa pushes into the room, overjoyed with the news that Psyche is finally awake. Sitting up in the bed, in a cabin that is a mirror of the one in which Medusa had awoken, Psyche gives Alec a tired smile that brightens when she sees Medusa behind him. With a blush and butterflies, Medusa approaches her bedside. Psyche crosses her legs and pats the foot of the bed for Medusa to sit there.

“I am elated to see you both!” Her grin is beaming, and it makes Medusa’s heart race. “Lyra, you must have so many questions. There’s a reason I can’t give you resolution yet.”

“I do, but they can wait until you’re a little more rested,” Medusa replies with a patient smile, surprising even herself.

Alec suddenly exclaims, “You both must be starving!” Before either of them can even answer, he is out of the room, words about stew and potatoes trailing behind him with the promise of a swift return.

Medusa and Psyche look at each other in his absence, and Medusa struggles with what to say. She meant it when she said her questions could wait. She spent eight years with nothing but her regrets and self-loathing to keep her company, no hope of answers or closure in sight. A few more hours or days is nothing.

The longer Psyche stares at her, the more Medusa thinks about what Psyche must be thinking, what she sees. Is she taking the time to pick out every single scale and imperfection? Is she trying to decide how much of a monster Medusa is? Psyche is the god of the soul, after all. Is she assessing if the heart inside Medusa is also monstrous?

Before being hideously transformed, Psyche may have been staring for a different reason. Perhaps Psyche would have been just as captivated by Medusa’s rosy pink lips as she is with Psyche’s dark ones. It is moot though. Who would want to kiss lips that are deep green?

Fortunately, Psyche puts her out of her misery and speaks first. “How does it feel to be off your island?”

“Honestly? I have no idea,” Medusa replies. “Coming to your cabin was the first time leaving my quarters. I don’t think I will fully even process that I’ve left until I see land on the horizon.”

Psyche’s response is gentle. “There’s no correct timeline for processing things. That’s one of those things we don’t have control over that we can only hope happens when we are strong enough to handle it. But no matter when it happens, even if it’s when you don’t feel you can bear it, those feelings are valid and nothing to be ashamed of.”

It was not the reply Medusa expected. When she was upset at the Temple, people would brush off how she felt and explain to her why she shouldn’t feel that way, or scold her, hoping to shame her into at least being silent about it. She learned to keep her problems to herself, to keep them close. Why does Psyche care how Medusa feels? These people likely want to use her curse as a weapon and then drop her at the farthest island imaginable - keeping the Olympic Isles clear of one more monster.

Wanting to change the subject to anything other than her feelings, Medusa asks, “How do you feel about the Hero being on board with us?” She picks at the edges of the blanket, not looking at Psyche.

“His presence doesn’t bother me,” Psyche answers. “I’m sure Alec told you he’s not one of the Heroes known for being callous and cruel. I don’t know why someone like him would be a Hero, let alone in the Oceanic Legion, but that’s a question for him, not me.”

At that, Medusa scoffs, “That would mean talking to him and having a conversation. I can name a long list of things I would rather do than converse would my would be assassin or kidnapper.”

Psyche laughs in response. “No one is asking you to speak to him, so no need to worry there. I also don’t worry about him being on board because I think that almost every person on this ship can stand toe to toe with him and hold their own or… at the very least, slow him down enough for assistance to arrive.”

There is a quick knock at the door and Alec is back before Medusa has to fumble for a new topic of conversation once again. She sees the tray in his hands at the same time the smell wafts over to them. The aroma of the savory foods makes her mouth water and her stomach grumble. Psyche looks like she might be just as famished as Medusa as Alec puts the tray on the bed between them.

“We cannot give you all the answers you seek just yet. Before we can give you any of them at all, though, an oath must be sworn. This oath declares that the secrets of our group won’t be revealed to outsiders, on threat of a punishment no one should take lightly. This is an oath of the soul, one that looks deep inside you and inspects your heart closely. It walks with you always, waiting for your heart to betray it.” Psyche pauses and takes a moment to consider her word choices. “Once you take the oath, many answers will be on the other side, waiting for you. You have a choice. You are not being compelled to take this oath, but it is what is required to move forward with us.”

An oath? Her skin feels tight and her face tingles as the panic of such a commitment smothers her like a blanket. She did not expect to make such a weighty decision so soon after already choosing to leave her island. Does she have curiosity about this group of people who claim to be rebels? Of course. Does she want to strike back against the gods who have allowed, and caused, so much to happen to Medusa? She wants them to pay. Her need for revenge is a storm of anger that would even give the Furies pause. But she does not know this group. Their reasons for vagueness have merit, but how can she trust they are genuine? It is too late to go back to her island, but maybe she can find another one.

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