Curses of Olympus (The Olympus Trilogy #2)

40. Medusa

40

MEDUSA

A few steps ahead of Medusa, Psyche and Cadmus chatter amongst themselves while the group searches the Under Temple for more symbols. Seven have been found so far, and if the drawing is any indication, there will be thirteen in total.

Medusa should be more present, but she is still stuck deep beneath the waves in the Sea Temple. Yet her thoughts are no longer ones of despair or sadness; they are full of rage. A tempest of fury that has been building for millennia with every woman who has been wronged at the hands of callous men who act on a whim, with no regard for the trauma they spew in their wake.

The regret that churns in Medusa’s gut is no longer for Poseidon’s actions, only that she did not possess the strength to punish him then and there.

It is all too easy in Medusa’s mind to replace the decapitated head of Perseus in her memories with that of Poseidon. How she yearns to feel his blood running down between her fingers, or to watch the horror cross his face as it turns to stone.

“Hey.” Cadmus’s voice is low and gentle as he gently grips Medusa’s elbow. “Your serpents…”

They slither around, poking out from beneath the hood, and their chaotic emotions are palpable. Looking into his amber eyes and warm smile slowly brings Medusa back to this reality as her anger dissipates.

Medusa places her hand on his upper arm and says, “Sorry about that. Did either of you see anything of note while I was distracted?”

Psyche and Cadmus exchange a quick look, but Medusa spots it immediately.

Her brows furrow in concern. “What?”

Psyche steps forward, biting her lip. “You’ve been up in your head a lot lately. We are just worried about you,” she admits.

Medusa’s hackles raise. “I think if anyone has reason to be locked in their mind, it is me.”

“Of course, no one is saying you don’t have reason, my love.” Psyche’s tone is soft and gentle, meant to calm Medusa, but it is only stoking the flames of her ire.

“Don’t take that condescending tone with me. I am not made of glass. I am allowed to be angry. I didn’t ask for any of this!” Medusa hisses, her serpents quietly joining.

Cadmus raises an eyebrow. “The anger is a good step in the right direction. It means you are getting stronger.”

He tries to put his arm around Medusa’s shoulders, but she shrugs it off, stepping away. The corridor feels entirely too small, their presence too close.

“I know I am getting stronger. And that is my point. Cadmus, I am so fucking angry, and I have nowhere to direct it. How many innocents are harmed every second that I still allow Poseidon to live?” she challenges.

“Sitting and waiting is difficult, but sometimes that is the best way to look for the right opportunity to strike. We cannot focus solely on Poseidon, no matter how much I want to slit his throat myself,” Psyche bites back.

Medusa’s blinks, shock filling her face at the level of violence from the goddess who is normally so patient.

“We love every part of you. Even the dark ones, my darling,” Psyche says, so low it is almost a whisper.

Does she really want to push away the two people who at least try to see her? There is nothing she wants less, but they do not understand. They patiently wait for her to heal, but what if Medusa needs something more to fix this wound? To move on?

An acolyte comes running up to them, wheezing for breath after ascending the long row of stairs leading up to where the trio was searching. “The.” Wheeze . “Star.” Huff .

Cadmus holds up a hand. “Deep breaths.”

The acolyte nods, taking short, heaving breaths. “Star. Cavern. Icarus. Now.” The blood drains from the acolyte’s face as he crumbles to the floor, fainting.

Sighing, Cadmus collects the limp acolyte, tossing him over his shoulder as if he weighs nothing. “I guess we need to go see what got this fella so worked up.”