“Why are you laughing?” Akrivi whispered in a panic.

  Medusa could barely hear him past the ringing in her ears. The low laughter wouldn't stop spilling, and along with it, desperate denial.

  It had to be a joke. It had to be. Her sister couldn't be the contender. Could Athena go this far with Phorcys’ children? How was this allowed?

  Clamping her teeth shut, she watched the goddess stop and receive greetings from deities. Her face, every action was a picture of cherubic grace. Subtle golden light flared around her as she gave her undivided attention to each deity. Soft smile, voice low and gentle; not a peek of the face Medusa saw when she visited the bogs with Poseidon.

  “Why didn’t the Moirai mention this?” she asked Ares without looking away. It seemed things would never completely go according to plan. What's the point of having a future-seeing being on her side if she kept getting blindsided?

  “He will likely disregard a request for fairness,” Ares said, his gaze shifting to the empty high table. “Take off your shoes.”

  As Medusa did as he asked, her mind kept working. The Moirai may have told him this would happen, but why did she have to be barefoot?

  Ares answered her curiosity as if reading her mind. “That was the only instruction the Moirai gave should Athena bring an… unexpected contender.”

  “I see.” She still couldn't think of a reason why being barefoot would be advantageous. Well, it wasn't as if she were swimming in options.

  Unable to settle her racing heart, she looked at her sister. She stood aside as Athena received eager greetings from even more deities, expression serene, judging from what her veil exposed.

  What are you doing here?

  “Did the Moirai specifically mention this possibility?”

  “I am also surprised.” His expression turned subtly contemplative. “It is tradition that only blood-carriers or strong unawakened mortals participate in the games.”

  “So what’s that?” Medusa hated that her voice trembled, but she couldn’t get past the shock or rising anger. She could suggest that Akrivi take her place, but even that was unacceptable.

  “We are not certain she is your opponent yet,” Ares said, voice calm with assurance. “When Zeus comes, I will make a case.” But the more he spoke, the more his expression soured, as if he were coming to an unpleasant conclusion.

  She returned her attention to Euryale. Was this happiness she was feeling? She wasn’t sure. It had been so long—too long ago. Thanks to her sisters, her time in the temple hadn’t been entirely boring, but their interactions were few and far between.

  The two were always out on assignments. Beast subjugations, site inspection, outreaches and covert operations. The few weeks they spent in the temple were chock full of training, but they always sought her out whenever they could. Though Euryale was the more serious of the two, the short time they spent together had been extremely pleasant. There were even times they observed her form as she practised Athena’s Dagger Methods, giving tips, and even sparring with her. And they gave her a nickname. What was it—

  Medusa shook her head, expelling the distracting thoughts. Unlike her, her sisters were always in their gorgon form. And even though ten years separated them, they bore a near-identical appearance and resembled Ceto. They were also one of Athena's fiercest priestesses. If it wasn't clear in the past that the goddess wanted Ares’ contender dead, now it was crystal.

  “She's coming over!” Akrivi whispered as he sat straighter. “Is it really okay not to offer a greeting? I—” he swallowed his words when Ares’ aether bloomed around them. A quiet but deadly warning.

  “No greeting then,” Akrivi muttered.

  Athena sashayed over, a pleased smile on red lips. Around her body, a silvery-white dress moved like water, accentuating every curve. Golden hair spilt over one naked shoulder, and sparkling, happy eyes remained fixed on Ares.

  “Brother,” she said in the softest voice. “It is a pleasure to meet again after such a short time.”

  The way her eyes lingered on his face. Was that desire? But it was so faint that Medusa doubted what she saw. All her years as a priestess, and she had never seen Athena show sexual interest in anyone. She was referred to as the eternal virgin after all.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Ares asked, attention shifting to Euryale.

  Now that Euryale was closer, Medusa wished she possessed telepathy. Or not. For all she knew, her sisters may still hold some loyalty to the goddess. She stood quietly at Athena’s side, deep pink eyes downcast, a respectful gesture every priestess must show in the presence of a high deity.

  The veil covering half her face hardly stirred with her breathing. Gold laced and bearing five tiny embroidered shields, a symbol of her rank. No way they expected her to fight a ranked priestess. No way. Just then, for a tenth of a second, their eyes met. A dry, cursory glance of a fighter casually taking in their opponent. Her snakes stirred as well, their little pink eyes focusing on her.

  “Where is your warmth?” Athena asked, a note of hurt in her voice. “I came to extend my greetings.” With that, she tore her gaze from Ares and looked at Medusa. One sweep from head to torso, an unimpressed ‘hmph’. When she looked at Akrivi, her eyes lit up, and she moved to touch his face. But Ares was faster.

  He grabbed her wrist. “Don't.”

  She looked from the spot he touched to his face, then she smiled brightly. “Oh, brother, I knew you would stop me.”

  Ares' eyes appeared on the verge of bursting into flames and shooting lasers. “Do not touch my contenders.”

  Athena clicked her tongue. “Why so stingy?” Her focus returned to Akrivi, who gulped audibly. “Such a fine mortal. With red hair, you would have been perfect.” With that, she snatched her arm free, turned and strolled off.

  Akrivi collapsed into his seat, breathing harshly and appearing shaken. There had been something deeply wrong with her stare. “What was that?”

  Neither Medusa nor Ares answered, both watching the retreating goddess instead.

  What are you planning? Medusa wanted to yell the question. She itched to grab her sister and disappear from this place. This was not at all what she imagined when she thought of this day. They keep ruining my plans.

  The blast of a ram's horn announced Zeus’ arrival. Unlike the pump on the day of the binding ritual, he simply appeared on his throne, and this time he wasn’t old. At least thirty in appearance, bare-chested with a chlamys flung across his shoulder. His hair and trimmed beard were snow white, his eyes the sharpest red, and his expression stern. He swept his gaze over the gathering, spotted Athena and waved her over. He did the same with Ares. Impatience was an invisible cloud around him. At least there were no crackling bolts of lightning flying around.

  Once both deities sat to his left and right, he received a scroll from them. After reading, he looked at Medusa. And his gaze lingered. And lingered.

  Medusa resisted the urge to squirm as cold sweat broke across her forehead. He still didn’t look away, his stare now a crushing boulder bearing down on her soul. The shaking began as panic swelled. Was Clotho sure Zeus wouldn't see through her wards? If he so much as suspects I have a key, I'm dead. Please...

  “I have an objection.” Ares’ voice cut through the choking silence.

  At last, Zeus' focus departed. Medusa’s breath returned in harsh pants. She hadn’t even realised she had stopped breathing. What was that?

  “Speak.”

  “I was under the impression that this is a duel between blood-carriers. But Athena has presented a goddess.”

  “She has,” Zeus said, then fell silent.

  Medusa still couldn’t look up.

  “Tradition states who should participate—”

  “Tradition?” Athena cut in, voice cold. “Traditions evolve, brother. And do you not see that this isn’t the Games? This is a duel. I selected a contender that reflects my house—the honour of my temple. And you, what did you bring? A nobody from abandoned Themiscyra? You insult us.”

  Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

  Ares ignored her, focus remaining on his father. “Have you no regard for the code of fairness among the children of the monolith? This is—”

  “I will allow it,” Zeus cut in.

  It took every effort not to release a bitter laugh at Zeus’ verdict. Of course, it would go this way. Medusa finally lifted her eyes, and it was in time to see Athena’s satisfied smile.

  “The one who makes traditions.” Athena offered a deep bow. “Thank you, father.”

  Unlike the time he stormed off, Ares appeared calm. No twisted aether. Flaring red aura. Nothing. He sat and stared ahead.

  “First, I must settle my curiosity.” Zeus turned in Medusa’s direction. “Come.”

  That same feeling of something grabbing a hold of her soul and forcing her body to act. But this time, thanks to the Moirai’s only revelation of the future, Medusa did not resist. Her body, as if tied to a string, floated off her seat like a kite. Soon, she was bobbing mid-air before Zeus. Face to face. She could see his eyes. Blood red pools with threads of gold. Staring straight into her soul.

  Her heart slammed heavily in her chest, and her head flared with pulsing aches. Each breath was a shuddering gasp for air. She trembled where she floated, caught in a daze of pure, dizzying terror. Yes, the Moiria said this would happen, but the fear. It tore through her senses, shouting every horrifying possibility, urging her to flee.

  “Hmmm.” The intensity of his stare finally lessened, but he extended his hand. Why was he extending his hand? Her panic tripled; she wished to rip out of his compulsion, but the functioning part of her shattering logic forced her to remain still.

  “A daughter of Otrera, my son says.” When he placed his large palm where her neck met her shoulder, Medusa flinched. Perhaps she wasn't totally cured of her fear of neck attacks.

  “Heart racing like a hare's.” The corner of his lips kicked up, but there was no humour in his eyes, only lethal focus. “What is this?” He tugged her necklace.

  The lie she should speak clanged in her head, but the speaking part felt impossible. A bead of sweat slid into her eye.

  “Girl, have you no tongue?” He met her gaze, and once again Medusa felt the single look pierce her soul. “Can you not speak? Where did you get this?”

  “My mother,” Medusa managed to choke out.

  “Otrera gave you this?” There was a note of subtle incredulity in his voice.

  “Y-yes.” Nausea churned in her belly.

  “Hmmm.” He suddenly smiled, and this time it appeared to touch his eyes. “Very well. Let's see what Otrera’s spawn can do.” Then he turned to Athena. “Are you prepared to take full responsibility if your contender kills her?”

  Athena appeared distraught. “Father, I have instructed my contender not to take things too far. But if death happens, I will personally apologise to Otrera.”

  “Is that so?” His gaze lingered on Medusa’s face. He appeared contemplative. Letting go of the necklace, he waved. “Go.”

  At the command, Medusa floated to the centre of the platform and finally, blessed freedom returned. She fell to her knees. Her joints were no longer locked, her muscles did not strain, and other sounds rushed in.

  There was a murmur about. All eyes on her. She caught conversations; talks of wagers, aether stones in astronomical amounts, and deities laughing about good entertainment before the Games.

  You think this is enough to draw out the barbaroi?

  I didn't know she had a child. They do look alike.

  A pity she's likely to die.

  You don't know that. Otrera is one of the first…Ares’ prodigy.

  Medusa pushed to her feet. She wiggled her bare toes, feeling the cool marble, struggling to form a strategy. Poison will be useless. Even though Euryale was a low deity, she had never heard of any venom that could kill them. Even so, she couldn't bring herself to test that theory. And she couldn't morph into her gorgon form either.

  Her only true advantage was her knowledge. She knew Athena’s Dagger Method in and out. Every variation numbered in the thousands. Still, she hadn’t practised them extensively since her return. So, speed? But that was useless too. Her spar with Lysander had revealed enough.

  Ahead, Euryale stepped into the arena and approached. In her grip were two silver daggers. Medusa straightened. Nothing she did could settle her racing heart, so she called to remembrance all at stake. If she failed this, she would be unable to represent Clotho at the Games and win. Failure meant the Moiria might seek another means to find her sister. She had to win this… but I don’t want to hurt my sister. Even though I know she can easily snap my neck, I still don’t want to hurt her.

  Finally, Euryale stopped before her. This time, their eyes met. Since Medusa was almost a head shorter, she needed to crane her neck. That expected serious look, eyes flat and assessing. Her snakes, all white from their roots but dying to the fairest shade of pink at their heads, watched her as well.

  “I am Euryale, priestess of the high goddess Athena.” Despite being a goddess, she introduced herself first and offered a slight bow.

  Medusa bowed as well. “Antiope, contender of Master Ares.”

  “This is my only rule,” Zeus' voice cut through the din. “It will be a great unfairness to allow a fight between two so unmatched.”

  The silence deepened. Medusa drew out her daggers.

  “Euryale, you are commanded to lessen your hand to that of a blood-carrier of the highest peak.”

  “Father, we are truly of one mind.” A pinched smile formed on Athena’s lips. “I also gave Euryale a similar instruction should my brother present a blood-carrier.”

  Euryale offered a deep bow in confirmation before facing Medusa once more.

  “And make this quick,” Zeus added, voice heavy with impatience. “You may begin.”

  “Breathing.” Medusa countered before her sister even moved, trusting her memory with the first basic move of the dagger method. A wild risk that worked.

  Her black blade clashed with silver, the impact causing a powerful rebound.

  What nonsense… that was no power of a blood-carrier. Seeming to recover from Medusa's smooth counter, she shot for her, speed impossible despite Medusa using breathing.

  With each stab and slash, Medusa desperately pulled air and aether, using both to guide her movement. Air helped with evading, aether coated her blade, and enhanced her shield. Breathing helped her speed.

  But there was a problem. She couldn’t hold breathing indefinitely. The longest she had gone was five minutes, but the good thing was that she could now use it twice in a row. Ten minutes in total. She would have to find a way to win in ten minutes.

  One of Euryale’s blades grazed her cheek, slicing open her shield like butter and nicking her skin. Medusa hardly flinched, taking it in stride and blocking in the last second. She was yet to attack. All defence. Athena was present. What would she do if Medusa began wielding her method with ease? Not like Euryale was giving her a chance to do anything but defend.

  There was a cool patience in Euryale’s movement, no sign she was running on a fuel like breathing. She came again and again, expression flat as she slashed and stabbed. No surprise registered on her face that Medusa was managing to dodge each strike.

  Medusa felt it when the first breathing faded. But in that slim chance, in the space where she took a breath to say the word, Euryale’s stab hit home. Straight to the heart.

  The attack made nothing of her shield, cleanly cutting through with a force higher than what a blood-carrier could manage. It met her uniform. Only then did resistance come, and Medusa took the opportunity to escape. Pulling on ambient aether, she pushed away.

  “Breathing.”

  What do I do? The question was a desperate cry in her head. Euryale was back. Raining stabs and slashes. Then she threw in an unexpected kick in the mix. Medusa sailed through the air and landed on her feet with the help of air and aether. The ground shattering beneath her bare feet, and it was then that Medusa felt it—a kernel of understanding dropping in her chaotic mind.

  She sensed it; a monolith vein existed several feet below. And along with the knowledge came a partial understanding of how turning living cells to stone worked. She leapt away when Euryale came with another kick. This time, she ran, and Euryale patiently trailed her. One backward glance revealed a bored expression as she matched her speed. Like a predator letting their prey run for now.

  Why? Why did she have to realise something so profound while on the edge of death? It was clear Athena had given her a kill order, and no amount of running would save her from a priestess on a mission.

  So poison? The eyes are always vulnerable. Even for deities, aether did not fully protect them. A blunt blow would not affect them, but something as small as a mote can still cause discomfort. Should I stab her eyes? Would I even be fast enough?

  The kick struck her between the shoulder blades. Biting back a pained groan, she soared through the air but managed to twist mid-air. She flung one of her blades. Euryale easily slapped it aside. Before Medusa hit the earth, she threw another and didn’t wait to see if her strike hit. Pulling out a needle laced with her deadliest venom, she stabbed in the angle she hoped her sister would—

  Her hand froze less than an inch from Euryale’s eyes. Her snakes bit down, fangs sinking into her arm and pumping in scalding venom. But it wasn’t the snakes that stopped Medusa’s final attack. She had not been able to do it.

  “How naive.” Euryale stabbed home, and this time, the blade cut through the uniform and met flesh.

  Euryale was suddenly ripped away. A thrashing dark red whip had snatched her by the neck, slammed her to the ground, picked her up, and hurled her to the roof. She crashed into the spinning orb, but before she hit the ground again, it snatched her and flung her straight at Athena.

  Medusa could feel her body trying to heal itself, but something was stopping it. Blood flooded her mouth and spilt past her lips.

  “You dare use a cursed blade on my contender?” Ares roared.

  Rolling to the side, Medusa struggled to sit up, but aether was leaking from her wound fast. Everything she stored, pouring out.

  “The house of Ares rejects this duel.” His voice, forceful with his rage, shook the ground beneath her… the ground beneath. An idea stirred in the haze of her dazed mind.

  “Look at him boldly defying Father.” Poseidon’s childlike voice was high with indignation. “A punishment is well deserved. Do something to teach this wilful dog.”

  Conversations exploded around her, but she wasn’t listening. Her consciousness was beginning to fade. How familiar. But this time, she was desperate to live. Medusa reached for the vein deep below, uncaring if Zeus noticed something amiss. I cannot die here. May my soul scatter to nothing if I die without taking you all with me.

  The vengeful thought had barely settled when the vein reacted. A single tendril reached out, first tentative as if testing the air, then it surged like a mighty, starving serpent and swallowed her whole.