Quicksilver by Stephanie Spinner Read Free Book Online

to be yes.

FIFTEEN
    I learned that the ceremony—performed in haste, in the courtyard—had just taken place. I also learned that Queen Cassiope was responsible for the sea serpent.
    “We were strolling on the beach after the storm last week,” one lady of the court informed another after they’d clinked wine goblets. “She told me she’d seen some Nereids and wasn’t impressed. ‘They’re grotesque, Amenia!’ she said. She didn’t even lower her voice! That did it.”
    “What did what?” asked her companion.
    “They heard her.”
    “No!” This was said with mock horror and genuine delight, and I wondered if everyone in the room disliked the queen as much as these two did.
    The woman called Amenia rolled her eyes. “Carpa, you know how vain they are,” she said. “They must have gone straight to Poseidon.”
    You’re probably right,
I thought. Nereids are sea nymphs, odd, beautiful creatures with silky fins on their backs and long, rainbow-hued limbs, who spend most of their time lolling in the ocean like seals. They appear affable, but they can be as touchy as goddesses. I think they’re spoiled from all the tribute they receive. Nobody ever offers much to the river-and-stream nymphs, but Nereids get hefty sacrifices all the time because the oceans are so perilous. It’s made them arrogant.
    “After all,” noted Amenia, “the serpent came the very next day.” She and her friend then compared notes about its activities. Apparently it had eaten every fish within miles, drowned scores of luckless fishermen, and chewed up many fine vessels in the harbor, including one belonging to Carpa’s husband. “Terrible loss to us, not that
she
cares,” she said, indicating the queen.
    Amenia leaned closer to Carpa. “Do you know what she said when the oracle told them to appease Poseidon by sacrificing Andromeda to the serpent?”
    Carpa shook her head, rapt.
    “She said, ‘We can’t sacrifice her! She’s got to marry Agenor! That match is worth a fortune to us!’ ”
    “No!”
    Hearing this, I was a little shocked, too.
Not exactly
a loving mother,
I thought.
    Despite her objections, King Cepheus had gone ahead with the sacrifice, and the princess was duly chained to her rock. Perseus had appeared only moments later.
    As for him, he demanded—and got—the promise of Andromeda’s hand in return for killing the serpent. Now, listening respectfully to the singer’s ancient ode, he seemed weary but happy. Andromeda, resplendent in a gold-trimmed gown, was no longer the dazed, distant girl I had seen earlier but bright-eyed and vividly beautiful. She held on to Perseus’ arm as if she would never let it go.
    He has certainly put in a full day,
I thought, seeing him try to conceal a yawn. When the ode finally ended, he and Andromeda stood. They thanked the singer, who told them his name was Molpus. After Perseus poured him some wine—which he sniffed, pronounced excellent, and drank eagerly—the young couple started toward the front of the hall.
    They were not far from the king and queen when shouts came from the other side of the room. Someone cried, “I won’t stand for it! She’s mine!” and there were angry sounds of assent, the kind men make when they work themselves up before battle.
    All the joy left Andromeda’s face.
    “No stranger can take her!” Again the voice rose above the din. “She was promised to me!”
    Andromeda moved closer to Perseus and whispered to him. His face tensed. He looked far less boyish than he had only a few hours ago, when I’d first met him.
Well, why not,
I thought.
He’s certainly been doing a man’s work.
    Perseus stepped in front of her, hand on his sword. When he was in the clear—many guests moved away, smelling trouble—I could see the makeshift strap slung across his chest and the leather pouch tied to it. Inside was Medusa’s head.
    Shoving Molpus aside, a tall, heavy-jawed man strode up to Perseus. “I am Agenor,” he announced, chest