Quicksilver by Stephanie Spinner Read Free Book Online Page A

heaving. “Andromeda is mine. We are betrothed.”
    He was roughly twice Perseus’ size. The men with him—half a dozen glowering drunks—were not exactly dainty, either.
    “You were her betrothed?” Perseus asked mildly. “Do you love her?”
    Agenor sneered in confusion, as if he had never heard the words
love
and
betrothal
in the same sentence before. “Of course,” he replied dismissively.
    “Not enough to save my life,” Andromeda pointed out.
    True,
I thought.
    There were a few sympathetic murmurs from the guests, and somebody slurred, “Coward.” A woman giggled. In the ensuing silence the air thickened with dire possibilities.
    Then the queen called out, “Our promise to Perseus means nothing! He forced us into it.” She lifted her chin at Agenor, prompting him, and he reached out for Andromeda. She recoiled; once again Perseus shielded her.
    “You heard the queen,” said Agenor.
    Perseus kept silent, and his face was impassive, but I could swear he was thinking of his own mother, Danae. She too was a queen, but how unlike Cassiope! She disliked Polydectes and didn’t want to marry him, yet she’d begged her son not to go after Medusa’s head. His safety meant more to her than her own happiness.
    And here was Andromeda’s mother, casually discarding her daughter for the second time that day.
    Perseus drew his sword.
    Agenor struck at him and he parried. Then Perseus went on the attack, beating the larger man back and drawing blood with his third quick stroke. Agenor screamed, rage and surprise purpling his face. Seeing him bleed, his cohorts scattered.
    I had been poised to intervene, but Perseus was holding his own perfectly well, and Agenor, clutching his wounded arm, looked as if he were reconsidering his claim on the princess.
    Then, after a quick exchange with the queen, King Cepheus stepped in.

SIXTEEN
    The king leaped to his feet, braying, “Perseus must die!” Perhaps thinking that her husband’s statement needed clarification, Cassiope shrilled, “Kill him!”
    A good many guests were too drunk to fight. They contented themselves with mumbling and staring and shifting in their seats. But a few energetic revelers managed to swarm Perseus and wrest his sword away. Ignoring Andromeda’s horrified screams, Agenor jumped in for the kill.
    It was time for me to reveal myself. I was just about to doff the Cap of Invisibility when I saw Perseus say something to Andromeda. She covered her eyes, Perseus pulled out Medusa’s head, and Agenor saw it.
    The man didn’t even have time to blink. Hardening into stone as if the Gorgon’s glare had blasted and baked him, he toppled with his sword upraised. The echoing crash of his fall drew everyone’s attention.
    Then came a long, eerie moment. It began with screams and shouts when Agenor shattered; continued as Perseus turned slowly in place, displaying Medusa’s head to the king and queen and their guests; and ended when they obliged him by falling silent and dying, one by one by one.
    Andromeda wept bitterly, her sobs unnaturally loud in the hall’s stony hush. I suppose she was grieving for her parents, though they had treated her very badly. Mortals are odd that way.
    “What happened?” A man’s voice came from a corner, startling us all. “Tell me!” It was Molpus the singer, who had been saved by his blindness. His appearance so astonished Andromeda that she stopped crying.
    “Tell me everything!” he demanded, turning his head this way and that like an inquisitive bird.
    “Everything? That would take a long time.”
    “Tell me so I can sing of it,” insisted Molpus.
    “Will you remember?” Perseus asked, almost sternly.
    “I am a poet,” Molpus replied, with just a hint of sharpness.
    So Perseus began his story, telling of Polydectes’ passion for Danae, of Danae’s resistance, and of Polydectes’ request that Perseus bring him Medusa’s head.
    “Nobody has ever lived after seeing the Gorgon’s face,” said Molpus.