Medusa, A Love Story (Loves of Olympus 1)

Her gaze met his for the briefest of moments, and his heart was whole. He swam in the blue depths of her eyes before she’d turned from him to her duties.

He could not be certain, but he thought she was pleased by his return. He hoped so.

She seemed fragile, more so than when he’d left. Had something happened with her father? Had her sisters visited again? Was there news from Athena? Had a decision been made?

In his time away, Ariston had prayed. Not for favor with the Goddess, or glory in battle – for none seemed to matter.

Only his lady… He prayed for her. He prayed that she might be released, that her father, the Gorgons, the Goddess, all who had some claim on Medusa, would let her go. He prayed for her freedom, that she might choose her life. And, if his prayers were heard, he would help her have whatever she wanted.

His will was no longer his own. Even his service to the Goddess did not compare to the devotion he felt for Medusa.

Before he stationed himself at the top of the temple steps, he glanced at her again. She knelt before the temple dais, her head bent in prayer.

But if she was not released, he would watch over her and love her silently – for as long as the Gods allowed it.

“You are staying at the temple?” he asked Elpis softly.

“Yes. We stay in the robes room.”

He nodded, his eyes traveling back to Medusa. On this night, he would sleep outside and keep watch. He was satisfied.

He straightened his cloak and stepped out onto the temple steps, scanning the empty walls of the temple. How odd that, on the verge of war, he felt such peace.

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Medusa’s heart raced on. She heard him on the temple steps, heard Elpis’ whispered good night, but did not turn from the dais. She could not risk it.

Joy overwhelmed her, unknotting the muscles of her back and the ache in her head.

How she’d feared for his safety.

While no Persian army had landed at Athens, skirmishes had been reported. Several Athenians had lost their life at the hands of traitors and spies… She’d barely controlled her agitation as Galenus had shared the names of those who had fallen under a Persian sword. She could hardly contain her relief when Ariston’s name had not been among them.

She’d tried not to let her worries color her every waking moment, but Uncle Galenus railed against the Persians’ vicious nature nightly. And while Nikolaos accompanied her to temple, he worried aloud over their enemies’ cunning and brutality at length.

War was men’s work, and they seemed eager for it.

She had missed him.

But he was safe.

Having him here… She drew in a steadying breath. She would savor every second.

And yet, she must steel herself against her heart. She would

not yield to sentimentality. She could not. No more jests or teasing, no more days in the golden sun on the shore. It was wrong, for them both. He was Athena’s, as was she, and there could be nothing between the two of them except that.

She would be satisfied with that, she must be.

As the candles burned down, Medusa glanced about the temple. She was thankful to Athena, pleased that she served such a worthy goddess. It was no hardship to serve her.

The piled offerings were a testament to her favor. Beautiful carved owls, finely woven linens, shells, carafes of wine and oil, woven baskets of olives, painted jugs, and grapes and figs. All had been given for the Goddess’ pleasure. And tomorrow, more gifts would come.

But tonight, she could sleep easily. For the rest was manageable now that she knew he was safe. She smiled, shifting a listing basket so it would not spill.

She was aware of nothing amiss. The sudden dimming of the candles must be a trick of her tired eyes. But a queer chill crept up her spine, lifting the hair along the nape of her neck and the length of her forearms. She shivered, rubbing her arms to warm herself. But there was more, something else… She stood, peering into the shadows of the temple. Wariness replaced her exhaustion.

A fog rolled in, pouring quickly across the marble floor. A gust of wind tossed the candles flame, lifting her veils from her face and casting them into the dense vapor now rising about her knees. She stooped to search for them, but the fog was so thick she could no longer see the marble floor beneath her, let alone her sheer veils. The wind rose again, swirling the fog around the pillars and chilling the air with an unsettling whisper.