The next day, I ordered Perseus to remain in bed to allow his wound to heal and quickly escaped the tension within the temple walls. I took a deep breath as I emerged out into the clear summer air, stretching my arms with relish.
I already felt renewed, as I strode through the copse of cypress trees bordering the temple entrance, heading on my way to my gardens. For as much excitement and hope Perseus' arrival had caused, it was rivalled by the fear, confusion, and anxiety I felt every moment I spent in his presence.
With every small frown, every pensive gaze, my heart seized up with the thought that he'd realized my identity as Medusa. With every time he mentioned my name and his quest to kill me, I froze, terrified my shaky voice would give myself away.
I closed my eyes and breathed in the scent of the flowers to clear my mind of such thoughts. My feet climbed up the familiar path beat into the mountainside, at last leading up to the perfect piece of land that I had cared for all my life. I called it my garden, though it was much less organized and clearly marked than a traditional garden would be.
It was a large area of fertile, grassy land on the lower side of the Shoulders filled to the brim with medicinal plants, herbs, root vegetables, and fruit-bearing trees. My mother and I had planted the various seeds we wanted in this spot and helped them to grow, but after that we did little but tend to the plants and allow them to spread as they wished.
Soft, green thyme leaves butted up against the trunks of olive trees, bushes dotted with lentil pods lined the soil adjacent to the light, delicate branches drooping with plump, purple figs.
I brushed my hands across the leaves of the fig trees as I passed, letting the interwoven scents of a hundred different fruits and herbs wash over me, calming me with their intoxicating spells.
I walked through the assemblage of plants for several minutes before kneeling close to the ground at the site of what I had come here for: a copse of yarrow flowers, the small yellow petals as tiny as the tips of my fingers.
I plucked several stalks of the flowers, holding them carefully by the stem. The flowers themselves were the part of the plant that held healing properties, and I didn't want to touch them before I had the chance to mix them into a salve at home.
With the yarrow flowers in hand, I made my way back through the beautifully unkempt garden, admiring the various budding flowers and ripening fruits. I turned my head, taking in the view. I was just high enough on the mountainside to be able to see over the canopy of the trees below and down to the sea. The water was calm today, a dark, inky green that made it impossible to view anything that might be lurking below the waves.
I couldn't stop my eyes from darting to the horizon, scanning the line of the sea and sky for any signs of ships. Maybe it was silly of me. Perseus had said no ships would return for two months at the earliest. He was right about now being the start of the season for summer storms- it made sense that no ships would want to dare a sea voyage now.
But knowing all of that logically didn't erase my heightened fear. I knew that I would never be so carefree ever again, not when I now knew that two kings somewhere across that sea were fighting each other for my head.
I abruptly dragged my gaze away, focusing on hurrying back home. I would have to question Perseus once again to find out the reason why these two kings were suddenly desperate to kill me. I grimaced to myself even as I walked between the trees. I had a feeling that the gods were not uninvolved.
When I returned to the temple and walked through the stone archway of the entrance, Perseus was wide awake and waiting for me. I watched him straighten up, his head jerking toward me, as he perceived the sound of my footsteps. I ignored him, moving straight toward my work table to begin storing away the yarrow flowers.
He frowned when I didn't speak. "You're back," he stated simply.
"I am."
"How long were you gone?"
"Since the morning."
"And where were you?"
I sprinkled a handful of the yellow petals into a mortar and began to grind them down with my pestle. I worked the tool hard, the muscles in my arm straining.
"Collecting the ingredients I need for a healing salve," I answered belatedly. "I'll need to reapply it when I redress your wound."
He let out an exasperated sigh, falling back onto the pillows. Feeling the responsibility of filling the silence, I took the bait.
"And what have you been doing all morning?" I asked.
"Absolutely nothing," he grumbled. "I've been sitting in this bed, bored out of my mind. I'd much rather go out with you, exploring the island."
I leaned onto the pestle once more, then set it aside, satisfied with the soft, pasty substance that the flowers had transformed into. My work at least distracted me from the panic that usually bubbled to the surface whenever Perseus mentioned my name.
"You need more rest," I told him simply. "Haven't you ever been seriously wounded in battle before?"
I glanced back at him. He merely shook his head.
"No. Never."
I let out a small scoff under my breath. "No, I suppose not. Zeus wouldn't allow one of his glorious sons to be affected by something as dishonorable as a war injury."
Perseus' shoulders tensed, his expression darkening. "He had nothing to do with it," Perseus muttered. I bent down to retrieve the bottles of honey and vinegar to add to my concoction, only half listening to his response. "My failures and accomplishments are all my own- he doesn't get to claim credit for any of them. I would have thought another demigod would understand that."
Perhaps another would have. But I hardly felt any remorse for my quick judgement of him. All the stories I'd heard of children of Zeus was that they were arrogant above all else, and Perseus' attitude had done little to dissuade me of it. I continued to mix the ingredients of the salve together until they dissolved into one another, creating the healing medication I desired.
"I don't want to talk about the gods anymore," I said with a tone of finality, turning toward him. I continued mixing with the pestle as I approached his bedside, then gently placed the finished result on a low table. My snakes slithered lazily around my head, eyeing the concoction with bright, curious eyes. Perseus looked in my general direction with a similar expression in his unseeing gaze.
He arched a brow. "Not a devoted worshiper I take it?"
I let out a small, amused laugh. "That would be an understatement," I said simply. "Now, take off your shirt. I need to redress the wound."
He complied with my request without complaint. He still wore the half-destroyed white linen undershirt he'd worn during the battle, and it was stained with the blood and sweat of the past days. I wrinkled my nose at the stench it gave off. I would have to find something new for him to wear.
His body was lean, but still showed the evidence of his life as a soldier and warrior. His shoulders were broad and his arms corded with muscle, making me recall how difficult it had been for me just to hold up the sword I'd recovered from the battlefield. He'd just said that he'd never been gravely wounded before, but his chest and stomach bore several small scars and marks, evidence of past minor injuries.
I gave a fleeting glance up to his eyes, almost as if to reassure myself that he didn't see me examining him so closely. He merely stared blankly into space, his pale blue eyes clear and intense. I pulled my gaze away, quickly focusing back on the task at hand.
His bandages were tattered and loose, in clear need of replacements. The wound needed to be bandaged once again, and for that I would have to be close to him- too close for my own comfort. I glanced back up to his face, pushing down my hesitation.
"You have to be absolutely still while I redress the wound," I told him, my tone urgent. "Do you promise you won't move?"
He gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. "I promise."
I took a deep breath in an attempt to calm myself. As long as I was careful, my snakes wouldn't go anywhere near him. And if he kept his promise, there was no chance that he would touch one accidentally. I clenched and unclenched my hands at my side. I supposed that that was all the assurance I would receive to assuage my fear. I simply had to trust and act.
I took a pause to make sure that my hands were steady and then reached out to begin unwrapping the bandages. As soon as I pulled the first layer back, Perseus hissed through his clenched teeth, squeezing his eyes shut.
I hesitated, freezing my movements, and glanced up to him. The pain it was causing him was clear in the lines of his face, the way he tensed up his muscles in an effort not to react to it.
"Are you alright?" I asked, my brow furrowed in concern. "I can stop if-"
"No." His voice was tight and rigid. "I want to get it over with."
I pursed my lips, nodding once even though he couldn't see the gesture. It took me only a couple minutes more to remove the rest of the bandages, Perseus clenching his hands into fists at his side the entire time, but refusing to make a sound of pain. When it was done, he let out a low gasp as if he had been drowning and had just found his first breath full of air.
Giving him a minute to breathe and adjust, I reached beside me for the slave of yarrow, honey, and vinegar. I needed to reapply it once more, to guard the wound from infection.
"I'm applying a healing salve now," I informed him so he wouldn't be surprised. "It might sting a little bit, but it won't hurt badly."
He continued to shut his eyes tight, not deigning to respond, and I took it as validation to continue as quickly as possible. The stitches looked to be in good shape. They formed a thin, straight line across his lower torso, like embroidery upon cloth. The surrounding skin was red and irritated, but that was normal for such a serious injury and the salve would reduce it.
Dipping my fingers in the concoction, I began to apply it gently to the wound. Perseus jerked at my touch, no doubt feeling the sting of the salve on his skin, but he remained silent. I finished the task as quick as I dared, concentrating on being as gentle as possible.
When it was done, I let out a shaky breath of relief and hurried to ready new, clean bandages. As I began to redress the wound, I no longer felt the nerves I had earlier, my hands and mind working in tandem with hardly any effort on my part. I entered a space of focus and concentration that nothing could break me from. Before I knew it, I tied the end of the bandage and was finished.
I sat back onto the stool, a feeling of immense pride swelling in my chest. I knew I had executed the job well. I pictured my mother looking over my shoulder, examining my work with a satisfied smile, and couldn't keep my own lips from curling upward.
I admonished myself for such self-satisfaction, turning my gaze back to Perseus. His breath had turned into ragged gasps and sweat beaded his forehead, but with another minute his breathing already began to return to normal. Slowly, he put a hand on the new bandages, feeling it for himself.
"How do you feel?" I asked, soon growing nervous when he said nothing.
"Alright," he replied. "It hurt like hell, but I'm alright." He turned his gaze in my direction. "I've been to healing houses and asclepeions across Greece, but I don't think any healers there could be half as skillful as you are. Apollo must have blessed you with his gift for the craft."
I couldn't help my laugh. The suggestion that a god had blessed me was too humorous to ignore. Perseus' expression turned perplexed and I quickly cleared my throat, cutting off my own laughter.
"I don't enjoy flattery."
"Even if it's deserved?"
"Especially then," I said. "I wouldn't want to grow too arrogant."
It was his turn to laugh, a low chuckle that rang with amusement. "Tell me Andromeda, are you as beautiful as you are wise?"
If the idea of me being blessed made me laugh, it took all of my willpower not to cackle like a witch at the suggestion of my being beautiful. As if sensing the hilarity of it, my snakes danced around my head in a mess of slithering, dark green scales and forked tongues. I looked him over once more, considering his amused, inquisitive expression. I could play this game, I decided on a whim. And why shouldn't I? I deserved to have a bit of fun, for all of my efforts.
"On the contrary," I replied. "I'm afraid my wisdom only matches my hideous appearance in its intensity."
"Hideous?" He cocked his head to the side. "What do you look like?"
"So ugly it's impossible to describe."
Perseus made a sound of exasperation. "That's not fair," he accused. "How can you refuse a blind man's curiosity like that?"
I rolled my eyes. "Maybe someday I'll tell you what I look like. For now, put your shirt back on."
I tossed him the ragged garment back to him. He begrudgingly obeyed, but picked at the tears in the cloth.
"Don't you have anything else I can wear?" He asked. "This is falling apart."
"I don't," I answered. Definitely nothing that would fit his frame. I groaned internally at the thought of how much time it would take me to weave proper clothes for him, precious time taken away from all of my other daily chores and responsibilities. I wasn't even very good at weaving, most of the clothing I created turning out uneven or misshaped. It was easier when mother was around, and there were two people to split the task. Unlike me, her weaving had always been meticulous.
I froze, turning to consider Perseus once more as an idea struck me. I abruptly stood from my stool, the wooden legs scraping on the stone floor.
"Wait here," I told Perseus, not giving him a chance to respond before I moved across the temple's main chamber. I entered one of the several unused rooms that now only served as storage for me. My eyes darted around the dimly lit place before landing upon the object I needed: my mother's loom.
It was a sleek, beautiful machine with beams carved of sandalwood, already threaded through with fine, white linen. Having clothes enough for one person, I had hardly touched it since my mother had passed away. I slowly approached the machine, blowing the thick layer of dust off of it. It was large, its height nearly equal to my shoulders, and yet the parts of it were infinitely delicate in their form.
Taking all due care, I lifted the loom off the ground and carried it with me back into the temple's central chamber.
The wooden shuttle clacked noisily as I carried it, and I watched the look of concentration on Perseus' face as he heard the sound and struggled to identify it. That thoughtful expression of his, with his brow furrowed low over his eyes and his lips pressed into a thin line, was quickly becoming familiar.
I set the loom down at the side of his bed, placing it gently so as not to damage any part of it. I had hardly set it down before Perseus spoke, his voice both curious and impatient.
"What is it?"
"This," I said, placing an affectionate hand upon the loom's beam. "Is what will relieve your boredom until your wound is finished healing."
He haltingly reached out his hands until he touched the top beam of the loom, curling his fingers over it. He continued to explore it with his hands, brushing across the threads and familiarizing himself with each part of it. I had been half afraid before that his calloused warrior's hands would be unable to work such a delicate machine, but his touch was gentle and soft as a bird's wing. I didn't know that such strong hands could caress something that way.
"This is a loom," he said aloud once his hands had finished roaming across the object.
"Yes," I agreed. "And you will be using it to make new clothes for yourself."
He looked up, consternation filling his gaze. "But I've never worked a loom before," he protested. "It's women's work. I have no idea how to use this thing."
"Well then," I said, sitting down across from him. "It's a good thing you have all the time in the world to learn."