ARIELLE;
The dance continues, a macabre ballet performed on the edge of a precipice. It is not, I confess, as entertaining as the singing here. Caith, directed by my whispered instructions, manages to evade Euryale's attacks with surprising agility, his shield deflecting her blows with a resounding clang. But it is becoming increasingly clear that he is tiring. He is a strong man, but Euryale is a force of nature or rather, a force of the underworld, which is hardly the same thing.
"Dodge left, Caith! She's telegraphing her punch!" I hiss, my fingers digging into the sleeve of my gown.
He attempts to comply, but he is too slow. Euryale's brass fist connects with his shoulder, sending him sprawling to the side. He lands with a heavy thud, his sword clattering across the marble floor. Blast it all, this is precisely what I was trying to avoid!
My heart leaps into my throat. "Caith!" I cry, but he does not respond.
Euryale, that dreadful woman, turns her serpentine gaze in my direction. A slow, cruel smile spreads across her face, and I know, with chilling certainty, that we have been discovered.
"Well, well," she hisses, her voice dripping with malice. "It seems the clever princess has run out of tricks."
I shove Mother behind me, shielding her with my own body. I may not be a warrior, but I am not entirely helpless.
"Run, Mother!" I shout, pushing her towards the hidden exit. "Get out of here! I'll distract her."
My mother hesitates, her eyes filled with fear, but she understands the urgency of the situation. With a nod, she turns and flees, disappearing into the shadows. I can only pray that she makes it to safety.
Euryale laughs, a chilling, high-pitched sound that sends shivers down my spine.
"Such bravery," she sneers, advancing towards me with a predatory grace. "But alas, it is all for naught."
She reaches for me, her brass fingers grasping at my arm. I try to dodge, but I am too slow. She pulls me forward, her grip like iron. I close my eyes immediately.
"What do you want?" I demand, trying to keep the fear from my voice. "Why are you doing this?"
Euryale pushes me down onto the cold marble floor, her knee pressing into my back. It is quite uncomfortable, I must say.
"Do you not know why I have come, little princess?" she asks, her voice a silken caress that sends shivers down my spine. "Melonie sent me. You may have stolen Caith but he is for Melonie, her betrothed."
The name is unfamiliar to me. "Melonie?" I repeat, my brow furrowing in confusion. "I do not know her. I did not steal anyone." This wedding was hardly my choice.
"Melonie is the Princess of Tartarus, little fool. And Caith is hers. I am here to rectify a wrong, to return what was stolen. You are to die, princess, and Caith will be sent to Tartarus for the wedding."
The sheer audacity of it all! This is beyond inconvenient; it is positively insulting. Men, betrothals, other princesses... it is all so dreadfully complicated.
Realizing I am out of my depth in this fight, I make a decision. With a swift movement, I grab a handful of dust from the floor and throw it at Euryale's face, praying to the Gods it works.
It does. The dust obscures her vision, disrupting her deadly gaze.
I scramble to my feet, shoving past her as I rush towards the nearest object of potential defense: a rather ornate silver vase sitting atop a pedestal. Snatching it up, I retreat behind a large pillar, pressing myself against the cold stone.
Peeking around the edge of the pillar, I carefully angle the silver vase, using its polished surface as a mirror to observe Euryale's reflection. It is not ideal, but it is better than nothing. I shall have to trust to my instincts and my newfound talent for directing men, apparently to survive this entirely unwelcome turn of events. Honestly, I am beginning to think that I might have been happier as a princess.
Peeking around the edge of the pillar, using the silver vase as my looking glass, I take stock of the situation. Euryale is furious, sputtering and wiping dust from her serpentine hair. She makes for an angry figure, really. And Caith, bless his valiant but ultimately thick head, is struggling to his feet, clearly disoriented from the blow.
It is all dreadfully unfair. I had always believed the Amazons to be the only people of the world. Now, I am suddenly thrust into a world of warring factions, betrothals gone awry, and princesses of Tartarus, wherever that might be. Marriage, too, is proving to be a most perplexing institution. I find myself questioning everything I thought I knew. It is all rather destabilizing.
"Caith! Behind you! She's coming for you again!" I hiss, directing my urgent whisper at his reflection in the silver vase. "She intends to send you to this Tartarus place for a wedding! Apparently, you belong to someone else."
I can practically see him blink in confusion. His expression suggests he is not any more enlightened by this revelation than I am. A wedding in Tartarus? The very notion sounds exceedingly grim.
Ignoring his obvious befuddlement, I press on. "She's aiming to blind you," I continue, observing Euryale's movements through my makeshift looking glass. "Protect your eyes, and for heaven's sake, use your sword! You have one for a reason, you know."
Caith seems to gather himself, shaking his head as if to clear his thoughts. He raises his sword, holding it before him like a ward. He isn't an idiot. I simply need to push him in the correct direction.
Euryale advances, her steps heavy and deliberate. "You cannot hide from me, little princess," she calls out, her voice a chilling echo in the vast hall. "I will find you, and when I do, you will suffer the wrath of Melonie!"
Honestly, the melodrama is quite tiresome. I wonder if this Melonie person is as tiresome.
"He needs to move, Arielle," I mutter to myself, "think!"
An idea hits me. "Caith! To the left! There's a tapestry hanging near the window," I instruct, my voice barely a whisper. "Try to lure her towards it. It might buy us some time, at least."
He glances at the tapestry, a large, rather garish depiction of some long-forgotten battle. I can practically see the questions swirling in his mind, but he trusts me or, perhaps, he is simply desperate enough to follow my instructions. Either way, he begins to move, slowly backing away towards the tapestry.
Euryale follows, her gaze fixed on Caith, a predator stalking its prey. As she draws closer to the tapestry, I hold my breath. It is a risky move, but it is the best I can devise with the resources at hand.
"Now, Caith!" I shout, my voice ringing through the hall. "Pull the tapestry down!"
With a swift movement, Caith grabs the edge of the heavy tapestry and yanks it downward. The fabric billows outward, enveloping Euryale in a cloud of dust and thread. It is not, perhaps, the most elegant of strategies, but it is enough to momentarily disorient her.
Seizing the opportunity, I dart from behind the pillar, clutching the silver vase in my hand. I need to find another vantage point, another tool with which to guide Caith through this increasingly ridiculous ordeal. Truly, this marriage is turning out to be far more complicated than I had ever imagined. And quite deadly, too.
As I race across the hall, I cannot help but wonder about this Melonie, Princess of Tartarus. What sort of woman commands such loyalty, such unbridled fury? And more importantly, what does she intend to do with Caith once she gets her brass fingers on him? The thought sends a shiver down my spine. It will be necessary to ensure that does not happen. For his sake, and, naturally, for my own. Being turned to stone on my wedding day is really too much.
The tapestry collapses, sending a swirl of dust and moth-eaten wool into the air. It grants me only a precious moment of respite, a chance to catch my breath and reassess this increasingly dire situation. The silver vase, thankfully, remains intact, and I clutch it to my chest as I scan the hall for Caith. He seems a bit of an oaf, but he also seems to heed my instructions.
He has managed to free himself from the tangled tapestry. Good show, him. He is also currently engaged in a rather clumsy sword fight with empty air, which suggests that Euryale is not far behind.
I dash across the hall, dodging petrified bodies and scattered debris, until I reach him. "Caith! Over here!" I whisper urgently, pulling him behind a large, overturned table.
He turns, his face streaked with sweat and dust, his eyes filled with a mixture of confusion and dare I say it admiration. "Arielle? What are you doing here? I thought I told you to run!"
"And leave you to be sent to Tartarus for some infernal wedding? Perish the thought!" I retort, adjusting the silver vase so that I can see beyond our makeshift barricade. "Besides, I believe I am the only one here with a modicum of strategic sense."
Before he can formulate a reply, a group of Amazons and men bursts into the hall, their faces grim, their swords drawn, their shields raised. They look like an army of avenging angels, if angels were prone to wearing rather unflattering armor.
"Princess! Are you alright?" one of the Amazons, Lyra, asks, her eyes filled with concern.
"I am perfectly well, thank you," I reply, though my composure is, admittedly, somewhat of a façade. "But you must not attack her. It is futile."
The warriors exchange bewildered glances. "But... she killed so many," Lyra protests, her voice filled with grief. "We must avenge them!"
"Vengeance is all well and good, but pointless without a plan," I state, fixing them with a stern gaze. "Euryale is immortal. You cannot kill her."
A murmur of disbelief ripples through the group. "Immortal?" one of the men asks, his voice laced with doubt. "But surely there must be a way..."
"There is," I interrupt. "But it requires cunning, not brute force."
I quickly outline my plan, speaking with a confidence I do not entirely feel. "Our goal is not to kill her, but to weaken her and lure her out of the castle," I explain, gesturing with the silver vase for emphasis. "She wishes to kill me? Very well, we shall use that against her."
"I will act as bait," I continue, "and lead her away from here. You must all remain out of sight. When she has left the castle, we will trigger the traps in the forest and attack."
Lyra frowns. "But Princess, that is too dangerous! What if she catches you?"
"She will not," I reply, meeting her gaze with unwavering resolve. "I am far too clever for her."
"Remember," I add, turning to address the assembled warriors. "Do not look directly into her eyes, lest you wish to become a permanent fixture in the royal gardens. And if you must engage her, strike wherever you can, but avoid contact with the blood from her left side. It is said to be incredibly poisonous."
The warriors nod, their expressions hardening with determination. They are not thrilled with the prospect of fighting an immortal Gorgon, but they are prepared to follow my lead. It seems I have inadvertently become a commander of sorts. Who knew that a reluctant bride could be so adept at military strategy?
With a deep breath, I prepare to put my plan into motion. It is a perilous undertaking, but I am strangely exhilarated. This marriage, this battle, this entire chaotic situation... it is all terribly exciting.
A silence falls, thick and pregnant with dread. It is the sort of silence that descends before a summer storm, a moment of breathless anticipation before the heavens unleash their fury.
Then, it comes.
Euryale's cry pierces the air like a shard of ice, a screech so shrill and deafening that it sends my eardrums throbbing with pain. The hall shakes violently, the remaining chandeliers swaying precariously from their moorings. Dust and debris rain down from the ceiling, coating everything in a fine layer of grime.
Through the silver vase, I see that Euryale has freed herself from the confines of the tapestry. She stands in the center of the hall, a figure of pure, unadulterated rage. Her serpentine hair writhes and hisses, her brass hands clenching and unclenching. She is, without a doubt, the most unpleasant houseguest we have ever had.
"Now!" I command, turning to address the assembled warriors. "To the forest! And remember, keep your distance from her. I do not want any unnecessary casualties."
The Amazons and men nod in understanding, their faces grim but resolute. With a final glance in my direction, they disappear into the hidden passages that lead out of the castle, melting into the shadows like phantoms.
I turn to Caith, who is standing beside me, his sword clutched tightly in his hand. He looks rather pale, but his eyes are filled with determination.
"Run ahead," I instruct, pushing him gently towards the hidden exit. "You are faster than I am. Make sure the forest is clear and that the traps are ready. And Caith?"
He pauses, turning to look at me.
"Try not to get killed," I add, offering him a small, reassuring smile. "I would hate to think I had gone to all this trouble only for you to end up as a wedding gift for some underworld princess."
He nods, his lips curving into a wry smile. "I'll do my best," he promises, before disappearing into the shadows.
I take a deep breath, steeling my resolve. The cry grows louder, closer, reverberating through the hall with bone-jarring intensity. I clamp my hands over my ears, but it does little to muffle the sound. I can feel the vibrations rattling my teeth, threatening to shatter my skull. This is, without a doubt, the most unpleasant experience I have ever endured.
"ARIELLLEEE!" Euryale's voice echoes. "Come out, little princess! Come and face your destiny! There is no where to run. You cannot evade the wrath of Tartarus!"
The insults begin, a torrent of vile words designed to pierce my composure, to break my spirit.
"Do you hear the screams, Arielle? It is the lamentations of the dead. You are all alone!"
I force myself to ignore her taunts. I have faced worse insults at the hands of far more sophisticated opponents.
Taking a final, steadying breath, I stand. No more hiding, no more whispering. It is time to face the music.
With a dramatic flourish, I hurl the silver vase at Euryale. The vase, a rather valuable antique, smashes against her scaled chest with a satisfying thud, showering her with shards of silver and splintered ceramic. It is a rather satisfying gesture, though I doubt it will do much damage.
Without waiting to see the effect of my impromptu missile attack, I turn and run.
And run as if my life depends on it.
My heart pounds in my chest, a frantic drumbeat urging me onward. The stone floor is unforgiving beneath my soft slippers, each step a jarring reminder of the desperate situation in which I find myself. The echoes of Euryale's fury reverberate behind me, a constant, terrifying reminder that I am being hunted.
I do not dare look back. To meet her gaze, even for a fraction of a second, would be to succumb to her power, to become another lifeless statue adorning this increasingly macabre palace. I can practically feel her hot breath on the back of my neck, her presence a palpable weight pressing down on me. I run, I run, I run, relying on nothing but instinct and the desperate hope that I can outwit this monstrous pursuer.
The forest looms ahead, a dark and beckoning sanctuary. The trees stand like silent sentinels, their branches intertwined to form a tangled canopy overhead. I can feel the damp earth beneath my feet now, the air growing cooler, the sound of Euryale's screams receding slightly as I plunge into the shadows.
This is it. The final stage of my plan. The trap awaits, a carefully constructed snare designed to slow her down, to weaken her, to give us a fighting chance.
I see it now, the first of many cunningly concealed snares. A wide pit, concealed by a deceptively thin layer of branches and leaves, lies directly in my path. A perfect trap for a charging Gorgon.
My mind races. I cannot simply run around it. Euryale is too fast, too relentless. I need to use the trap to my advantage, to exploit her relentless pursuit. I can't look back but I can hear how close she is to me. I need to distract her.
With a deep breath, I gather my strength. I can do this. I am a princess, dammit! And princesses, when faced with monstrous Gorgons and unwanted marriages, are capable of anything.
I run faster, my chest burning, my muscles screaming in protest. As I approach the pit, I see a low-hanging branch extending out over the hidden danger. It is my only hope.
With a burst of energy, I leap into the air, reaching for the branch with outstretched hands. My fingers brush against it, then grasp it firmly. I swing, my body arcing out over the pit, propelled by sheer desperation and a healthy dose of aristocratic stubbornness.
For a heart-stopping moment, I am suspended in mid-air, the earth falling away beneath me, the branch groaning under my weight. Then, with a final surge of movement, I release my grip and land gracefully (or as gracefully as one can land after swinging from a tree branch whilst being pursued by an immortal Gorgon) on the other side of the pit.
A thunderous crash erupts behind me, followed by a bloodcurdling scream. I do not need to look back to know what has happened. Euryale has fallen into the trap. I trust it smarts, it was quite a deep fall.
My plan, it seems, is working. Now, it is up to the others to finish what I have started. Now I must find a safe haven away from this dreadful chase.