The Stone Queen

  The Stone Queen

  Jovee Winters

  JoveeWintersPublishing

  Contents

  The Stone Queen

  The Stone Queen

  Foreword

  Prologue

  1. Medusa

  2. Medusa

  3. Ares

  4. Medusa

  5. Medusa

  6. Medusa

  7. Ares

  8. Ares

  9. Poseidon

  10. Ares

  11. Poseidon

  12. Medusa

  13. Ares

  14. Medusa

  15. Ares

  16. Medusa

  Epilogue

  Kingdom Books written as Marie Hall

  UPCOMING Titles in no particular order

  Other books by Jovee: Blue Moon Bay cozy pnr mystery romance

  The Stone Queen

  Copyright May, 2019 Jovee Winters

  Cover Art by Phatpuppy

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  * * *

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning, or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Jovee Winters, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in the context of reviews.

  Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Jovee Winters. Unauthorized or restricted use in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

  The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patent Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

  Published in 2019 by Jovee Winters, Colorado Springs, CO United

  The Stone Queen

  Medusa. We all know the myth. A man-hating gorgon with snakes for hair and one nasty attitude. But is that really true?

  * * *

  Did you know that once she was a beautiful maiden with wings of white and gold? That once she knew how to laugh, how to smile, that once she even knew the love of a man. A god the world knew as War, but that she simply knew as hers.

  * * *

  But forces of darkness have set things into motion that will change her life forever. Can love save a monster like her? Only time will tell...

  Foreword

  One of the great thirteen, storyteller extraordinaire

  Sometimes a tale comes along no man wishes to pen, a story so tragic, so full of woe that all you can do is ache and hurt and wish that you could lie. That you could pen a tale full of light, hope, and happiness. But that is not the case of the one now known as the Stone Queen. Her story is one of heartache, betrayal, and tragedy. Would that I could never tell it. Would that I could imagine it away. Sadly, I cannot. And so now I do what I must. I pen the tale of the woman all loathe, revile, and detest for sins that did not start as her own. And though my sisters tell me I can change nothing of the future, I know this is one time that I will defy my vows and who I am at my very core to right a most grievous wrong. Somehow, some way, I will fix the mess crafted by fickle gods and give a new lease on life to a woman all shunned. But none can learn of my involvement, and none can know of the lengths to which I will go to change the course of fate and destiny. This story is long and cannot simply be told in one tome, but take heart, dear reader, for I vow a happily ever after, no matter the cost to me. And now, I will speak with The Creator, for what needs doing must be done.

  * * *

  ~Anon, one of the great thirteen

  Prologue

  Ares

  Before the Boom

  * * *

  “One comes who will change the course of your destiny. A maiden of stone and venom, with a heart of gold and a soul poisoned by darkness. She will be yours truly. Forever and ever, brother War, but the road will be long, painful, and more of a curse than a blessing. But if you stay strong, if you hang in there, your future will shine brighter than Midas’s own gold. So it is spoken, so shall it be…”

  I’d come to the oracle for a reading about a war. Not about love, not about my future. I stood before the woman more beautiful than my own mother, Hera, and could only shake my head.

  “You lie, witch.” I did not recognize the broken voice as my own. I was cold, and my blood was like rivers of ice coursing through my veins.

  White eyes that would never see again stared blankly back at me. The face that’d shone with such life and vigor was now naught but a silent mask. The woman listed side to side as she inhaled the vapors of the gods. She was gone, sucked into the ether of dark magick and prophecy.

  I shook my head. “Damn you, sister oracle. Damn you to the lakes of the Underworld. You’ve cursed me, and this is a sin I can never forgive. I will never love. Never want. Never need. No woman of stone can ever have me. I am a god, and I will not allow it!”

  After picking up my helmet of war, I slammed it down upon my head, took up my blade of blood and bone, and turned on my heel. Men would die tonight, and they would die by my hand alone.

  Chapter 1

  Medusa

  100 years later

  * * *

  I was born. And I remembered this birth, for it was so lovely. I went from darkness into the light, and I was surrounded by faces that I knew loved me. My sisters. My mother. I would have a good life. I just knew it.

  I grew up in a tiny village surrounded by people who always commented on my and my sisters’ looks. We were different than the rest of them; we descended from the gods. My sisters had serpents for hair—and they envied me my dark, luscious curls—but our faces were lovely. Even in our youth, we were often told by everyone just how beautiful we were. And I grew up knowing that I must be beautiful, but my looks did not matter to me much.

  In truth, I far preferred my snow-white wings to my face. I was the only one of the three who had them, yet another reason my sisters should despise me, but they did not. I thought they sometimes felt sadness about me, as I was the only one of us three who was mortal. They were not. It was that way sometimes when one was the child of a god. Not all of us would get to live forever, but that did not sadden me. One well-lived life was worth thousands.

  Because of my “affliction,” my sisters were actually much kinder to me than they might otherwise have been. They merely asked for rides, and I was happy to give them. My favorite part of my day was sailing above the waters of my homeland.

  I loved the water, and I had been called a fool for it, but the water loved me back. For every time I sailed above it, the waves seemed to sparkle a little brighter, and the surface became almost like glass, showing my reflection.

  I had high cheekbones, a cupid’s pout, a slightly pointed chin, and corkscrew curls in a shade of deep amber that sometimes glinted reddish-gold in the sunlight, and Mother had always said I was very pretty, which made me smile. I was not vain, but I did think it was far better to be pretty as to not. People were kinder to you when you were. It was a truth I noted when I saw the one they called crone in my village as she walked to the market in the mornings. They were vile to her, cruel, and they did not try to hide their jeering from her either. It made me sad, because she was a kind woman, even if she wasn’t all that pleasing to the eye.

  My days were idyllic and easy.

  But then I turned twelve, and I was lonesome for company. The girls of my village did not like my sisters and me anymore. They called us names. Ugly names. Vile names. Mother said it was jealousy that made them so cruel to us. Where once we’d be
en loved by both women and men, we had become despised by our own sex, and I could not understand why.

  I found that I far preferred the company of men. They were still kind to me, especially the boys, though Mother did not allow us to hang around them often. She worried overmuch, I thought.

  I saw the village boys mostly in the town square when I walked to Athena’s temple for worship. One in particular had a sweetness that seemed genuine and endearing. I aimed to meet him. I saw him every day at that hour, loitering upon the temple grounds.

  He looked to be a poor boy. His clothes were often dirty and usually riddled with holes. That was why I’d brought my needle. I’d had to sneak it out of Mother’s things. I told her I was going to visit Athena’s temple, but I was not. I was a good girl, but I was also still just a child, and I grew weary of Mother’s rigid ways.

  Just once, I wished to be like the other daughters of my village and play—maybe even flirt—with a boy. Wouldn’t that be scandalous!

  Smiling softly to myself, I gently tucked my wings back and landed lithely upon the rocky soil of the holy temple grounds. Athena’s eternal fires burned a deep shade of emerald green in the bronze brazier. Olive trees with their twisted trunks and bountiful green leaves were in bloom all around me. The air was redolent with the smells of sea salt, perfumed oils, and myrrh. The sky was a light shade of blue so pale it could nearly be colorless, and there were literally only two thin clouds in the sky.

  Stepping cautiously with my sandaled feet over the loose rocks of the shore, I made my way up the hill, bunching the fabric of my violet-hued tunic in my hands as I did so.

  My heart raced wildly, and my mouth felt terribly dry. Euryale, my eldest sister, commented on my appearance this morning. I was never dirty or lazy with my looks, but I had taken extra care to look nice. I’d pinned my curls back into a flowing wave and chosen my very best fabric to wrap myself in. I’d also worn my brass bracelets, gifts from Father, whom I’d never actually met in person, though Mother spoke of him endlessly and with much fondness. I wasn’t exactly sure why Mother and Father were no longer together, as it was quite evident even to my young mind that she loved him still.

  But something had happened that’d forced Mother to take my sisters and me from the island of Sarpedon mere days after my birth. I often thought Euryale, being eldest, knew why, but if so, she’d never shared it with me and only grew strangely quiet before swiftly switching subjects.

  Anyway, I did not know Father, but he still wrote to us now and then and even, at times, sent marvelous gifts, like my bracelets. They jingled as I walked, sounding like a soft lullaby in the lush Mediterranean breeze.

  I was cresting the hill when I finally spotted the boy. He looked to be not much older than my own twelve years. Thirteen, maybe fourteen at most. He had brown hair and piercing brown eyes, which seemed ridiculous to say since most brown eyes tended to be bland and average at best. But his would turn a shade of glittering bronze when the sun struck them. And though his face was dirt smudged, he had quite a nice one. Strong of jaw, even now, with a slightly long nose and wide mouth that he would no doubt grow into when he got older. His olive-toned skin glistened with sweat from the already sticky humidity of the day and made me think of a shade between gold and bronze.

  With my pulse pounding furiously in the side of my neck, I made a point of looking back at him this morning. I was the only one in the village who had wings, and I was almost certain that was why he’d noticed me. I did not try to hide my wings. Usually, I would ignore his penetrating probe but not today. Today I fixed a smile upon my face, ignored the wild beating of my heart, and marched straight toward him.

  He was gape-jawed, staring at me in what appeared to be wonder and incredulity. I stopped when I was but mere inches from him. Though he was still covered in soot and ashes, he did not smell dirty but of wildflowers. It was lovely.

  “Hello, boy,” I said raising my chin and looking him in the eye. “I am Medusa. Who are you?”

  He blinked, glanced both ways, then lightly snickered as he said, “In all my days, I never imagined you’d actually decide to notice me.”

  I grinned. “And why is that?”

  “Because you are you and I am me.” He shrugged.

  “You mean, I am rich and you are poor.”

  His brows lifted a little. “That. And more. You are also very pretty, and I am a gangly boy of fourteen with nothing to offer you.”

  He spoke as though I’d asked him to become my betrothed. He was a ridiculous boy. Humor pulsed through me, and I liked him even more. He was like no one I’d ever known before, which made him a rare treasure.

  I felt my smile growing wider. “But you do have something to offer.”

  He was leaning with his ankles crossed against the side of the temple and gave me a thin-lipped and wary look. “And that is?”

  His voice rang with hesitancy. Looking around us, I noted the curious glances of the villagers passing by. The boy wasn’t exactly a pariah, but everyone in the village knew he had no family. He was a street urchin, begging for handouts more often as not and working odd jobs here and there, whatever could earn him a little coin. But I’d seen him filch a pomegranate once when the fruit vendor wasn’t looking.

  “Your hand and your name,” I finally said.

  It was his turn to chuckle. He pushed away from the wall with his shoulder. “That, at least, I can offer enthusiastically.” Holding out his hand toward me, he said, “I am called Perseus, but you may call me Percy. All my friends do.”

  I was sure my smile had reached my eyes. A dazed look passed over his handsome face, and in a bewildered-sounding voice, he said, “Gods, you have an incredible smile.” He gave himself a swift shake and shook his head, almost as though he wasn’t sure why he’d said that aloud.

  I pretended not to notice his bashfulness and took his hand. His fingers were long and very warm, and my palm tingled at their touch. His was the first male hand I’d ever known. “You will be my friend, Percy. And because we are friends, I have brought my mother’s sewing needle to repair the holes in your chiton. Because that’s what friends do. So sit and look pretty and do not fidget,” I commanded with an imperious finger point at the ground.

  He looked flummoxed at first by my bossiness, but after less than a minute, he gave a hearty laugh and plopped upon the ground, crisscrossing his legs. “Yes, ma’am!”

  I laughed, and it felt wonderful.

  I had a friend. My very first friend—Perseus. And I just knew that he and I were destined to be friends forever.

  Chapter 2

  Medusa

  “I am hungry!” Perseus growled the next week, kicking at a rock with his unsandaled foot and sending it skittering along the sea’s surface a moment before it finally sank beneath its waves.

  I glanced at him and pursed my lips. We’d spent every day together, as much time as we possibly could. Mother loved how attentive I was being to the goddess, and I loved the fact that neither she nor my nosy sisters questioned why I’d suddenly become so much more religious in recent days.

  “Percy,” I said softly. We continued to stroll idly along the rocky beach, hand in hand. He said it was so that I would not take a fall, which, I’d explained quite patiently, was impossible considering I had wings and all, but he would not take no for an answer. He was positively protective of me. I rather liked having a friend.

  “Hmm,” he muttered with a scowl upon his face before kicking at a rock with the toe of his shoe.

  I flashed him a quick smile as I watched that thing bounce once, twice, before landing with a splash into the water and sinking quickly away from sight. “How many days has it been since you’ve eaten?”

  We stopped walking, and a pained look crossed his face. A shyness crept around his eyes, and his lips thinned to near nonexistence.

  “Percy, spit it out,” I commanded when I realized my friend was clamming up on me.

  His shoulders slumped. “Four days. I thought I’d caugh
t a rat in my trap the other night, but the bloody thing had chewed right through the snare and ran off to freedom. I’ve had no jobs since, and my stomach is so empty I feel like howling.”

  Finally dropping my hand, he grabbed hold of his stomach and turned fully toward the rolling waters of the crystal-blue seas. The air smelled of brine and roasted octopus, the scent coming in from the bluffs above us, where someone was making their dinner. Even my own tummy grumbled at the delicious scent, and I’d eaten quite well this morning.

  “Why would he do this to me?” Perseus asked softly.

  My brows dropped, and I glanced side-eyed at my friend. His face was pensive, his eyes shaded through with pain so sharp it cut straight through me like a fine knife. “Why would who do what to you?”

  I gently laid my hand upon his shoulder blade. He twitched before heaving a long and weary sigh and looking back at me. The haunted look was gone, but the pain remained.

  “My father. All but abandoned me in this world of mortals.”

  I gasped. “You are the child of a god too?”

  I couldn’t begin to explain the joy that suddenly burst through me at the thought that my sisters and I were not alone in this place. The idea that there could possibly be others who understood the inherent privilege and curse of being bred of the gods was both exciting and overwhelming.