Soul of Stone: Rebels of Olympus, #2

By Michele Amitrani

Every legend hides a truth as dangerous as a double-edged sword.

 

On the far island of Sarpedon, a snake-haired she-monster known to inhabitants as the Soul of Stone turns people into statues. For decades, heroes from all over Greece have been trying to put an end to her evil, and for decades her collection of statues has grown, soul by soul.

 

When Panacea, a young Amazon warrior with a talent for potions, learns her brother has been killed by the monster, she sails to Sarpedon to seek revenge. But in the killer's cave, Panacea makes a stunning discovery that leaves her questioning everything she believes to be true.

 

Torn between bravery and fear, between loyalty and treachery, Panacea must reconcile herself to the knowledge that ending a life is easy, while preserving one is hard.

 

Vengeance is an art—but is she willing to bathe her soul in Hellfire in order to master it?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michele Amitrani
• Release date: Nov 13, 2020
• ISBN: 9781988770123

Book preview

1

THE KING AND THE HEALER

Iwalk toward the golden palace, a much sought-after cure hidden in my travel sack. The colossal gate swings open as I approach, and the first person I see on the other side is the queen herself, there to greet me.

I regard her quickly. She is long past her prime; her hair is more white than black. She wears a heavy line of olive oil and charcoal around her eyes to darken them and beetroot to give a reddish-pink hue to her cheeks and lips.

Welcome to my house, Panacea, Healer of a Thousand Lands. Her wide smile does nothing to conceal the shadows that besiege her eyes. We are honored to have you.

I’m glad you called, my queen, I say, bowing my head. I hope to be helpful.

You must be tired, for you have journeyed a great distance. She turns toward a group of slaves waiting by the entrance. I have instructed them to take care of your needs. She gestures at a tall, handsome, middle-aged man who bows before me. Pollonio, she says, bring Panacea to her chamber. Food and fresh clothes are waiting at—

Thank you, but I won’t need any of that, I interrupt her. I’m ready. Please take me to him.

The queen frowns. She does not hide her surprise at my boldness. As you wish, she says dryly. This way.

We walk into a vast garden graced by a beautiful collection of everlasting chrysalis flowers and rare adamantine lilies. The air smells of damp earth and pine resin.

As we approach the most prominent building inside the property, I note that heavily armored guards stand in front of every entrance.

What is the king’s condition? I ask as I look at the gold and silver and expensive pottery displayed everywhere.

He’s getting weaker and weaker by the day, the queen says, eyes cast down. We have tried everything. I’ve summoned healers from Persia, Egypt, and from north and south of the Indus River. Nothing worked. You are our last hope.

I understand your pain, I tell her as I smile reassuringly. Don’t worry. I’ll do everything in my power to ensure the king lives.

Thank you, Panacea. I have instructed the workers of the palace to follow your orders as if they were given by myself. You have at your disposal the best physicians, potion makers, herbalists, and healers the city has to offer.

You’re kind, but I won’t need them. I’ve everything I need inside my sack. I shake my travel bag and show it to her.

We walk into the hallway that brings us to the king’s chambers. The passage is flanked by countless images depicting the heroic deeds that made him one of the greatest heroes of the civilized world.

At the end of the hallway there is a wooden door guarded by a soldier, and past the door a huge chamber as opulent as the rest of the palace. On the far side of the room, the dying king lies on a colossal bed whose finely crafted frame is of polished cypress. He is half-naked, his skin more gray than pink, and his veins are thin and barely visible. My gaze focuses on his bare chest. Three black leeches as long as my hand are fattening with his blood.

A short, white-bearded healer stands as we enter the chamber. Behind him are a dozen slaves, standing motionless and looking miserable.

My queen, the healer greets her. I’m afraid there are no developments since the last time you came. I have made sure the king is—

Remove those bloodsuckers from my patient at once, I command the healer. He looks at me stunned, as if he hadn’t noticed there was another person besides the queen.

Who is this? he asks, his eyes lingering on me.

Tallamo, this is Panacea, the healer I told you about. She has just arrived and asked to see the king. She has my full trust.

But, your majesty, the healer says, gaping at his ruler. These bloodsuckers are the only thing that keeps him breathing.

I step forward and face the healer. According to whom?

According to me, Tallamo says, still looking at his queen.

Then, I’m surprised the king still breathes. I turn and stare at the queen. I thought I had full license over the king’s treatment. Was I mistaken?

The queen inhales sharply, then looks at Tallamo. Do as she asks.

The old healer shakes his head but removes the leeches.

I cover the distance that separates me from the bed, assess the king’s breathing, then busy myself with the contents of my sack. I take parabellos lotion and