She was so fragile, this pale woman lying unconscious on my iron slab. I’d placed furs on the metal, but still, it felt like a paltryhaven for someone so beautiful. I’d promised to take care of her, but could I really?
Perhaps not by myself, but I wasn’t alone. Not here, not ever.
The heavy stone door slid open. My sister stepped inside, carrying a bundle of soft wool and a small glass bowl. “How is she doing?”
“The death energy seems to be helping her,” I replied, “but she hasn’t woken.”
Daphne set the bowl on a stone ledge. She stepped closer, observing the bruising on the broken wrist. It had started to slowly fade since I’d brought her to my quarters, but it wasn’t enough.
“If the lake welcomed her to Asphodelia, then it’s here that she belongs,” Daphne said, reaching into her bundle and retrieving a cloth.
“The water told me to find her. It told me to care for her.”
“Then you can rest at ease. The lake knows best.”
Daphne dipped her cloth into the glass bowl. Asphodel oil, the kind Iaso used in the infirmary. My sister was very resourceful. “Now, let me soothe the break.”
The woman on the slab shifted. Her chest rose and fell in a jagged gasp. Her eyelids fluttered against the heavy pull of unconsciousness.
The currents beneath my skin spiked in sudden warning. “Daphne, wait—”
Daphne’s fingers brushed the woman’s bruised wrist.
A shockwave of pure death snapped through the air. Daphne let out a sharp cry of pain and yanked her hand back. I stepped forward to her side, closing the distance.
Where Daphne had touched her, the warm flesh of my sister’s hand turned an ashen grey. The tissue withered instantly, flaking away like dry dust. In a single second, her skin rotted completely. Only the metal vessel my father had built remained perfectly intact. The flesh the Moirae had woven was gone.
The woman bolted upright. Her eyes snapped open, wild and frantic. She recoiled and tucked her hands against her chest. “Don’t!” she shrieked, shaking her head so violently I was afraid she’d hurt herself. “Don’t touch me! It rots! Everything rots!”
For the longest time, Daphne didn’t move. Instead, she pressed her lips together so tightly they went white. What did she remember from the time she had died?
Too much, perhaps. No doubt, this was what the lake had wanted to warn me about.
“Go to Iaso,” I told Daphne, gently guiding her back a step. “Have the medusa help you. I will stay with her.”
Daphne gave the terrified woman one last glance, then hurried from the chamber. The heavy stone door sealed shut behind her.
The woman remained pressed against the wall, her knees pulled tight to her chest. Surrounded by the vastness of my quarters, she looked entirely too small. Her gaze dropped to my arms, tracking the currents of death energy shifting beneath my skin.
“What are you?” she choked out, her eyes wide and filled with tears. “Who are you?”
“I am Aion,” I replied, staying where I was, giving her space. “Son of Charon. The guardian of Asphodelia.”
She let out a broken, breathless sound. “Asphodelia. The city of the dead. Of the Blighted Ones.”
“I suppose you could call it that, yes,” I tentatively offered. “And… You? What is your name?”
For a few moments, I thought she wouldn’t answer. But she was stronger than she seemed, stronger than her pallor suggested. “I am Medea,” she offered at last.
“Medea.” I turned the name over in my mind, committing the shape of it to memory. “You are safe here, Medea.”
“I am never safe,” she snapped. “Neither are you. Neither is anyone. Not from me.”
“My sister will recover,” I tried to assure her. “You don’t need to be afraid.”
It was true. Between Iaso’s talents and our home’s death energy, Daphne would be fine. But Medea didn’t believe me. “How can I not be? Even here… Even here, I can only kill.”
She tried to push herself away from the wall, her movements clumsy and desperate. As she put weight on her broken wrist, the bone shifted. She let out a cry of agony and pitched forward, tumbling toward the floor.
