When my eyes fell upon the cursed pelt glittering in the torchlight, my lips drew back from my teeth in a snarl.
“Everything in this kingdom belongs to Aeetes,” Zaidar said wearily. “Everything.”
My anger boiled over, black and hot. I wanted to tear downAeetes from his high throne, turnhiminto a little green snake so that he might know what it felt like to be small. But I would be cut down before I could get near enough to do any of this. Aeetes was a king with armies at his command, and I was only a lone woman, even if I was a witch.
I thought of our family: Chalciope’s mother divorced; mine dead in childbirth, though divinely ascended; his current wife, Idyia, a pale shadow after birthing his heir, Absyrtos. My father ruined the lives of any women he came near, and I did not flatter myself that I would be the exception.
I had to free myself from his shadow, or else perish in the attempt.
After Zaidar escorted me back to my rooms, I threw on my cloak and fled to the seashore. These long walks cooled my anxious mind and brought me closer to the earth from which all magic came. But today, the sea did nothing to soothe my rage, and the slight breath of freedom only emphasized my captivity.
Then I looked up and saw something along the beach that stopped my meandering thoughts short.
The smooth expanse of the beach was disrupted by a ragged tangle of wood, like a tumble of sticks. I recognized the hull of a ship, half smashed. Dark shapes lay sprawled across the sand.
People.
I broke into a run.
Falling to my knees by the closest, I saw he had lean muscles like ropes and skin browned from the sun. Though his eyes were closed and his breath shallow, he was not dead. But he would be soon if he could not flee, because my father had issued an order to kill the crew of any shipwrecked vessel found upon our shores.
I looked down at the unconscious sailor and felt an unfamiliarstirring in my belly. Sympathy. These men had survived a storm, only to have the bad fortune of washing ashore in Aeetes’s domain. My chest tightened; I knew what it was like to live a life measured out by my father’s wrath.
These sailors were each some woman’s son. They were people with thoughts and feelings, and inner lives that would be tragically cut short if I did not act.
A strange wind rose within me—magic, seeking its expression. I ran to the dunes and plucked a few yellow flowers that I knew would clear the lungs and restore breath. I hurried back to the sailor and stuffed them in his mouth, whispering a charm. The man came awake with a gasp, choking for air.
“Do not come into the city,” I said, laying a finger on his lips. “Stay on the outskirts and the necropolis, or King Aeetes will kill you. There will be food for you at the temple of Hekate. Find it and then make your way home.”
Eyes wide, the man nodded uncertainly. Silently I blessed Melanippe, who had the habit of leaving out roasted offerings on the shrine that faced the road, so that the poor might avail themselves of good meat. An act of devotion to the goddess, she said. Only now did I truly appreciate it.
I went to the next sailor and did the same. He stared at me in awe, then followed after his brethren in the direction of the city.
Watching him go, my chest felt much lighter. I could not change the circumstances that bound me, but I could do this. My act of mercy was also an act of defiance, a refusal of Aeetes’s orders, and it made my cage feel just a little more spacious.
My mother’s words sounded in my mind:If you have lived a life worth immortalizing, I will give you apotheosis,and you will become a goddess.
The memory of the sailors’ faces rose up in my mind. I mightbecome a goddess someday, but in those men’s eyes, I already was one.
That night, I heard Chalciope’s voice outside my chamber door, calling my name. Footsteps whispered over the flagstones, and a weight settled on the edge of my bed.
“I should have paid more attention to the work you were doing at the temple of Hekate,” Chalciope said. “When you said you made the dragon for me, I didn’t understand, I didn’t appreciate it as I should have.”
Under my blankets I lay unspeaking, wondering why she had come.
“I wish you could have met your aunt, Circe,” Chalciope said after a long pause. “I think you would have liked her. She was like you, strong in magic. A witch.”
The word sent a thrill down my spine, like a chime being struck. “Circe? Why have I never heard of her before?”
“Why do you think? Father, of course. He banished Circe to an island in the western sea and then forbade any mention of her existence. She is a great sorceress and likes to turn men into pigs. She would marvel at your dragon, I am sure.”
“The dragon isn’t mine anymore,” I said, tears prickling my eyes once more. Even the existence of a faraway witch-aunt could not distract me from the loss of my friend.
“I understand,” Chalciope said. “Father has taken much from me too.” She drew in a deep, ragged breath before continuing. “He killed them, my husband and my sons. He said my husband planned treason, plotting to take back the Golden Fleece. Phrixus never dreamed of such a thing, but Father killed him anyway.
“And my sons. Argus, Cytissorus, Phrontis, and Melas, mysweet, innocent boys.” Chalciope’s voice cracked with grief. “Aeetes put them in a boat without oars, with only an old tutor to look after them. He wouldn’t shed the blood of his own kin, he said, for fear of miasma. But neither could he let the sons of a traitor live.”
Horrified, I sat up and took her hands in mine. Though I’d puzzled at the absence of Chalciope’s sons and husband, never in my wildest imaginings had I dreamed of something like this.
