From the palace came shouting and the sound of feet running, and a group of men in armor spilled out into the courtyard. They were trailed by someone who looked like an older, crueler version of Aeetes.
This must be Perses, who had taken Qulha and drained it to a husk, if what I’d seen on the way in was any indication. Even my cruel father had not injured the spirit of the land itself.
“I am Medea,” I declared, “daughter of Aeetes and rightful queen of this land. Now tell me where Chalciope is.”
Perses hissed through his teeth. They were yellowed, as were his eyes. The blood of the sun ran thin in him, and he had the same bitter, grasping quality to his nature as Aeetes. Miasma lay over him like a cloak.
“Ah, you must be his other spawn,” Perses said. “The lost daughter.”
I dipped my head and made a polite curtsy. “The one and only. Now tell me where Chalciope is.”
She languished somewhere in the prisons below the palace, in that long and labyrinthine darkness. I pictured her thin and pale from too long underground, and years older than when I’d seen her last. She would blink in the sudden spill of light as I threw open the door, then cry out in relief when she saw who stood there. Chalciope would take my hand as I drew her backinto freedom, and together, we would start the long process of restoring Qulha.
Perses looked at me in disgust. “Kill her,” he ordered the milling guards.
“You might not find that as easy as you think,” I replied.
He did not, could not, know the nature of the spear I held. In a moment, it was up over the lip of the chariot’s podium and in the air. Even without its divine magic, I was not too bad a throw. In a flash, the spear passed through one soldier’s throat and lodged in the chest of another, before yanking itself free and flying back to my hand.
The rest of the guards halted, staring at their fallen comrades, unsure of how to proceed. A few of them inched closer, and the dragons rose up hissing. At my side, Lailaps began to bark.
“What are you waiting for!?” Perses shrieked, and I saw again the echo of Aeetes in him. My defiance incensed him; he would dominate anything he could and destroy whatever he could not. “Kill her!”
I laughed, throwing back my head. “Oh, dear Uncle, it’s true that one of us will die here today. But it won’t be me.”
His shrill voice did not perturb me; my mind was clear and calm. The spear was in my hand, but to cast it at Perses himself would be to invite miasma; he was still my uncle, after all. Fortunately, I was not alone.
I reached down and unhooked the dragons from the chariot. Xanthe and Hippos surged forward with cries of joy, fangs out. The guards, their nerve shattered, broke and ran. Perses screamed as Xanthe got him in her jaws.
Once, I swore that I would never again be that helpless little girl weeping alone in the garden. This oath, at least, I was able to keep. As I stood there, among the flowers and the flowing rivers, I knew that I had at last become the queen I was always meant to be.
83
Medea
Fifty years later, I look up from my deathbed at the sliver of a moon that drifts through the dark blue. Only the smallest crescent, like an eye beginning to open. The newborn moon marks the beginning of the month, and there will be feasts in the city below. In Corinth they called it the noumenia, but people everywhere celebrate the moment when the shining moon returns from darkness. I rarely had time to appreciate such celebrations throughout the long years of my rule, but now, at life’s edge, there is nothing to interrupt my enjoyment.
During the day, a parade of my grandchildren and great-grandchildren passed by my bedside to pay their respects, not to mention my grand-nieces and -nephews, offspring of Chalciope’s sons. Some of them kissed my hand or murmured last words, and I laid my blessing on each in turn. I attended their births, most of them, and mourn that I will not see what they do with their lives. But it is time for me to rest.
Chalciope sits by my bedside, even older and more withered than I. She shoos away Lailaps when he puts his paws up on the bed, still in his prime despite all these years. Utterly unaware, as always, of his own divine nature.
My son Medus kneels by the other side of my bed, laying a cool cloth over my forehead. My dear boy. How impossibly wondrous he seemed when he was born, my Medus, like a rainbow after astorm. So full of life and energy, fascinated by everything. It made me glad that Aeetes was dead and Perses after him, so that this child could run about free from fear.
Though he had a baby name that everyone used when he was small, upon his tenth birthday, I told my son that the time had come to choose his own name and direction in life. Whatever he decided, he would have my support. It was a custom neither Greek nor Qulhan, and Chalciope certainly teased me for it. But I wanted to do things differently.
I would not use my youngest son as my own father had used me—as a tool and a weapon. He would not be like Aeetes, clinging to a dirty pelt as evidence of a parent’s love. Jason’s mother had used him for power, and Atalanta’s father exploited her for status, and all came to grief because of it. No, I would not make the same mistake. This child, at least, would grow up secure in the evidence of his mother’s love.
“Medus,” he said, blinking his golden eyes. “That’s the name I want. Like you, Mama.”
Wiping the tears from my eyes, I vowed in that moment to become the sort of person who was worthy of such an honor.
Where will you go... after?Atalanta asked me once.
If I could, I would gesture at the white stone walls of Aea and the temple of Hekate. And beyond that the borders of Qulha, secure against invasion, encircling a country grown wealthy with trade. No one goes hungry here, and the kingdom is so safe that a young woman bedecked with jewels can walk from one end to the other without fear.
They call themselves the Medes now, after myself and my son. A token of esteem.
It helped to be a witch, to see the connections between all living things. Certainly my witchcraft was an asset once I ascended the throne of Qulha and set about putting the kingdom to rightswith Chalciope’s help. Now, though, I scarcely use my magic anymore. Not out of shame, but because I find that life bends itself to my wishes without conscious effort.
