“Are the signs so bad?” I asked, nails biting into my palms. “Did something terrible happen to Procris?”
Medea shook her head. “No, the signs are neither good nor bad—they’re nothing but nonsense. Pure gibberish.”
Suddenly Medea let out a piercing cry, folding in on herself. Her chest began to heave, breath coming in short spurts. Her golden eyes glinted with tears. “Why can’t I read the signs? What’s happening?”
Other members of the crew were turning to stare at us. I moved at once to shield Medea from their gaze, dragging her behind a mound of folded sails. This was the closest one could get to privacy on the narrow confines of a ship.
“Nothing means anything,” Medea cried. “Nothing makes sense.”
She raked her nails through her hair.
“It is gone! My magic is gone!”
25
Medea
It was as though my liver had absconded or I had woken up without a nose. Like reaching out for a precious possession only to find that I had no hand. No, even this was inaccurate—a person could survive without a hand, but I could not keep living without my magic, the only gift my mother had ever given me, the only artifact of her love. Not to mention the only weapon I possessed in a hostile and dangerous world.
The deck spun around me. Like the hole where a tooth had been, the core of magic that made my incantations more than mere words and my elixirs more than the sum of their ingredients... was gone.
What would become of me? A princess without a kingdom, a witch without power. Would Jason even want me as a wife?
What was I if this too had been taken from me?
I reached up to claw my face in grief, but strong hands caught mine.
“Get ahold of yourself,” a firm voice demanded. I looked up into the face of the warrior Atalanta. “The whole ship is going to come running if you don’t stop wailing like a sick cat.”
I was temporarily shocked out of my tears. “Asick cat?”
“It’s what you sound like.”
“How dare you!” I drew myself up, briefly forgetting my loss. “I ought to turn you into a beetle for the insult.”
“Not an insult, just a description. And you’re not going to be turning anyone into anything if you don’t have your magic.”
An outraged gasp escaped me, though she did have a point.
“Good. Better anger than wailing,” Atalanta observed. “Panic never saved anyone. If you want out of the snare, stop thrashing.” Her hands were on my shoulders. Her placid gray eyes burned into mine. “Now, use your brain for its intended purpose andthink. Magic isn’t something you can misplace, and it wouldn’t fall out through a hole in your pocket. So what happened?”
In truth, I had no idea. I hadn’t even known such a thingcouldhappen, and scarcely dared to hazard a guess why. The bloody business with Absyrtos jumped to the forefront of my mind, as did the coup against Aeetes. Or perhaps it was the departure from my native land, from the soil that had nurtured me, which I would never walk upon again. I sent up an anguished prayer to Hekate, hoping that somehow she might hear me.
Whatever happened, I need not face it alone. Through my lashes, I appraised Atalanta. She was tall, muscled like a greyhound, and clad in a short chiton that scarcely covered her knees. The sun had kissed her skin to a bronze hue, so that her cheeks always seemed to have a light flush. And I had already seen how well she could fight. Yes, she would be a powerful ally.
“Promise me”—I grabbed Atalanta’s hands, startling her—“that you will help me get back to my magic. Then I’ll help you find Procris.”
Unreadable emotion flickered over Atalanta’s face. To my enormous relief, she nodded.
“I swear it,” she said. “On the name of Artemis, the goddess I worship.”
She might have said more, but our conversation was cut short by a cry from Tiphys, the navigator. We had come within sight of land.
The ship creaked as the entire crew, Atalanta and myself included, ran to the railing. We had passed through the Hellespont some time ago, and all of us were looking forward to a night not spent on the deck of a heaving ship now that we were in friendlier territory. Vegetation flourished along the shore, and beyond were the roofs of a distant town. Another strange sight came into view: dozens and dozens of little stone piles, one after another, which put me in mind of the necropolis outside Aea. A graveyard, a large one for such a small island.
The ship pulled into a cove, and my eyes fell upon the ranks of warriors assembled along the beach. They were waiting for us, the people of this place, spears in hand and armor glinting in the sun.
A ripple ran through the Argonauts. They had not come to fight, but they would do whatever was necessary to survive.
