My father would be in a good mood if the bulls were singing, insofar as he was ever in a good mood these days. I might be able to talk with him, change his mind. I picked up my skirts and ran, my brother’s laughter echoing in my ears.
Among my father’s most prized possessions were a pair of bull statues forged from bronze, empty as drums, created using long-forgotten techniques from Egypt. Through a trapdoor on the back, prisoners were thrown into the hollow bellies and a fire kindled underneath. As the prisoners roasted to death, their screams were transformed through cunning artistry into low melodies that exuded from the mouths of the bulls, a song like a war horn. It was a death that Aeetes reserved for his direst enemies—which seemed to be everyone these days.
The guards surged forward at my approach, then took their hands from the pommels of their swords when they saw that it was only the princess. Aeetes turned his golden eyes upon me. They were a sign of his descent from Helios-Ra-Tabiti, the same as mine.
The Golden Fleece lay across his shoulders, its color pale and washed out compared with the brightness of his eyes. I recalled the story of its origin: the Fleece had been harvested from one of the Sheep of the Sun, a divine ram sent by the cloud goddess Nephele to protect her children Phrixus and Helle from their cruel stepmother, Ino. After explaining why he had come, the ram spirited the children away across the sea to Qulha. Though Helle died during the journey, Phrixus sacrificed the ram in gratitude and made the Golden Fleece from its pelt. Then Phrixus gave the Fleece to Aeetes in exchange for my sister Chalciope’s hand in marriage.
I didn’t doubt that an animal could fly across the sky and speak with a human voice. What strained my credulity was the idea that parents could love their children so much.
Aeetes eyed me like a serpent about to strike, resting a possessive hand on his treasure. Courtiers often praised the beauty of the Golden Fleece, but I thought its sheen evoked the oily glimmer of poison.
“Is it true that I am to be married to Absyrtos?” I demanded.
“Yes,” Aeetes said simply, then turned his gaze back to the singing bulls.
“Why?” I asked, my voice cracking in desperation. “I don’t want to marry him.”
Aeetes laughed, a horrible sound. “Girl, that matters little. If youwant”—he drew the word out mockingly—“to do things such as eat, drink, or breathe air aboveground, you will do as I bid. I won’t have another traitorous son-in-law scheming to take what’s mine, and you’re too useful to lose. No, I will wed you to my heir and keep you here.”
The walls seemed to loom higher above me, and a noose closed around my neck. The guards shifted uncomfortably behind Aeetes, not inclined to help lest they draw upon themselves the wrath of the king. My tongue was like a dead fish in my mouth; I could not speak.
“What?” Aeetes continued with a sneer. “Do you think that because he’s your brother the gods will frown on the marriage? We are nearly gods ourselves, we Heliades, and do what we like. If you think I am a monster, oh, child, you should meet my brother Perses. Even now he lies in wait, searching for my weaknesses. He would take this kingdom for his own if I ever relaxed my grip, and then you would be very sorry indeed. He would raze Qulha to the ground to enrich himself.”
Aeetes pulled the Fleece closer, as if for reassurance.
“You won’t become like your cousin Ariadne,” Aeetes continued. He was no longer looking at me but at the bronze bulls, which had gone ominously silent. “Ariadne betrayed her father and killed his Minotaur and ran off with the handsome young Theseus. He left Ariadne on a deserted island to die, you know. So it goes for faithless girls who disobey their fathers.”
I recalled a different ending to Ariadne’s story, one in which she became the wife of the god Dionysus and a goddess herself. Some of our relatives on the isle of Lemnos even claimed descent from her. But even if I could speak, I would not dare say such things to my father. To contradict Aeetes was to invite great danger.
My father’s eyes cut to me. “I may not possess a Minotaur, but I do have a girl who can call the moon into the noonday sky and turn back fire. A marvel and a useful weapon. So I will keep you close.”
Now I saw the answer to a conundrum that had long perplexed me: Why Aeetes allowed me to run a temple to his divinized, despised ex-wife. It was a declaration of my power, and by extension, his own. Why did he care if people worshipped Hekate’s name, so long as they feared his?
Unable to hold myself back, I began to speak. “But, Father—”
“SILENCE!”Aeetes roared, and this time swung his fist at me, large as a bear’s paw. I ducked, the wind of its passage rustling my hair.
Before Aeetes could swing again, I was running. I did not stop until I was safely back in my chambers, where I slumped against the wall and slid to the floor, hiding my face in my hands.
At the end of my days, I would become a goddess and unite with my mother—or so I hoped. But I had a whole human lifetime to live before then, and in truth it hadn’t seemed so bad at first. I’d promised Hekate heirs, and she would surely bless me for it. Moreover, I looked forward to the chance to create the family I never had.
Now all of that was thrown into doubt. I’d wanted love and family, but now I was faced with a distorted version of my wish: My husband would be my own hideous brother, and my children, the twisted offspring of incest. I’d sworn to never again be that girl weeping in the garden, but now it seemed I would never leave it.
Such was my distress that I might have hanged myself or swallowed poison, but a presence like a hand on my shoulder stopped me.Don’t,a voice within me whispered.Don’t throw away your one mortal life.
Yes. I couldn’t cut my life short; I needed to think of something else.
My mind churned through possible solutions like a waterwheel. Absyrtos would force me to give up the temple of Hekate when we married, but perhaps I could take refuge there for a short time. No, that would only make the priestesses targets of his anger, a monstrous injustice. Or perhaps I could brew a love potion to force Absyrtos to fall for someone else and marry her instead. But I dismissed the idea almost at once; a love spell would not solve anything, because love had no place in this arrangement.
Escape was tempting, but no ship or caravan would willingly take the king’s daughter. A disguise was possible, but if I used witchcraft to transform my appearance, I might lose both my true shape and my mind forever. Besides, where would I go? I’d never left the borders of Qulha. I’d barely left the city.
A sound in the hallway interrupted my thoughts. It was the voice of Zaidar, chief of the palace guard. Odd—what in the world would bring Zaidar to the women’s quarters so late at night?
Then I heard another voice, one that sent me running out of bed despite the cold of the flagstones. There in the hallway, wearing a traveling cloak and hastily braided hair, stood my sister, Chalciope.
4
Jason
