“We have an answer for you, queen of the gods. What will you do to hear it?”
“I’ll give you anything.” Hera’s face contorted and filled with desperation as she dropped down to her knees, her fury evaporating. She was weak-minded and easy to manipulate. The sisters enjoyed toying with her as the greatqueen of the godshad no idea that she was the mouse. Hera’s face was suddenly open and pleading, her hands going from her hips to wrap around her waist, as if she wanted to hold herself together.
“You will take this answer from us and never seek us again.” Atropos grinned and Lachesis followed suit. She reached up a long, yellow nail, and Hera bit back a scream as she plucked out her eye, handing it rather unceremoniously to Clotho. The sister smirked, unable to hide her amusement at Hera’s nauseated expression, and popped it in while blinking rapidly. The sisters looked at one another, unimpeded by the fact that only one of them had an eye, and turned back to face Hera.
“Yes!” Hera cried.
The wind picked up in the hall, beginning to spin around in a vortex that pulled Hera’s hair from her braid and forced her down on the ground. She covered her head with her hands and felt the cool sting of the mosaicked floor cutting into her cheek, leaving the barest flecks of golden ichor on the stones. The sisters started to levitate, coming a few feet off the ground as their voices drowned out the sound of the hollowing wind.
“Listen now, Hera, Wife of Zeus,
If it is the god’s respect that you seek,
The best place to find it is in a sheep.
One that is a god, either young or old,
A single, sacrificial ram—made of gold.”
Hera tried to look up, blinking against the vortex as she propped herself on one hand. The sisters remained in the air, staring straight ahead and ignoring her entirely. Hera ran over their words in her mind, repeating them to herself, trying to understand what they meant.
“That’s all I have to do?” she shouted up at the spectral forms of the sisters, and her eyes widened in panic as they began to fade.
“Stop!” Hera screamed out again, coming back up to her knees and raising her hands above her head, as if she could catch them. “Answer me. What good is this riddle? Is that all I have to do?”
The Fates’s forms stopped fading for a moment, and the wind died down. Hera stood, wobbling, her movements hesitant as if she was standing on a ship. She thought that she might get an answer, and her heart leapt. When the Fates opened their mouths again, one voice ringing out, it sent shivers down Hera’s spine. Their empty faces began shining brighter than the sun, causing Hera to fall back to the floor and shield her eyes with her hands.
“Listen now, Hera, Wife of Zeus,
If it is the god’s respect that you seek,
The best place to find it is in a sheep.
One that is a god, either young or old,
A single, sacrificial ram—made of gold.”
They repeated the same prophecy, the same answer, with not even a change in inflection to decipher any additional meaning. The wind picked up once more, spinning around the room, and nearly ripping the fabric from Hera’s body—until it suddenly stopped. The noise died down, and the atmosphere became still. Hera was afraid to move for a few moments, the queen of the gods reduced to a shriveling and shivering mess on the floor. After she realized that she was alone in the hall, Hera slowly stood up.
The Fates were gone. The hall was empty, and there was not a single thing misplaced. There were still sticks of incense that were burning in one corner, remarkably not blown out by the wind. Hera looked around and felt her face burning in shame, grateful that no one else had been around to witness her outburst and fear.
Hera spent a few minutes smoothing out her peplos, readjusting the drape across her shoulder, and re-pinning a garish pin. She tied her braid and adjusted her sandals before turning on her heel and walking quickly out of the Fates’ estate. There was a heaviness in the air around her, but she was careful to walk slowly, with her shoulders tossed back and her head held high. There would be nothing out of place in her appearance to betray the fear that had been painted across her face mere moments earlier.
The front doors swung open for her, and she took a step back in surprise before regaining her false confidence and striding away. Hera held her composure until the estate was out of sight, and then she dissolved on the wind. Hera whisked up and out of the Underworld as quickly as she could, hurrying her way back to Mt. Olympus as her thoughts ran rampant.
A golden ram? A god? Is that all it would take? I have to sacrifice a golden ram…but where… I’ve never even heard of such a thing.
Hera was consumed as she wound her way up the mountainside, embracing the warm feeling of the sunlight. She was never comfortable in the Underworld. Everything about it made her skin crawl. However, only the Fates could answer her question and possibly help her find a salve for the sting of defeat that Nyx and Erebus had left behind. It sounded easy enough…if all she had to do was sacrifice a golden ram.
But where do they expect me tofindone?
Hera landed at the top of Mt. Olympus, walking towards her husband’s throne room as a deadly plan took shape in her mind. It was easy to find a god. The earth was full of them now… and if she didn’t know where to find a golden ram—she could always make one.
3
Aeëtes was hot. While the sun was warm in Colchis, it was nothing compared to the heat of the beaches of Heraklion. This was what he had been craving—his feet in the sand, hair wild with wind and sea salt, and eyes squinted against the blistering rays of the sun. He supposed, as Helios’s son, it was the most natural thing in the world to seek its warmth. So Aeëtes always returned to the shores of Heraklion, nestled in Crete, as soon as he could get away from the stilted court of Colchis. He blamed it on his parentage, telling himself that he was born with a wanderlust for the sun and sea—the only thing given to him directly by his parents, Helios, the sun God, and an oceanid, whose name Aeëtes never learned.
Once Aeëtes had been born, he had been given to the king and queen of Colchis to raise as their own. As a boon for taking in a demigod, the royal couple were granted immortality as well, something they now shared with Aeëtes. As soon as he was old enough to pick up a sword, however, he was sent to Crete to be raised amongst their court. It was a standard practice of the time, an easy way for young princes to start making friends and alliances, maybe even find a fiancée. But sending Aeëtes to the island had been his adoptive parents’ greatest mistake—for there he fell in love with the ocean, with the sun, and something in him was set ablaze.
