Chapter 19
Medea
In the morning, the sun rose sparkling on the world. It glittered on the dew of the grass and the rivers of wine, milk, oil,
and water that ran through the garden. It imbued the marble columns with a soft, luminescent glow and shone on the bronze
bulls that had caused the deaths of so many.
The court of Qulha, such as it was, gathered for this spectacle. A ripple passed through the assembly as Jason was led into
the courtyard. The pale sunlight struck threads of gold in his hair, and he favored the watching crowd with a little smile.
My eyes swept up and down Jason’s body, praying that he had applied the potions as directed. If he hadn’t—if he did not trust
me—the results would soon be horribly clear.
I glanced at Chalciope, stationed at the far end of the courtyard in deep conversation with Zaidar, head of the palace guard.
She met my gaze, grim and steady.
Soon, now.
Aeetes stepped forward, explaining how the stranger had offered insult and would die for it, though not by Aeetes’s own hand,
since the king would never shed the blood of an honored guest. The audience tittered in obedient amusement.
A guard flipped back the trapdoor on the bronze bull’s back, and Jason climbed obligingly inside, pausing at the last moment to raise a hand to the crowd in greeting, like a king stepping into his chariot. Then he was enclosed in the darkness of the hollow bull, and my heart went with him.
Servants kindled a fire below the bull’s belly and raised it to a roaring inferno. I could feel its heat on my face, threatening
to singe my eyebrows.
Minutes ticked by. Sweat beaded on my back and trickled down the length of my spine. I’d worn my most comfortable dress in
anticipation of what was to come, as well as copious jewelry. Necklaces of amber sat over my collarbones, silver and gold
bangles tinkled at my wrists, and rings adorned my fingers. Wealth of my own would come in handy once I escaped.
When no song emerged from the bronze bull, the crowd began to grow restive. Aeetes scowled, kicking the bull’s belly. This
prompted a loud yelp from the inside, distorted by the bronze.
Out of the bull rose Jason, soot stained but alive, bestowing a winning grin on the crowd.
The assembly exploded into whispers. Aeetes swung his hateful gaze toward me, singling me out.
I know this was you, he seemed to say. I know you had a hand in this. And no power on earth can save you from the punishment that is coming.
Fearlessly, I met Aeetes’s gaze. One day, no one will speak of you, I thought. Your name will be like your corpse, dry dust on the wind. No one will remember the name of Aeetes the way they will remember
Medea’s.
Aeetes opened his mouth to speak, but another voice cut through the silence.
“Seize him!” Chalciope cried. And a group of soldiers descended upon Aeetes, swords drawn.
Screams filled the courtyard. Chalciope’s eyes met mine, burning with an unspoken command: Run!
I picked up my skirts and raced to the bronze bull, bracelets clattering, trying very hard not to be trampled by the panicking crowd. Jason was climbing down from the bull, glistening with sweat and covered in soot.
“Medea,” he panted, gesturing at Chalciope and her guards. “Did you—”
“No time,” I replied. Above the shrieks of the crowd, I heard the clamor of bronze armor. More guards, reinforcements. Whether
they had come to assist Aeetes or execute him, I did not know. The only certainty was that Chalciope’s coup was now in motion.
I grabbed Jason’s hand and ran into the palace.
Jason
Down twisting corridors and flights of stairs into the depths of the earth they run, until Jason is so disoriented that he
wouldn’t be able to find his way back to sunlight even if he tried. The princess leads him, the one named Medea. The clatter
of the jewelry she wears is the only sound other than the gasping of their breath and the slap of their feet on the flagstones.
She stops at an unmarked door in an empty hallway, whispering a few words that Jason cannot hear. The door swings open, and
a hiss emerges from inside.
The hallway torches illuminate a roiling mass of serpentine coils. The dragon raises its head, fluffing out its red crest
in a display of aggression. Jason staggers back, regretting that he left Heracles behind with the ship. He cannot slay this
beast himself.
But it seems he won’t have to. Medea is moving forward, confronting the dragon. Before Jason can shout a warning, she is stroking
the creature’s long snout.
To Jason’s utter astonishment, the dragon gives a chirp of greeting and nuzzles her like an affectionate hound.
Medea murmurs to the creature in the barbarian tongue of Qulha, and its iron collar comes off in her hands.
But Jason has stopped watching Medea with the dragon, because he’s finally noticed the thing hanging on the wall, the treasure the creature has been guarding.
The Golden Fleece.
It is more tattered than he imagined, its glow dimmer than sunlight, but to Jason it is the most beautiful object he has ever
seen. The fulfillment of his quest, the culmination of his journey’s aim. Here, at last, is the key to the throne of Iolcus.
How proud his father would be, how delighted his mother. Like a man in a dream, Jason drifts forward and lifts the Fleece
from its wall hook, throwing it around his shoulders. He glances back to see how handsomely it hangs upon him and looks up
to meet the eyes of Medea over the head of the dragon.
They smile at each other. Medea has kept her promise, bringing him a peerless dowry. Now, she just needs to get them both
out of this place alive.
From the hallway comes the distant echo of clattering armor. The guards will be looking for them, the stranger and the runaway
princess. The sound comes steadily closer.
At a word from Medea, the dragon turns and rushes out the door like a cresting wave, claws skittering on stone. In the same
way a seed knows how to shoot down roots into the soil, it seems the dragon knows its way to the sky. Jason can track the
creature’s progress by the distant reverberation of screams.
Medea takes his hand again. Clutching the Golden Fleece, his prize, Jason follows her into the hall.
Medea
It was only when we made it to the women’s quarters that I finally allowed myself to hope.
Ignoring the shrieks of startled maids, I yanked open the door to the tunnel and fled into it.
Absyrtos had insisted on building this underground route to the temple of Hekate for me, adamant that I not sully my virtue by walking the city streets alone.
What delicious irony: The very thing Absyrtos intended as a way to confine me would instead become my final route to freedom.
The tunnel was pitch-black, and condensation dripped from the walls. I had a momentary fear that the unreinforced earth might
collapse and bury us alive, but I clutched Jason’s hand more tightly, and soon we emerged into the temple.
Startling a scattering of worshippers and priestesses, we sped past the statue of Hekate. Goodbye, Mother, I thought. There was no time for farewell; there was no time even for regret. Sunlight nearly blinded me as we fled past
the monuments of the necropolis. My lungs burned and my legs ached as we ran along the path to the seaside, which I’d walked
so many times before.
I glanced up at the sky and saw a pale moon floating in the blue, watching us like a baleful eye. Once, I had received adulation
for making the moon appear in the noonday sky, but this was entirely natural rather than the result of magic. Once, the moon
had been companion to my magic, and now she was witness to my escape.
What would my mother think of me, fleeing like a criminal after stealing my father’s greatest treasure?
There was no point in wondering. I held Jason’s hand and kept running.