Chapter 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. “A sick 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 and think. 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 thing could happen, 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.
On the shore, the leader stepped forward. He reached up to tug off his helmet, and long hair tumbled down. With a start, I
realized that what I’d taken for a man was in fact a woman, with a sun-browned loveliness and a golden cast to her fabulous
fall of curls.
“I am Hypsipyle, daughter of Thoas,” the woman in armor called. “Queen of this island of Lemnos.”
With a shock, I realized I recognized the name. “Hypsipyle!” I replied, gripping the railing of the ship and ignoring the
stares that my outburst earned. “You are the descendant of Ariadne, daughter of Pasiphae, sister to my own father, Aeetes.
My name is Medea. We are cousins after a fashion, Heliades all alike. Daughters of the sun.”
I bounced on the balls of my feet. What a stroke of luck! Perhaps I would find a way to recover my magic here, on this island
ruled by other descendants of Helios. Then again, it was equally possible that I would find nothing but misfortune and death.
The house of the sun was not tender to its own, as I well knew.
“I greet you, daughter of Aeetes,” Hypsipyle replied, “and bid you welcome. Who are these others with you? Who is their leader?”
Jason leaned over the ship’s railing. “I am Jason, son of Aeson,” he called. “And these are my Argonauts. We are heroes, sailing
on an epic quest.”
“An epic quest?” Hypsipyle’s head tilted in a surprisingly flirtatious gesture. She turned to one of her captains for a brief
conferral, then back to us. “Well, Jason and his Argonauts, we welcome you to stay the night in our city rather than on this
lonely shore. We shall offer you gifts and show our hospitality. There will be wine, and music, and much food. We will welcome
your crew with greater than the usual xenia and celebrate the rites of Aphrodite together.”
Rites of Aphrodite? I frowned, feeling an oily twinge of suspicion. Aphrodite was the goddess of love and beauty, a strange deity to welcome
sailors so recently landed on this island’s shores. But Hypsipyle’s invitation drew raucous cheers from the crew of the Argo.
I followed the others to the beach, my skirts trailing through the shallows. By now the sun was low in the sky, so perhaps
it was only the shadows of late afternoon that sent a chill down my spine. Or maybe it was the premonition of a trap set by
my father or his loyalists; after all, we were not really so very far from Colchis. Even so, I would risk everything for a
chance at getting my magic back.
Atalanta walked beside me, an uneasy reassurance. She’d pledged her help, but could I really trust her, this stranger?
Then again, I didn’t have much of a choice.