Chapter One Hundred
During the following three years, I birthed three more daughters by Ares, each pregnancy as different as the children themselves.
My pregnancy with Penthesilea, my second child, was almost as swift as Hippolyte’s, though her birthing was not.
It took three days for her to finally be released from my womb, and once she was, her stubbornness remained.
Even as a newborn, Penthesilea had little desire for my milk. Fruit such as berries and soft plums nourished her until she began to eat the meat killed by our women. And though she was slower to speak than her sister, her words were far louder.
With Antiope, the pregnancy was longer, almost a full moon, and I gave birth to her in the stables with only Erebus beside me.
I do not doubt that he himself had fathered dozens, if not hundreds, of foals, yet I knew he felt this experience for what it was: the child of a god made flesh before us both.
Melanippe was the last of our children and was the longest term of pregnancy, closer to four moons.
By the end of it, my temper was frayed, and I longed for my old body that could jump to and from Erebus without a care.
I would go as far as to say I resented that pregnancy, yet such resentment evaporated the moment I laid eyes on her.
Her growth too was far slower than that of her sisters, yet by the end of the first year, she was a fully grown woman who could ride and hunt and fight with her sisters from dusk until dawn.
Iphinone remained by my side through each of their births, and it was not until Hippolyte was old enough to lead the army that my dearest friend took a sword between her ribs during a battle with the Phrygians and joined her daughter in the underworld.
Truth be told, I knew my departure would not be long after, but I felt no fear. What we had created would live on with my daughters and all the women who bore our names. Women of Artemis. Women of Ares. Women who lived fearlessly and free. Amazons.