You had begged me to make Jason heir, then you demanded I remove Jason's name from my documents promising me you would provide a better heir. I did, trusting you even though I shouldn’t. And there you are. No living child and now doubly married so any bairn you have will be a bastard once your husband finds out. Assuming of course you let any child from your womb live.
At this point my hands tighten on the cheap paper my father prefers. It tears easily under my grip, but the damage does nothing to stop the insults my father heaps upon me.
Because of this I have decided Phrixus will be my heir. His wife Glauce has given birth to a healthy (and still alive) son ensuring the line will continue. The papers are being drawn up now and I’m planning quite a ceremony soon to celebrate the signing of what I believe is the best decision I've made. And, as ill as I feel now, it may be the last official decision I make.
I do not expect and do not want you to come. You will only make a mess of things.
Your father, Aeetes
A myriad of thoughts swarms my head. The cloak. Seeing Glauce’s name made me realize which cloak he means. Somehow the poisoned garment I intended to be delivered to Glauce to do away with the meddling cow ended up in my father's possession. Over the months since I coated it in poison, hoping to kill the whore who both Jason and Phrixus betrayed me with, the poison must have worn off or lessened in potency. Strong enough to kill a small child like the servant girl who had to sift through the mail, not strong enough to poison a grown man outright, but still potent enough to seep into his skin and sicken him over a period of months.
I don’t care that my father is dying. He always made me feel second best. Never good enough to be heir in my own right, only good enough to breed an heir and unless I succeeded at that I was nothing to him. So I don't mourn his dying. I do however need to get to Colchis before he passes. Those papers naming Phrixus heir cannot be made official. He needs to see I'm quite full of the future ruler of Colchis. He needs to see that I’m worth something. I crumple the letter, crushing it as if I could use my anger to compact it into a stone, and hurl it across the room.
When a servant girl, looking bright and cheery and very light on her feet, comes to the door I want to throw her out the window.
"What is it?" I snap.
She takes two steps back, but the bright smile is still plastered on her youthful face. "The guards have gone to President Aegeus. They say a man calling himself Theseus is here. They think Aegeus’s son is returned," she says in a rush of excitement then makes a quick curtsy before hurrying off.
I kick my book. I would bend over to pick it up and tear it to pieces, but this stupid child in me makes bending over too awkward. I waddle over to the window, ready to punch through the glass when Aegeus’s voice, coming from the direction of my door and bubbling with excitement says, "Isn’t it wonderful?"
I brush my hand along my hair to play off my angry gesture, then compose my face into a mask of subdued happiness before turning to him. "It may be, but I would hate to see you disappointed."
"Disappointed?" he blusters. "How in Osteria could I be disappointed at my son’s return?"
I’m surprised at how fast my mind puts things in order. And a little incredulous that Aegeus hasn’t connected the same dots of logic.
"Theseus would have only gone into the maze yesterday, the day before at the earliest. Even with a chariot-racing horse he hasn’t had near enough time to get back here. I worry this may be an imposter. I hope as much as you do that somehow it is him, but I caution you to not get your hopes elevated too far."
Aegeus’s face falls and he suddenly looks quite old.
"Gods, you’re right. I was just so excited that I—"
"Of course you were, but let’s go see. Who knows, we may have a celebration to plan," I add, thinking how much I will enjoy arranging Theseus’s funeral.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Theseus
I WAKE UP expecting to see the browns and ochres of the Eastern Osterian landscape, but am instead greeted by lush, green fir trees and a body of water that, if I didn’t know better, I would swear is the far edge of the harbor of Athenos. I shift to sit up, gritting in readiness for the pain, but there is none. I roll my shoulders and both feel as strong and intact as they did before I entered the maze. I shift my tunic aside, feeling a surge of pride when I see the bull charm of Minoa along with my other two vigile charms from Helena and Athenos. With the tunic aside, I peel away the bandages. The wounds from the minotaur’s teeth have completely healed.
A chill shivers up my spine as a cool breeze brings the resinous scent of conifers. Odysseus stirs beside me. Although the sky is still pale with dawn, people are out walking their dogs and starting their day. Some skirt around us warily, while others stare down at our little camp with judgmental glances as they stride by. When they speak to one another it’s with the lilting accent of my father’s people. I glance around with an odd feeling that something is missing.
"Didn’t we fall asleep in a desert?" Odysseus asks, brushing a hand over his dark, cropped hair.
"I think we’re in Athenos. How did we get here?"
Odysseus gives me a world-weary look. "The gods. Apparently they want us here, not there."
"They just moved us?" I ask incredulously, suddenly feeling nauseous at the thought of being so much under the power of the Twelve, of having no free will to—
My train of thought halts as a stab of loneliness hits me like a tidal wave. Not just loneliness, but a feeling of missing a part of myself. "Wasn’t there someone with us?"
"Sure, Iolalus. Maybe that’s it," he says with a yawn as he stretches. "Maybe Hera needed him back in Portaceae and we got a free ride out of the deal. Can’t say I’m complaining about missing out on spending several days on horseback to get here."
"No, no," I say, shaking my head, trying to jostle out a memory of something that seems like a dream. "A woman. Wasn’t there a woman with us?"
"There was Ariadne." Odysseus pauses a moment, when he speaks again his voice carries more than a hint of doubt at his own words. "But she stayed in Minoa."
"I could have sworn we—" I trail off, feeling an ache in my groin.
"Must have been some dream. Come on, hero," he says, standing up and arching his back. "Let’s go say hello to your father."
After stabling our horses and purchasing a hunk of jam-smeared bread to break our fast, we follow along the harbor’s walkway that leads to the palace, or rather the villa as I remember I’m supposed to call it to avoid offending the sensibilities of the Athenians. I expect to see Kyros doing his duty as guard and butler, but blocking the door are a pair of new guards I don’t recognize, big men who remind me of two surly bears standing watch over their den.
"I’m here to see my father," I say, not daring to simply stride in past these two.
"Father? And who are you?"
Are they idiots? My father only has one son.
"I’m Theseus. Look, where is Kyros? He can tell you who I am."
The guard on the left ignores me and indicates with a jerk of his head to his companion to go inside. When his companion leaves, he points a spear at us, gesturing us to step into the foyer.
"Don’t move," he grunts and gives a little thrust with the spear like a punctuation mark at the end of his command.
"Did the gods roll us in satyr shit before they moved us?" Odysseus asks, giving his armpits a mock sniff. I’m in no mood to joke with him.
As we wait, I wonder at the feeling of loss in me. I should feel triumphant. I should feel like shouting to the rooftops. I’m the conqueror of the minotaur. But I’m empty inside and I don’t know what has been taken away.
Finally, I can see my father and his wife coming down the sweeping stairs. I stand taller, feeling my own pride making me whole again, but Aegeus pauses as if he’s come down for something and now can’t remember what it was he was after. His wife says a few words and he continues to the bottom of the staircase.
&nb
sp; I can take it no longer. My heart fills with joy and, ignoring the guard, I rush forward with arms wide to hug Aegeus. Instead of enfolding me in his own embrace and telling me I’ve done well, my father backs away. The guard, realizing his error in letting me pass, looms large behind me. I hear a scuffle from behind me and Odysseus cursing. Before I can react, my arms are pinned by the brutish guard.
The sudden sense of being whole vanishes in a heartbeat. Why is my father setting guards on me? Why is he not welcoming me? Has he lost his mind in my absence?
"Father," I say hesitantly, "aren’t you glad to see me? I’ve succeeded. The minotaur is dead."
Aegeus, who has worn a confused look on his face, now scowls as if he was the minotaur’s biggest fan and I destroyed the creature he idolized.
"I don’t know who you think you are, but my son is in Minoa. He may already be dead, having given his life for Osteria. Don’t insult his memory by calling me father. Guards, arrest this imposter."
I am swarmed by hulking figures. I struggle, casting about for Kyros or Pheres or anyone who can vouch for me. But I meet no familiar faces except that of my father who for some reason sees me only as a cruel stranger. In the blink of an eye, I go from being Osteria’s hero to an Athenian prisoner.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Medea
I WALK HAND in hand with my husband to the landing that looks down over the villa’s foyer. What I see sends my heart plummeting. Truly, I swear I can feel it dislodge from my chest and fall like a stone to my feet. It cannot be. How could he have made it back so soon? How could he have survived? Despite my initial shock, I know I have to act with quick cunning if I’m going to ensure this child in me becomes heir. Theseus needs to die. If Minos couldn’t manage it, then I can.
As I once did to play tricks on people in the agora, I cast a masking charm over Theseus. Aegeus, who had been full of smiles and good cheer now squints his eyes. The smile fades and I bite my cheek to keep from grinning. Thoughts of my father’s letter erase any hint of amusement from my lips.
"Maybe these are messengers bringing news that Theseus is on his way," I say to him almost believing my own lie.
"No," he says, shaking his head irritably. "They said it was him. Why would they put me through this if it wasn’t my boy?"
I have no idea who they are. Messengers? Servants? My own guards who I have insisted are more vigilant than my husband’s trio of friends and are now placed at the entry of the villa? In truth, I want my guards around to lessen the influence the bothersome trio have on Aegeus; he should consult with me, not them. But this doesn’t matter. All that matters is that Aegeus does not recognize his own son. My mind starts working on how I can ensure Theseus dies before I’m too weary to keep up the masking charm.
For now, after my morning of rest, Aegeus cannot recognize the boastful bastard who, although perturbed to be detained by my guard, looks even cockier than the man beside him. I wonder if I have caught some of my own spell as it takes me several heartbeats to register that it's Odysseus flanking my husband’s son. He’s like a gnat that keeps fluttering in front of my face. Just when I think it’s gone, it hovers again in my line of sight. I hurriedly don my own masking charm. Maintaining two spells on top of the baby growing inside me will exhaust me, but it’s a price I am willing to pay. If I play my cards right, I could be rid of both these pests with one thwack of the swatter.
Despite his reluctance, I encourage Aegeus to go down to meet them. Theseus rushes to Aegeus, but my husband backs away. I almost laugh at the shocked look of disappointment on Theseus's face. If Wonder Boy is back in Athenos he either backed out—unlikely because if he had he certainly wouldn’t show his face around here—or he has succeeded in killing Minos’s monster. He must have been expecting all of Osteria to cheer him. Now here he is being shunned by his own father.
"Father, aren't you glad to see me? I’ve succeeded. The minotaur is dead."
"I don’t know who you think you are, but my son is in Minoa. He may already be dead, having given his life for Osteria. Don’t insult his memory by calling me father. Guards, arrest this imposter."
At the same time my guards loom in to take my stepson by his arms, Athenian vigiles step forward, appearing from the shadows of the villa’s massive twin staircases. It’s a genuine surprise to realize that Aegeus still has these guards in place despite my request to remove them and replace them with my own men. When a few meet Odysseus’s eyes, they hesitate. I should have put a masking charm on him as well, but I’m already feeling the strain of maintaining two charms and every now and then I feel the spell that maintains my own mask slipping. Still, right now it’s more important to keep Theseus masked and that’s where I direct my concentration.
"Aegeus," Odysseus scolds, "are you mad? Surely you can see who is right in front of you."
"Perhaps you’re unwell," Theseus offers, passing a look to me. "Has he been ill?"
"He’s been sick with worry over his son and the people who went with him to Minoa." The baby kicks and I lose my concentration.
"Theseus?" Aegeus mutters. I snap back to attention and veil Theseus once more. When I look to Odysseus his eyes widen. I would swear he’s recognized me, but I throw the mask on once more even though it weakens me and I have to grip the rail for support. A shadow of self-doubt crosses over his face. "I'm confused," my husband says, sounding as feeble as a man twice his age. "I think this could be my son, but why do you look different? You always looked like your mother, but now—"
"Your son has defeated the minotaur. He has undergone a great trial," Odysseus says slowly. "Perhaps you're seeing the man he has become, not the boy you knew." Odysseus glares at me. I feel like a rabbit under the watch of a mountain cat and every instinct in me says to run. I’m exhausted from maintaining the masking charms. The cloaking spell over my face could vanish any moment and then he would know it’s me. What would he do to the woman who killed his cousin’s children? My heart pumps with a frightening force. I need to get away, but if I can only stand my ground and get rid of Theseus—
My flurry of thoughts halt at the sight of Theseus’s vigile necklace. Hanging from my stepson’s neck alongside the owl charm of Athenos and the fire symbol of Helena has been added the bull’s head charm of Minoa. The bull. My father’s wedding gift. He may have been taunting me with that gift and its accompanying message, but that bull could prove to be the most useful of all the trinkets lavished on me for marrying Aegeus. After all, even the great Theseus can’t survive being burned alive.
"The true son of Aegeus was a great fighter," I say, taking my husband’s hand in a show of wifely support. "He never lost a match and we once saw him defeat a bull in the arena. I think we might believe you better if you could show us you have these same fighting skills."
Theseus shakes off the grip of his guard. His stance is firm like he’s ready for anything.
"Bring me someone to fight and I'll prove who I am here and now."
"This man," I give a dismissive glance to Odysseus, "says you have defeated the minotaur. No news of that has reached Athenos, but if it’s true why not prove yourself by giving us a show of what you did? A fight against a bull. If you win, we will take your word for who you are."
"Maybe we should be asking who you are—" Odysseus says, but Theseus raises a hand to silence him.
"Fine," Theseus says. "If that’s what it takes to show you who I am, I’ll do it. But light the fires under the roasting spits now so we can feast my return on the beast’s flesh. I defeated the minotaur in blinding darkness. I can kill a bull in broad daylight."
Before Aegeus can say anything, before I think he has even registered what is going on, my guards move to usher Theseus and Odysseus out. When they try to take my stepson’s arm he flicks their fingers away and walks as tall as if he has already won.
If he was aware of what kind of bull he'll be fighting, he might show a little humility. I tell my husband, who is now holding a muttering debate with himself, to sound the b
ells that call people to the arena.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Theseus
THE BELLS TOLL across the city. I leap from the hard bench that’s the only furnishing in this cell within the Temple of Justice the guards have locked me in. I don’t know who these black-garbed guards are or what they’ve done with Odysseus; I don’t know where Kyros, Pheres, or Zethros are; and I don’t know what’s happening with my father. Everything is such a mess of confusion, I feel as if whichever god has moved me has put me down in the wrong city. All I do know is that those bells signal my time in this cramped cell is nearly over.
Standing on my tiptoes, I peer out the small window that looks onto the Athena Way. Responding to the call, Athenians instantly begin filling the streets to make their way to the arena. This show isn’t a scheduled one, so the tolling only boosts their curiosity, apprehension, and excitement. Is it news of war? Is it a trial? Or is it a call to mourn the dead youths who went to Minoa? I grin knowing I’ll give them a good show, not bad news. My body tingles with anticipation and I shake out my shoulders to dispel any pre-battle tension. The sudden movement sends a twinge into the spots where the minotaur’s teeth had driven into my flesh, but apparently the touch of my godly protector has healed the worst of the wounds, leaving no weakness or reduction in my range of motion. This speedy healing adds another level of oddity to my already strange morning, but in my current mood I can’t dwell on the gods’ motives.
I try to control it but my confidence shows itself in the swagger in my step as I'm led to the arena from the cell. Shoulders back. Head held high. Why shouldn't I radiate the boldness surging within me? Defeating a bull, even one in his prime, will be nothing compared to the minotaur. I think of the celebrations in Minoa and imagine how joyous the Athenians will be to learn the minotaur is dead and, if I may admit to pride, how happy they’ll be to see me. But this little burst of arrogance reminds me of that final night in Minoa. A flash of a bowl of noodles and then a dark corner at the Minoan temple clouds my mind. Something nags at me. A loneliness. A sense of not being whole. A sense that part of me is missing as I’ve heard men describe who have had hands amputated but yet still feel their fingers waggling.
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