“A very good one, no doubt,” Argus drawled. “Is it going to be good enough to justify executing me now that I’m back?”
The king shook his head. “Your father and stepmother are both dead. Any quarrel you had with them is over. Your innocence and honor are not to be questioned by any man who owes me allegiance. All of your rights as a royal prince of Colchis are hereby restored.”
“All of my rights?” Argus echoed. “You mean my stepbrother, Karos, is dead, too?” Lord Aetes didn’t answer. Argus stroked his beard. “I see. Well, won’t he be thrilled to learn that he’s going to have to share his inheritance.”
“There will be peace between my grandsons,” Lord Aetes stated, gritting his teeth. “I will not have it otherwise. Did you come here to vex me, or to rejoin your family?”
Argus’s laughter danced with the smoke and sparks rising from the fire pit. He strode around the hearth and embraced the king. “My apologies, Grandfather, but can you blame me for snapping? Look at the two of us. My years of exile have aged me so that we could pass for brothers!”
Lord Aetes smiled and returned Argus’s hug. “That’s over now. We’ll soon have you looking your proper age. Medea! Come here and greet your nephew.” He waved for the shy young woman to approach. When he threw one arm over her shoulder and forced her to face Argus, she shuddered and shrank so that even at a distance, I couldn’t miss it. “Argus, this is my last-born daughter, Medea. She has a remarkable gift for herbal lore. I’m almost thankful that she hasn’t yet been able to attract a worthy husband, for who’d take her place, making brews to ease the pains of my old bones? Maybe one day she’ll perfect a potion to restore your lost youth, eh?”
He patted Argus on the back, then gave his attention to the rest of us. “My friends, thank you for fetching Argus home. The gods have not been kind to me. I have had four queens and many concubines, yet Medea and her younger brother, Apsyrtus, are my only surviving children, just as Argus and Karos are all the grandchildren I have left. You’ve brought me a great treasure. You are welcome here, you and the rest of your men.”
Lord Aetes summoned the same hawk-faced servant who’d guided us into his hall. “These men are my sacred guests. Send word to their ship, call all of the crewmen here at once, and prepare food, drink, and the best sleeping quarters in the palace for them. Tomorrow night we’ll give them a worthy feast. See to it!” The servant’s glum expression never changed, though he pressed his palms together in a gesture of obedience before leaving to fulfill the king’s orders.
“There! That’s done.” Aetes sat down and slapped his thighs, satisfied. “Now, my honored guests, tell me all about yourselves. I have heard that your ship carries no cargo, so I know you’re not traders. Surely you didn’t undertake a voyage solely to restore my grandson to his family?”
It was Jason’s moment to shine, and he seized it. He introduced each of us, somehow making it sound as if we owed some part of our fame to him. When he presented me as “Atalanta, the heroine of the Calydonian boar hunt,” he took pride in describing my initial masquerade as a weapons bearer. “That was all my idea. I wanted the great huntress to share in this adventure, but she was afraid of what would happen if the crew knew she was a woman.” If the real Atalanta had been there to hear it, she would have taught him a hard lesson at the point of a boar spear.
“Is that so?” Lord Aetes studied me where I stood. “She doesn’t look like the fearful type.”
“I’m not,” I said firmly. “But you know how it is with sailors, Lord Aetes: The truth never gets in the way of a good story.” I ignored Jason’s dark scowl.
The Colchian king laughed out loud. “You look very young to be so bold. Medea! Take Atalanta to your own quarters and see to her comfort.”
Lord Aetes’ daughter looked stricken. “Now?” Her glance darted from her father, to me, to Jason, where I was surprised to see it linger.
The king glowered at her. “What’s wrong with you? You heard me!”
“I—I only wanted to hear more of our honored guests, Father. They haven’t told you why they’ve come to Colchis yet.” Her voice sounded strained, as if she weren’t used to putting up the mildest argument.
“If that turns out to be any business of yours, you’ll be told. Now go, before you shame yourself in front of our guests any further.”
He might as well have slapped her face. Medea quailed, then moved quickly toward me, made an awkward bow, mumbled something in her own tongue, and escaped from the king’s hall. I presumed I was supposed to follow her. It wasn’t easy. She ran as if fleeing a pack of hunting hounds, outdistancing me until she reached a small courtyard where a fountain bubbled. I didn’t need to see her face to know she was crying. Her body shook, but the few sounds she made were smothered, as if she didn’t have the right to weep.
I approached her carefully, not wanting to add to her distress. “You don’t have to look after me if you don’t want to,” I said gently. “I’m used to taking care of myself. Just show me where I’m supposed to sleep, and—”
She looked up at me suddenly, her face streaming tears, and grabbed my hands. “How did you do it?” she asked urgently. “How did you make him love you?”
I jumped back, taken by surprise, and jerked out of her grip, so that her fingernails left long red tracks on my hands. “What are you talking about?”
“The prince of Iolkos. If I were blind, I could still see how hotly he burns for you!”