Come with me, she tells her sons, and grabs their wrists over protests and thrown food, drags them into the narrow twisting street of stone. I don’t care whether you walk or not, she says. I’ll drag you. Promachus twisting and yanking, legs kicking, howl of that open mouth. Aeson older, smart enough to know nothing will stop her.

Somewhere in the citadel, Jason lying in Glauce’s bed, and Medea will find this place.

Blind streets, pathways turning and leading nowhere, ending in walls. Room and wall the same, no entrances from outside, guarded somewhere from within. Jason! she screams. Promachus no longer dragging. Both sons stay close to save their arms.

City with no relation to ground, held somewhere in the sky suspended, and the sun spinning, rising in every direction. All meant to confuse so the king can hide, so his daughter can spread her legs and none will know. Spear points forcing her into alleys and finally trapped. She and her sons against a shaded wall too high to climb.

Jason! she screams again. I have your sons!

A dozen guards with their spears lowered. They don’t move, waiting for command.

Cowards, Medea says. Dumb as brick. If Kreon told you to kill each other, you would.

Mute brick with dark blank eyes and no blood, guards made of clay and painted, line for a mouth. Power of a king, that men are no longer men. She would walk forward and shatter them against granite, but she holds a son in each hand.

Promachus afraid, starting a thin whining cry. She shakes his arm hard. No, she says. So he only cries harder, until his father appears.

Chest bare, just risen from his new bed. Sun slicing him at an angle, shoulder to hip, and he holds up a hand to shield his eyes. You, Medea, he says, then he yawns, covers his mouth, eyes closed.

You remember.

Why not rest? Why cause problems? Why scream and wake everyone?

Don’t hide behind the guards. Come here.

I’m not afraid of you.

Medea smiles. You think you can marry Glauce, have new sons, replace all that came before, erase years? You forget who I am.

I know who you are, bitter woman, butcher, barbarian. I’ve brought you to this civilized place. I’ll marry Kreon’s daughter, and our sons will have royal brothers. You should thank me.

Medea cannot speak. The monstrosity too great.

Anyway, Jason says. Leave me alone. He turns to walk away.

Do you really think I’m so stupid? Medea asks. Do you think woman is made out of dust, without blood, without thought? That you can say anything, and that will be true?

Rage, Jason says. All you are is rage. You would cut every person into pieces, some practice of your brutal backward people. But not here.