Medea sets two on the table, and her slave holds coarse linen over one as Medea pours. Fiber and fleck on the surface, liquid disappearing below. Medea pours a second bowl into the cloth, waits for last drops, then wrings out linen, last poison. She lifts the mug, enough poison for twenty people, the right amount for a princess or king or husband.

She strains the other two bowls into the second cup and now adds honey, slow sweet undulation. Cinnamon, strong enough to cover any scent. She stirs a drink almost invisible in dark stone. Sweet smelling, innocent.

Into the third cup, only water, honey, and cinnamon.

Bring Jason, she says. She points to the youngest of her slaves, the most afraid, the least likely to tell. And yet what would she tell? She doesn’t know what these flowers are. Bring Jason. Tell him I’m sorry and I understand his new marriage is best for all of us. Tell him our sons have gifts for the princess. Hurry.

The young slave is gone, and the other two stare down at the floor. Clear away this mess, Medea says. Hide every sign of what we’ve made. Leave only the gifts.

Then Medea kneels before her sons. Aeson, she says. These stone cups are heavy, but you must not spill. You must bring these to the princess and to the king.

Aeson nods, gravity of children, odd acolytes to perform ritual without understanding. Mirrors of all.

And Promachus, she says. You will carry this third cup. You’ll wait until Aeson is handing his cups to the princess and king, then you can drink from yours. Everyone will laugh, but you can drink, and if there’s any left, you can share with your father.

Medea will leave Jason alive. She hopes he will live unnaturally long, and she will give him plenty to remember. He will live today a thousand times.

What if they want more? Aeson asks.

Medea smiles. I think it will be enough.

She rises to arrange the beautiful dress on the table, the golden funeral diadem, the two cups and the third. All signs of mashing gone, bulb and flower, mortar and pestle. The air bright with day. She must convince Jason now, become something impossible and make him believe. A test even for the stupidity of men.

Waiting. The boys fidgeting on the bed, grabbing at each other’s hands. The two older slaves standing against a wall, Medea watching the door, and when Jason arrives, his mouth is already open. What is this, Medea? You’ve been told to leave, so leave. Leave us alone.

Strong arms, become a brute from the quarry.