Asteropeia standing close, fearless, pulling at the rope around his horns. True believer, without hesitation. Her sister backing farther away but still holding her rope, an accomplice suitable enough, thick and strong.

Medea reaches for an ax, dark blade of bronze, newly sharpened, hands it to Asteropeia, who is yanked hard now by only one arm. The ram still charging, wanting the open night.

Now, Medea yells. Kill the ram. Chop off his head.

Asteropeia drops the rope, raises the ax in both hands. Beautiful even in slaughter, swing of her young breasts, mouth open and insane and perfect, warrior more terrible than any demigod king. When this is her father, the blade will come down just as certainly. In his bed in some mammoth chamber of stone and hide, his two daughters let in without question, in darkness as he sleeps. All Medea can hope for is that the first blow doesn’t kill, that he is only maimed, a shoulder hanging, and tries to rise up, sees his beautiful daughter swinging the ax again, innocent Asteropeia, believing she’s making her father young.

The ram shakes his head, free now, sees night, dull blackness to mirror the void inside, and rears back for his final charge, but the blade slices thick muscle at his neck, breaks open his spine, and all limbs fail, fall to the floor, hard stone. Eyes open, still alive, still willing movement impossible. Medea wants this moment for Pelias, only a few strings of flesh connecting, no response but still willing, still knowing. She wants him to know this was her doing.

Asteropeia, she says. You must say these words before his eyes are gone. Medea releases you of your old flesh. Hekate will make you young again.

Asteropeia holds the ax high and yells, Medea releases you of your old flesh. Hekate will make you young again. Then she swings again and severs the ropy neck.

Yes, Medea says. Yes. You must say this to your father before his eyes fade. He must know.

We can’t do this, Asteropeia’s sister says. Still holding the rope taut. Young and plump and blank as any beast, and Medea would slaughter her too. Medea made a slave, for years. She would slaughter every one of them now.

What’s your name? Medea asks.

Peisidike.

Is Peisidike the daughter who wants her father to grow old and die? Does she want to be the one who denied his second youth? Watch what happens to this old ram, and then decide. It will be up to you. We will make your father young only if you say to do it.

No, Peisidike says. I can’t be the one to decide.

You will decide.

Mask of fear, Peisidike lost. Still holding that rope, unable to move.

Cut him into thirteen pieces, Medea says. Quick, before his blood cools. He must be in the cauldron before he loses his last heat.