The guards let them in, and the sisters cross an open stone floor in darkness. They will let the garments fall. No guards in here. Only two daughters, naked, axes held high, stepping closer to their father.

Asteropeia’s love for Medea, her trust, her innocence and pure belief. The pain of this makes Medea want to howl. But still, she would have every king in every land lie asleep tonight while his daughters step closer with axes.

Medea pulls her sons so close and tight they squirm away even in sleep, refusing. She has only moments left. Asteropeia and Peisidike will return to the cauldron not only with the body of their father but also with every one of his guards and with his son, Acastus. The sisters know to wrap the pieces of Pelias in cloth, but they didn’t ask how no one would notice. Most likely Pelias will scream and the guards will come in before he’s dead. Maimed and his beautiful daughter Asteropeia above him swinging her ax again, chopping deep into his flesh then telling him, Medea releases you.

Scent of her children, something buried deep within all other smell that hooks at her spine and lungs and can never be dislodged. She would protect them even as Jason is dragged away, even as she herself is torn to pieces. Animal and unknowable. She has put them at risk now in order to save them, to keep them from being slaves, but this risk is too terrible. She would go back and undo everything.

Nute, she calls inside without sound. Allow passage through this night. Let my sons remain whole.

She buries her nose in their necks, one last breath each to memorize, and then rises.

Moon almost full, bright world of shadow. Her bare feet on dirt and stone. She knows it may be Pelias waiting when she returns to the cauldron. Holding the axes she gave to his daughters, waiting with his men, ready to torture. That room of fire and stone, hot bronze of the cauldron, all that she might fear.

Iolcus quiet. Sound of her feet only, and perhaps nothing will happen, the sisters too afraid.

Her low room looks like a stone shepherd’s hut from outside, uneven walls and roof, bare yard. But far too bright, glowing with heat, the only large flame on this hillside every night, burning through every small crack and hole in constellation, as if Helios could be contained.

Medea steps into this inferno for the last time. Whatever happens tonight, all will be broken. She will not come here again. Even if the sisters do nothing, she will take an ax and go to Pelias herself.

Thick ash beneath the cauldron, gray and lit by coals still red, patterned like snakes fallen jointed. Broom of sticks, and when she sweeps, the ash collapses and coals submerge. Buried and sinking farther still into some abscess yet undiscovered where even stone has been consumed.