QBLH
The Princess of Pentacles
Strength and Beauty
Ambitious, loyal and practical
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Chapter LXXV
Medea's Challenge
Achieving Material Success
For the remainder of the evening, Jason scarcely left Medea’s side. The court noticed. So did Aeetes. And though no protest was voiced, the king’s displeasure deepened with every passing hour.
Jason was escorted to Medea’s chambers before midnight and emerged again at dawn—alive.
That alone unsettled the palace.
Medea’s veil remained intact, yet she had secured from Jason something far more binding than a night’s indulgence: a vow. He had spoken the words plainly, if clumsily, and she had accepted them with deliberate restraint. Marriage would come later—after departure, after survival, after proof.
“You are in mortal danger while you remain here,” she told him quietly. “If you are to have me, you must first take me away from Colchis. Only then will I belong to you fully.”
Jason agreed without hesitation. Medea had learned long ago that promises extracted under restraint endured longer than those granted in passion.
Theseus was waiting beyond the palace grounds with the rest of the Argonauts when Jason emerged. An armed escort accompanied them—ostensibly for protection, though no one present mistook their purpose. There remained several hours before the trial, and it was clear that coordination among the Greeks was no longer optional.
Jason approached Theseus without ceremony.
“Are you aware,” he demanded, “that the challenge is impossible? How do you propose we survive it?”
Theseus studied him coolly.
“Has Medea offered to help you?”
Jason bristled. “Keep her out of this. You’re the one who pushed us into it.”
“It was your princess who defined the challenge,” Theseus replied evenly. “Did she offer you counsel last night?”
Jason struck him.
The blow never landed.
Theseus moved with frightening speed, catching Jason’s wrist and twisting him to the ground in one fluid motion. Jason found himself pinned, breath crushed from his lungs. For a brief, disorienting instant, he wondered whether Hercules himself could have overpowered him so effortlessly.
“Well,” Jason gasped, “I assumed you meant to help.”
Theseus released him and stepped back.
“I am helping. But you are the captain. Now answer me—are you prepared to take Helen, Medea, and myself back to Greece with you?”
“Agreed,” Jason said without hesitation. “Provided you help us survive.”
“No,” Theseus corrected him. “Provided you succeed. You must face the challenge.”
“The challenge is impossible.”
“How would you know?” Theseus replied. “Its answer cannot exist until it is attempted. This is the challenge of the Golden Fleece.”
Jason hesitated, then asked the question that had been growing heavier with every hour.
“Why is the fleece so important?”
Theseus did not soften his voice.
“The fleece is the royal mantle of the Lord of Artemis, betrothed to Isis. The Amazons hold it sacred. It was given to Medea, and she is charged with its custody. I learned this from Hercules and the Amazons themselves.”
Jason frowned.
“If Medea leaves with you,” Theseus continued, “the fleece must go as well. And understand this clearly—if you fail, it will not be Aeetes who kills you. It will be Medea.”
Jason recoiled. “You’re lying.”
“Then explain why Aeetes permitted you to spend the night with his daughter. Explain why guards follow us openly but make no effort to restrain us. As far as the king is concerned, you are already dead. The guards are here only to ensure you die in the proper place.”
Jason said nothing.
“If we attempt escape now,” Theseus concluded, “they will slaughter us before we reach the gates.”
“So what hope remains?” Jason asked quietly.
“To face the challenge,” Theseus said. “There is no other path. Aeetes himself declared that your companions may assist you. We are a team—whether you like it or not.”
The Argonauts murmured their assent. The weight of despair lifted, if only slightly.
Jason sought Medea again and remained with her until the hour of the trial approached. Theseus departed with Helen. One by one, the Argonauts found themselves paired with Amazon escorts. Laughter replaced suspicion. The guards, amused and unconcerned, gradually withdrew.
None of the Greeks found this reassuring.
The affection was calculated. Medea’s hand was evident in it. Courage swelled under the influence of ambrosia, administered carefully—strong enough to embolden, not yet lethal. The guards had seen this ritual before.
No man had ever left the Temple of Artemis alive.
Jim knew the fleece would not be won easily.
He expected a trap.
That was precisely why mortal men had been chosen to perform the visible work. His assistance would remain cloaked.
The bronze bulls were not beasts, but engines—ancient steam constructs that Jim and Jason reactivated together. Their ignition drew immediate response. The so-called skeleton warriors were not phantoms, but soldiers under orders to slaughter the Argonauts should success appear imminent. When the boilers roared to life, the guards donned fearsome disguises and advanced behind the plough, prepared to intervene.
Aeetes never intended to surrender the fleece.
Medea and the king both watched in disbelief as the impossible began to unfold.
Medea suspected Qblh’s influence at once, though she could not locate him. Jason had spoken of Hercules, whom the Amazons sheltered. Antiope’s allegiance, Helen’s silence, Isis’s absence—all pointed toward a deeper game.
The fleece was bait.
Isis had predicted Qblh would retrieve it. That alone assured Medea that events were proceeding as intended—even if she could not yet see how.
When Medea confronted Aeetes privately, she did not hide her displeasure.
“You attempted to deny Artemis her sacrifice,” she accused.
“You defined the conditions,” Aeetes replied. “And Isis herself instructed me to destroy any stranger who succeeded.”
That gave Medea pause.
“You have met my lady?” she asked. “When?”
Aeetes smiled faintly.
“She came to me alone, in my chambers. I believed her a vision. She spoke the challenge you repeated—word for word. I could not disobey.”
Medea could not refute him. Nor could she ignore the implication.
Qblh was already moving.
Perhaps he was closer than she believed.
Perhaps he was Jason.
The thought ignited something dangerous within her. If Jason succeeded, Aeetes would pursue the Greeks without mercy. But if the Argonauts were taken to the Temple of Artemis, Qblh would be forced to intervene.
Only he could save them.
She reminded Aeetes of the guardian.
“No army can retrieve the fleece,” she said. “What chance have these men?”
“And yet they overcame the last trial,” Aeetes replied darkly.
“They will not survive the temple,” Medea said. “That is my lady’s will.”
“And if they do?”
“That is impossible.”
“As is defeating the guardian.”
Medea met his gaze. “You will obey Isis. The Argonauts will be escorted to the temple and sacrificed. You will never see them alive again.”
Aeetes agreed—outwardly.
Inwardly, he prepared his forces to slaughter the Greeks should they somehow escape. He would then reclaim the fleece and display it in his own palace.
Medea returned to Jason before the procession began.
She smiled, and Jason believed—wrongly—that it was reassurance.
Beneath strategy, beneath enchantment, something else stirred.
Affection.
And affection, Medea knew, was the most dangerous variable of all.
