4. Returning to the Farm Is Treason

"Um... I came to settle an inheritance."

The blond man scratched his head and went on.

"Ah, I should have introduced myself. I'm Aeson's son. The thing is, I didn't actually die. Anyway, I wanted to talk about the inheritance... and if you could spare me a sandal, I'd be grateful. I dropped one in the river on the way."

A murmur spread through the square.

"Aeson's son?"

"The dead prince was alive?"

"One sandal! The oracle has come true!!"

Pelias wiped every trace of agitation from his face. Cunning. Had the boy come with a sword, it would have been simpler — brand him a traitor and take his head where he stood. But the wretch had said inheritance in front of everyone. He had declared his blood, raised the matter of succession, asked for a shoe, and called the oracle back to mind, all in the same breath. Very well. Then I, too, shall show them a king's loving-kindness.

"Oh, my nephew! You were alive!! Aeson's son, returned living — surely this is the gods' own protection!"

The square roared.

Pelias seized the man in a crushing embrace. Right before his eyes, the peacock-feather mark flared a burning blue.

"I was told you were called Diomedes. How finely you have ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠grown."

"Ah, I threw that name out. My master gave me a new one. I'm Jason now."

The smile on Pelias's face stiffened by a hair. He changed his name?

Jason. The healer. And what, exactly, does he mean to heal? The king reached his answer at once. He means to cure Iolcus — Iolcus, sickened by usurpation — and set the kingdom back to rights! He has carved a blade into the name itself...!

"Ha, haha...! Yes, Jason! A truly blessed name! Come, come! How could I leave so precious a guest standing on dusty stone! Let us go in to the palace!"

The audience hall of Iolcus. The doors boomed shut, and every soldier's hand jumped to a hilt. Pelias raised a hand and checked them. Fools. The whole city has seen the man with one sandal. Nothing remained but negotiation. The king took the throne and gathered his dignity about him.

"So, nephew. I will ask you plainly. Have you come to take the throne back?"

The man waved him off.

"No. I'm good on the crown."

"...You're good?"

"I'm not interested in power and all that. Not that. My father's share of Grandfather's estate. I'm not even asking for the whole thing. Just carve off enough for me to buy one little plot out in the country and live off the rent for the rest of my life."

Something jumped behind Pelias's eyes.

A trap.

King Cretheus's estate was Iolcus itself. A kingdom was not a thing one could slice apart and portion out. And yet the wretch had set inheritance down as his premise, then tossed out a bargain as if accepting only a portion were a favor he was doing the crown. The instant Pelias fell for it and handed over so much as a single piece of gold, he would be acknowledging Aeson's share. Confessing the usurpation with his own mouth.

That innocently smiling face. The look of a drowned rat. Every bit of it, staged. Look at the ease of him, as if the crown were already shut inside his fist.

Pelias rose from the throne. So be it — he would meet this head-on.

"Hear me, Jason! I am Tyro's eldest son, and the son of great Poseidon! Your father Aeson was too sickly to hold a kingdom upright! In an age of crashing waves, what Iolcus needed was a strong hand! Had I not taken up the sword and kept the people, Iolcus would long ago have burned away without a trace! It is I who have borne this country on my back!"

The speech, poured out with everything he had, ran on for a long while after that. The ministers bowed their heads, overcome.

Go on. Refute me. On what grounds could you deny my rule!

Jason cracked an enormous yawn, dug in his ear with ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠his little finger, and blew.

"Ah, yes, yes. Of course, of course. So — my share?"

The ministers stared at him, aghast. The tips of Pelias's fingers twitched.

"...You take the money, and what, exactly, do you intend to do with it."

"I was thinking of going to Athens and farming olives."

Pelias's mind went white.

Athens? Olives?

Athens — the city ruled by Athena, goddess of wisdom and war. And the olive, the sacred tree that goddess had planted in the earth with her own hands when she contended with Poseidon for the city. Which meant that this wretch, going to Athena's city to raise Athena's tree, was saying—

He means to raise an army under the war goddess's aegis...!

Hera's mark at his nape. Athena's olive in his hand. The day a man with two goddesses of Olympus at his back returned at the head of an army, Pelias's own head would hang from the wall.

He must not be allowed to go. Athens — Athens, of all places, never!!

Pelias clawed desperately through his thoughts. Somewhere no goddess's hand could reach. Somewhere a man could never come back from alive.

...The Black Sea.

"Jason! The Golden Fleece!"

"Huh?"

"The Golden Fleece of Colchis! The lost treasure of our house! Bring it back... yes. I shall bequeath you the throne of Iolcus!"

"No, I told you, I'm good on the throne. And you just said my father is sickly. A son ought to be at his side."

Pelias's breath caught. Raising the hostage question, with the ministers listening. Unpacked, it came to this: touch my family while I am away, and you know what follows. Don't you?

"Fear nothing!"

The king struck his own breast at once.

"While you are at sea, this Pelias shall guard your family with his life! I will send the finest physician in the court and set before them every delicacy of mountain and sea! All the people stand witness! Upon the honor of the royal house, I swear it!"

"Seriously? Can you swear that in front of Lady Hera, too?"

"But I don't have a ship. Or any money. As I said, the inheritance still hasn't been settled..."

"Then I shall give you a ship as well!!"

Pelias was begging.

"I will assign you the finest shipwright! Crew, supplies, everything the voyage requires — the royal house shall bear it all! You shall want for nothing!"

"No, you really don't have to. Why go that far?"

"Take it!"

"No, I'm seriously fine..."

"Please, just take it, nephew!!"

Kh! This humiliation!

Reduced to offering a ship to a man reaching for his throne, and begging him to accept it. A few ministers who did not know the way of the world even reddened at the eyes, moved by their king's devoted love for his nephew. But for now there was no other course. First, Jason had to be driven out.

Go. Go, and die... Please, die upon the Black Sea!!

I came out of the audience hall. A few steps down the corridor, I set a hand to the wall and stopped.

"What? What just happened in there?"

I had come to settle a modest inheritance. That was all. The goal had been humble: scrape together a bit of money, go to Athens, farm olives. Done. So why had the thing swollen into this?

No. Wait. Calm down. I just don't go, right? Slip away in the night before we sail—

Why.

I don't need a justification. Staying alive comes first.

...What?

Get on the ship, and I die on the Black Sea. Don't go, and an assassin kills me. Either way, I don't so much as lay eyes on the inheritance.

I'm finished. My life is finished.

The pink text flickered in front of my eyes, twisting the knife.

What I wanted. Retirement money, and an olive grove.

"Hey, hold on. One lousy percent? My life is still a one-percent scrap?"

"That's just a drop of water!"

"This is all your fault! You should've been coaching me from the side! 'User, that remark is a shortcut to the Black Sea' — you were supposed to say something like that!"

"That was just... I figured I ought to get my money's worth out of the tattoo..."

I rubbed the peacock feather at the nape ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of my neck. I'd thought it looked like a gang tattoo. It had, in fact, landed exactly like one.

"I just wanted to farm some olives..."

"What does that have to do with anything!"

An attendant showed me to a detached wing of the palace — the place where my father, Aeson, was living under a confinement no one called confinement. I opened the door, and the smell of medicine rushed out. On the bed sat a white-haired man, raised halfway up.

"Cough, cough... Oh... Diomedes... no. They say you are called Jason now. You lived... and came back so splendid a man. A worthless father, leaving you among the beasts of Mount Pelion..."

Honestly, I didn't feel much. How could I? This was someone I was seeing for the first time in my life. Set against my previous life, he was a complete stranger. There was no way any of this was going to feel like family.

I felt along my belt. The pouch of herbs I had brought from the Chiron School had, somehow, stayed with me.

"Picked these on Mount Pelion. For the cough, steep these dried leaves and drink them. These are for when you can't sleep. Ah — this one's smell is a bit harsh, but if your chest feels tight, burning it helps."

"...Jason?"

"Inheritance, the throne, all of that can wait. First a person has to stay alive. Uncle says he'll feed you properly from now on and send a physician, so don't go eating yourself up over it."

Aeson stared at me in a daze, and then he broke.

"Hhh... you have grown up so well... truly, so well... I must offer Lord Chiron a full bow to the floor... cough!"

"A bow to the floor? Please. That beast— no. My master is the man who saw me off with a kick. Get some rest. I'm busy, so I'll be going."

As I stepped out, attendants were already changing Aeson's bedding for fresh linens. From the kitchens came the smell of porridge on the boil. At the far end of the corridor, a physician came running full tilt.

"...Ah. Yeah?"

Through the gap of the open door, I could see Aeson.

"Well, good."

"I told you, it's the first time I've seen him. Still, a person not dying is a good thing."

I was heading for my quarters when I found a young man leaning against a pillar at the end of the corridor. His clothes were lavishly embroidered in gold thread, and he looked a year or two older than me.

"Jason! I've been waiting! Hey, you are seriously incredible!"

"Uh... who are you?"

"Me? Acastus! King Pelias's eldest son! So that makes me your cousin!"

Metis. Info.

The usurper's son. Politically, my greatest rival — and one of the people who stood to gain the most if I died. I eased half a step back, on my guard.

"I heard everything from the audience hall! You're the first person who's ever beaten my father with words!"

Acastus strode right up and seized my hand. His eyes sparkled like a boy's.

"You know that speech, the whole son-of-Poseidon thing. Once he starts, even the ministers brace for half a day. And you shut it down in one line! Agh, I should have been in that room!"

"No, he was just going on too long..."

"And he offered you the throne and you said you were good? That is not a thing you say on an ordinary man's nerve!"

"It's because I genuinely don't need it."

"And humble on top of it! You really are something, aren't you? Your wisdom reaches all the way to the top of Olympus!"

There was no getting through to him.

"So here's the thing! I'll take the departure preparations! Supervising the build, procuring supplies, recruiting the crew — all of it!!"

"Wait, why would a prince be doing that?"

"Because I've always wanted a heroic adventure! I've been stuck in this palace since I was little. And now an expedition the bards will sing about for generations is right in front of me — how am I supposed to just sit still!"

And why was this one so fired up.

"Oh, we'll need food and weapons too, right? It's going to cost a fortune. But don't worry! I even know where Father keeps the key to the treasury!"

Acastus nodded along to himself and shot off toward the shipyard.

Messengers came and went along the corridor. Officials sprinted for the harbor. Far beyond the window, from the direction of the yards, I could have sworn I already heard hammers. Preparations for a voyage I wanted no part of were clicking neatly into place.

"Do I actually have to get on a ship?"

"Oh, yeah? So you did have a plan!"

"That is not comforting at all!!"