The Goddess of Blessed Death

The Poison a Mother Drinks

The walls of Athens exceed that of Calydon's in both thickness and height. Soldiers with light spears in hand and short swords strapped to their sides walk along the tops, patrolling. When Macaria was young, she wondered if those who walked the top of the wall could touch the sky. Now she knows only the gods can do that.

They leave the wagons outside of the walls. Men lead oxen carts and wagons carrying their chests, much of which was salvaged only because of Deianira's foresight. Inside the city walls, Macaria feels safe for the first time since her father put on the poisoned cloak and his flesh burned and ripped and peeled off. She pushes the image from her mind and focuses on the city around her.

Athens lives like no city has nor will. Its people and foreigners crowd the markets, haggling for prices and possessions and produce. It smells of Arab spices and Greek fruits. Persian rugs hang from merchant carts and wagons set up as temporary shops. People murmur and gossip at the haggard sight of them. Bold merchants step forward to try and coerce them into buying food and water only for Iolaus or another solider to push them away.

A week ago Heracles was suffering but alive. Less than a day ago he'd gone to Olympus. And now they stand before King Demophon's citadel Acropolis on the streets of Athens, clothes soiled and torn. Royal blood stripped of their royal titles without their demigod Heracles to protect them not just with his hands but with his influence.

In a vibrant blue himation with a golden band sitting upon his dark locks, King Demophon meets them at the stairs of his Acropolis. As the son of the great Theseus and grandson of his dear grandmother Aethra, for whom he went to war to rescue from Troy, the king is an old warrior who sew his adolescence in war. His fame spread far and wide for being among those in the Trojan Horse. He walks down the stairs and though he moves with the grace of a royal, there is a certain awareness about him that keeps him on edge and prepared at all times. His eyes, sunken in and darkened as though he has seen too much in war and regrets too deeply in love.

At the top of the stairs, a blonde man steps out from behind guards and into the evening light. Macaria looks at Oneites but her brother isn't paying attention, his eyes locked onto the approaching king.

Deianira steps forward to meet Demophon. They exchange whispers. Apprehension and dread drips down Macaria's spine. Behind Demophon, Mors is gazing down at them in a fresh chiton pinned together by a golden pin shining under the amber and indigo sky. His eyes rank over the group until they find Macaria. He stands there among the soldiers without armor or weapons yet looking more deadly than any Athenian warrior, than even Demophon.

Macaria's gaze snaps back to the king: Did he send Mors?

"Apollo has looked after you since you left his city. Come," Demophon says to the travelers, the family of Heracles. "How could I turn away the family of the god who saved my father while he was in Hades? Come, there is someone you should meet. Welcome to Athena's city."

Mors had disappeared from the top of the stairs. Macaria slipped through the group to Oneites.

"He's here," she whispers urgently. "Mors, I saw him."

"Don't be silly, there is no way he could have arrived here quicker than us," Oneites says and walks faster to escape her before she can retort.

Scoffing, Macaria goes to Glenus, who stands beside Ctesippus. Oneites will see soon enough, she's sure of it.

They are taken to the hall of the citadel where court convenes. Demophone sits on his throne, a golden slab of smooth stone. A consort sits beside him, three more behind and beside. His court of men is already gathered and sit on the circle of stairs that extend from the throne like a halo from a head. They scrutinize the group with a mixture of leers, judging glares and awe-filled gawking. Deianira leads the travelers through an opening in the stairs into the center of court where there are no stairs but a floor as smooth as Demophon's throne. It all makes Macaria feel as though they are on trial rather than being saved.