Simmer: Or, The Second Life of Callis Wardwell, Witch

PROLOGUE: THE POISON WOMAN

Note: THIS IS A SEQUEL TO MY FIC TONGUES AND TEETH YOU MAY BE VERY CONFUSED IF YOU HAVE NOT READ THAT. LIKE. I'M JUST SAYING. OK THANKS LOVE YOU BYE

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Simmer: Or, A True History of the Second Life of One Callis Wardwell, Witch, Who Cheated Death (And More Besides)

Prologue: THE POISON WOMAN

AGAMEMNON: Oh immovable law of heaven! Oh my anguish, my relentless fate!

CLYTEMNESTRA: Yours? Mine. Hers. No relenting for any of us.

― Euripides, Iphigenia in Aulis 

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It had been a slight.

Oh, in theory, it was a peace gesture; Deianira Wardwell deigning to marry any of her daughters at all to an Onasis boy was something extraordinary. But she could have picked her eldest, Eudocia, who was handsome and powerful, in the midst of a fairy tale– and whose current marriage to the King of Frostplains really wasn't going to last long at all, if she had her way. Or she could have picked her middle daughter, Niobe, who was charming and clever, and made everyone else look better just by the strength of her appeal...

But she had offered up her youngest.

Iphigenia.

It had been styled as a parlay, of sorts. The Wardwells all sat on one side, and the Onasis delegation stood uncomfortably on the other, as far away as they could get in Deianira's receiving room, which was not as far as anyone would have liked. No one said a great deal. Not that there was a particular need for it.

Deianira, in her favoured chair, lifted her hand and briskly indicated Iphigenia to come forwards, which she did.

Yes, it was a slight; Conri Onasis frowned. Clearly, he had been expecting one of the other two. Maybe even deliberately lead to believe that. Everyone knew Iphigenia was unexceptional, both in power and looks.

"This is...?"

"My youngest, Iphigenia." said Deianira neutrally. Iphigenia kept her head down, but watched her mother from the corner of her eye.

"How old is she?" said Conri suspiciously.

"She is twenty."

"She looks about seventeen. She's flat as a board."

"Tall seventeen." mumbled one of the other man-wolves.

Deianira shrugged, as if wondering what he wanted her to do about that. Iphigenia wasn't handsome, and she was tall. What of it?

"Iphigenia is unattached, unlike Niobe and Eudocia. She is a skilled alchemist and potions-maker."

Deo's father seemed to wait for more, but there was nothing. Iphigenia, however, flattened the tiny smile that had crossed her face. It was the closest her mother had come to praising her in a long time, even if it was a pathetic attempt to make her appear more desirable.

"...right." he grumbled. "Well. This is my boy, Deo– come here, lad–"

There was a shuffling, and a boy with hands as wide as dinner plates was shunted to the front of the pack. Iphigenia stared unaffectedly at him. He was avoiding her gaze. Uncomfortable? Undoubtedly. And unhappy with the arrangement, perhaps. Despite his father's grumbling, he probably wasn't older than her. Maybe a year or so younger.

Conri Onasis folded his arms across his broad chest and looked expectantly at Deianira, who looked bored. She jerked her head, and one of the senior witches emerged from the crowd and took Iphigenia's elbow, towing her forwards. Someone in the Onasis crowd booted Deo in the backside and sent him stumbling to meet them. Their hands were joined loosely, which was for the best, since his hands were about twice the size of Iphigenia's. He still couldn't commit to making eye contact with her.