The words seem kind enough, but nothing in her voice does. I falter, turning back to stare at her. My neck tingles with a timid feeling of familiarity—but it’s gone before I can pin it down. I don’t want to annoy her, but I also don’t want her to leave. As distant as she seems, she’s the closest thing I have to a friend here, which is disheartening. I’m not sure where my father’s gone off to, and Phelix has been mostly silent. He whispered a brief, confusing introduction to me when I first got out of the carriage after days of awkward silence riding through Greece with my father. Then a man with a kind smile leaned down, whispering, Hello, sister. And Father said nothing about it.
There are so many people in Arkadia. At least, compared to the life I’ve known. But as Kahina turns to leave, I feel as lonely as when I had to leave the hunters who raised me.
“Wait,” I say, reaching for her arm. She jerks it away, glaring up at me—she’s a good deal shorter than I am, though I’m sure she’s average for female height. “I . . . I don’t even know what’s going on. A welcome banquet? Where do I—”
Kahina sighs, cutting me off. “Fine. Follow me.”
Even though she said she’s only been here for a day, she seems quite confident as she strides past me. She clutches at the skirts of her dress, then bounds up the marble steps that lead into the palace, just like we did earlier today. It already feels like weeks ago.
The ceiling soars high, with rows of unlit torches lining the walls. Sunlight streams in through an open courtyard toward the middle of the palace, and a set of stairs climbs upward into a second story that wraps around the whole room with railings.
“This way,” Kahina says, already stepping up the stairs. I blink and follow, taking in the view of the ground floor from up above. I stop myself just before I slam into Kahina’s back—she stands outside a doorway, her silhouette framed by the fading daylight. From over her shoulder, I see that my suite is not empty.
Four women stand silently in the room, polite smiles plastered on their faces. Fabrics of every color are folded in their sturdy arms. I follow Kahina into the room, and try to mimic the smiles the women wear. A quick inventory of the room reveals a canopied bed—with a pallet made of feathers, I suspect—pushed against the back wall, with plenty of elegant drapes and intricately painted pitchers stored in intervals across the room. There’s a low sofa and washbasin against the opposite wall.
Kahina looks over to me and grimaces. I let my face drop. She wrings her hands, then walks over to the women. She takes one of the dresses from their arms, dark purple and lined with golden thread, but she quickly realizes she’s holding it upside down. She grits her teeth and hands it back to the woman.
“Let’s start with this one,” she tells her. Kahina points at the girl to her left. “Can you do hair?”
“I’d prefer a braid,” I interject. “I can do it myself.”
“A braid?” She scoffs, turning around. Behind her, the women’s eyes grow wide. “For a banquet? No, that won’t do. I want . . .” She grits her teeth, and points at the girl beside her again. I’m not sure why Kahina’s so upset. “I want whatever this young woman deems appropriate. I defer to her esteemed judgment.”
“But—”
“Esteemed. Judgment.” she growls. Her warm eyes are surprisingly intimidating, and I keep my mouth shut, even though a burst of raw anger flares in my chest.
“Do your best,” Kahina tells the women. And she’s gone.
A few hours later, I’m sitting at a wooden table so long that I have to lean back to see the other end. My father sits at the head, and I’m at his left. Phelix sits across from me. Torchlight makes the room glow in orange light, and laughter rings through the hall—pleasant, but too loud. The Arkadians applauded when I was first introduced. I’m surprised that I feel good in the purple dress Kahina chose—despite its constraining length, the fabric is one of the softest things I’ve ever touched. I’d been told there would be a formal coronation later, and was relieved when their attention switched quickly from me to the food heaped onto the tables.
Not many people address me, or even meet my eyes. Which I prefer. I don’t have to do much talking; my father repeats our story countless times throughout the night, and with each glass of wine, it becomes more fantastical. I watch him grin and beckon toward me, and my insides grow warm—or maybe that’s just the wine.
“It’s hard to believe that the Atalanta is my daughter!”
It’s harder still for me to believe I have a father. With Phelix smiling softly across the table at me, and my father singing my praises to anyone who will listen, a part of me wishes I’d never been lost. I could have grown up here, in the rolling hills of Arkadia, with a father and brother who were proud to be mine.
Now I want to know more—how I got lost, who my mother is—but I remind myself that I have time. I settle back into my chair and allow myself to relax slightly. The feeling is completely foreign. I scan the room, over all the Arkadians here to welcome me back. On the far wall, I see that the doors to the kitchens are connected to the dining hall. Every time they flip open, I catch a glimpse of Kahina and Nora, gathering more food and drink.
Nora leans in closer to Kahina, whispering something, and I see Kahina’s face melt into laughter. My heart slows—how is she the same girl who gave me such a depressing tour? I focus back on the food before me. It’s odd to eat meat I didn’t kill myself.
I reach for another helping of brisket with my fingers, and my father coughs loudly. He shoots me a glare, and I freeze. Father nods discretely at my forgotten utensils, and I curse myself.
He raises his hand for more wine; one of the girls closest to him rushes forward, but when she pours her pitcher into his bronze gauntlet, only a few drops of dark liquid come out. She shakes the pitcher a little, but nothing comes out. He glances past her into the kitchens, where Nora slowly shakes her head. He flushes a little, then beckons to another girl who comes forward, emptying her pitcher as well. I glance down at my near-empty cup.
For the first time, I see strained unease behind my father’s smile as he stares down the table at his Arkadian guests, silently willing them not to ask for refills that do not exist.
As the night continues, I study Phelix. He’s older than me by maybe five or six years, and it’s unnerving to see some of my features in male form. He stays silent and unacknowledged throughout the meal. To be fair, I do mostly the same—at least the silent part.
When the last of the guests finally exit through the front doors, they shut with a satisfying noise. Phelix wordlessly begins clearing plates, helping the servants clean up the feast. I lean down to do the same, but Father catches my arm.
I glance up, and he smiles. “Your first day back home.”
I nod, and mirror his grin. “I suppose it’s been awhile.” I pause. “And thank you, for the welcome banquet—I appreciate it.”
He shakes his head as if it’s nothing, but I still remember the empty pitchers and worried servants. All is not well in Arkadia, but I won’t be the first to bring it up.
“No, really,” I continue. I straighten my skirts, and look into his familiar eyes. “Thank you. Not just for tonight, but for everything—I’ve never had a home like this before.” He shakes his head again, but I keep going, sudden gratitude overflowing. “If there’s anything I can do to help—”
“Atalanta,” he says, and though I’m not great at understanding people, his tone sounds almost guilty. He heaves a sigh and stares vacantly around his palace. “Your coronation will be in just a few weeks.”
“I know.”
“There will be suitors there,” he says. “Suitors you need to impress. So I’ll ask Kahina to help you with some basic etiquette and—”
“Suitors?” I ask. I immediately, stupidly, think of Meleager. My throat threatens to clamp up, but I clear it. “But . . . I can’t get married.”
The words
of the Pythia echo through my mind. Bind yourself to one, and you will surely lose your identity. Even without her warning, I know I’d react with the same aversion.
“You’re seventeen, daughter.” His eyes don’t seem quite as warm as they’d been at first, in Delphi. Guilt traps me. “You should already be married.”
I can’t have him mad at me. He’s my only family. My only chance at not being alone. I’m drowning, but I say, “I understand. Of course.”
He gives me a tight smile, then leaves through the kitchen doors. I’m only alone briefly. With the king gone, the rest of the servants sweep in, gathering plates. I see Kahina down at the other end of the table, wiping it. Breadcrumbs and drops of spilled wine disappear under her wet rags. The anger from earlier flares again, and I march over to her.
“Have I done something to offend you?”
Kahina falters in her work, then continues without acknowledging me. I would rather her scream at me, hit me, than ignore me.
Finally, she says, “You should be in your suite, princess.”
I cross my arms. “Answer my question.”
“Why?” She keeps making her way down the table, but I follow her.
I try to make my voice into steel. “What have I done to wrong you?”
“Plenty,” she whispers.
Confusion mixes with my frustration, and I toss my hands in the air. “Like what?”
She’s only made it halfway down the table, but she furiously gathers up the dirty rags and tosses them into a bucket.
“You know your father only took you back to marry you off,” she spits, and she walks straight into the kitchens without looking back. I stare at her until she disappears, and before I can talk myself down, I’m striding after her, pushing through the kitchen doors with far more force than necessary.
From the side, Phelix swoops in and links his elbow through mine. “Come along, sister.”
“But—”
He pulls me through the kitchens with surprising strength, and I don’t see Kahina anywhere. We burst outside. Constellations burn bright across the ink-colored sky, ones I know from just a glance. With a laugh, Phelix lets me go.
“Look,” he says, before I can even open my mouth. “I’m not sure why you and Kahina are at each other’s throats, but it’s not worth the trouble, all right? She’s a good person.” I inspect him, weighing his words. Phelix is only an inch or two taller than me, and his face is clear and open. His dark eyes catch the moonlight. “I heard Father,” Phelix says gently. I like the sound of his voice. It’s low and sweet, each syllable deliberate and melodious. It’s the first time I’ve even really heard it. “Are you all right?”
“I should’ve guessed,” I admit. I cross my arms against the cold. I miss my fur pelts, tucked away in my suite upstairs. “It makes sense, but . . .”
“. . . shouldn’t he try to marry me off first?” he finishes. I hesitate, then nod. He looks to his feet. “Atalanta, that wouldn’t be wise for Arkadia. We—we don’t share the same mother.”
“Oh,” I say, face burning. I can’t manage to survive one conversation here without upsetting anyone.
His words roll around in my head, and he must sense my confusion. After a moment, he murmurs, “Nora.” That’s the extent of his explanation. I make myself look at him. Phelix studies me, biting his lower lip like I do right before I shoot an arrow. “Nobody would want me, even if I wanted them.” He says it matter-of-factly, and I remember how ignored he’s been this whole time.
“But the Atalanta? Sister,” he spreads his arms, “all of Greece wants you.”
CHAPTER TEN
Kahina
I wake the next day and immediately curl deeper into my blankets. I’ve always hated the cold, and it’s getting worse every day. Someone left me a pile of tunics and shawls on the dresser, and I force myself to my feet to sift through them, though they all look basically the same. I change into a long, beige one, with hopes it might lock out the cold. No such luck.
I shiver all the way to the stables. Phelix is inside a stable stall, brushing down the white horse Iasus rode in on yesterday. He glances up, the skin underneath his eyes unnervingly dark. Phelix frowns. “Forgetting your new job already?”
I cross my arms. “Do you think anyone would care?”
“I get the feeling my sister will,” Phelix says, his mouth curving into a wry smile. He shudders mockingly. “Besides, doesn’t she scare you?”
“She does not scare me.”
He laughs, looking back to his work. “Kahina, why would you rather be here than with Arkadia’s tragic, beautiful princess?” I can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic. “I mean, come on. Take a whiff.”
I roll my eyes and try to grab for a shovel, but he blocks my path.
“Go, Kahina.” He raises his eyebrows at me until I give in. I stalk all the way to the palace. I should’ve just gone to the temple this morning. If I can figure out a way to dismantle it, I might have a chance of getting out before winter really takes hold.
I march up the steps, and walk inside after grappling with the heavy front doors for a few too many seconds. Though the house is still open to the outside through the courtyard, it’s significantly warmer here. I sigh contentedly before turning around to see Atalanta and her father sitting at the dining table, staring at me.
“Oh!” I exclaim, straightening. “Good morning.”
Neither of them reply. Atalanta glares at me, then at the table. Last night has not gone forgotten for either of us. Iasus drums his weathered fingers on the table, his eyes like storm clouds.
“The banquet was . . . subpar,” he begins. I think he summed it up pretty well, but he continues, “It’s not your fault, daughter, but you were raised in a, ah, heathen manner. It is unsuited for our court. Kahina has already exhibited wonderful shows of grace and beauty. I do believe she can help you.”
I purse my lips hard. Grace and beauty? I don’t know if I feel more flattered or confused. My time at Delphi was full of priestesses reminding me to stand straight, bow your head to your superiors—I grit my teeth, and deliberately slouch a fraction of an inch.
Atalanta stares at the table. From where I stand, I can see her fists are clenched beneath it. She’d been so happy to be found yesterday. I wonder if that’s changed already. Iasus stands with a sigh, and speaks to me alone, “Nora will bring in breakfast in a few minutes. Use this meal to instruct the princess on table etiquette.”
“Yes, sir,” I reply, flashing an enthusiastic smile—only so I can see Atalanta clench her fists harder. He leaves through the kitchens without looking back.
Silence pours heavily into the room, and I take the seat opposite Atalanta. The chair scrapes harshly against the floor, but she still doesn’t look up. I lean back, sighing. Phelix’s manure and grooming duties seem like Elysium right about now. I’ve heard of comfortable quietness, and this is definitely not it.
After another five minutes of crippling boredom, Nora walks slowly into the dining hall, two other women behind her. She studies me intensely for a moment before they set down plates of fresh grapes, steaming bread, and cheeses. Now Atalanta looks up. Before the women even leave the room, she starts reaching for food. Nora’s gaze flicks to mine, daring me to stop her. Atalanta doesn’t scare me in the slightest, but Nora?
I yank out my hand and grab Atalanta’s wrist, not particularly gently. “Not so fast.”
She jerks her head up, confusion and anger twisting her features. My grip falters slightly. Phelix was right about one thing—she is, undeniably, quite beautiful. I quickly let go of her wrist. Nora makes a noise of affirmation, then walks back into the kitchens, trailed by the other servant-women.
Atalanta massages her wrist and glares at me, as if I’ve stabbed her. “So am I not allowed to just eat?”
I roll my eyes. “Not like that,” I mutter. I wrack my brain for th
e manners I learned from my parents when we hosted important merchants for dinner. I pick up the fork beside my plate and use it to nimbly scoop out some grapes and move them to my plate. Admittedly not as efficient as bare hands, but all the more respectable. I look up to Atalanta. “This is a fork.”
She glares. “I know what a fork is.”
We’re off to a soaring start already. I inhale deeply, and talk to the ceiling. “You don’t eat until your father does. Never eat meat with your bare hands. And—”
“Was what you said last night—?”
I glance down, and she cuts herself off. Atalanta’s eyes are strangely bright, with a vulnerability I hadn’t known possible of a warrior like her. I swallow, nerves prickling down my spine. Suddenly, everything about this room feels so wrong.
“That marriage is the only reason he . . .” Her voice gives out, but she tenses her jaw and stares at the table.
I blink hard, wondering how to reconcile this exposed, pitiful Atalanta with the girl I assumed she was. “Well,” I say, dragging out the word until I can think of how to proceed. “I mean . . . I would . . . hmm.”
She tilts her head, and I see anger replace her weakness until she’s back to the glare that is at least ten times less unsettling from her than anything else. “Arkadia seems fine to me. I don’t get why he would have to marry me off.”
I shrug, remembering the desolate crops I’d passed when I got here. “I arrived not long before you, princess.”
Atalanta grins wryly. “We’ll figure it out together then.” She cuts her gaze from mine. “I can’t—I don’t want to get married anyway.”
Curiosity springs a well within me. I pluck a grape into my mouth. She reaches for them, and I gesture pointedly at the fork. “And why is that?”
She fumbles with the utensils for a while, flicking her eyes briefly to mine. “I . . .” She looks down to her plate. “I was on this hunt, with Prince Meleager. You’ve heard of him?”
I suppress a laugh. If only she could tell just how much I know. Instead, I nod casually.
Outrun the Wind Page 9
