Outrun the Wind

by Elizabeth Tammi

  “He was killed,” she blurts suddenly, as if the words were ripped from her. My hands freeze halfway down to my plate, but I make an effort to seem casual. Atalanta meets my gaze, the longing and grief so strong that I can hardly believe she’d held it in for all of yesterday—for even a second.

  “You loved him.”

  She doesn’t nod, but she doesn’t argue either. Something close to pity worms its way into my heart, but I can’t stop remembering how she’d taken credit so easily for a blow that I’d struck.

  “So you see, Kahina?” she asks, her voice earnest and pleading for understanding. “How am I supposed to marry now?”

  “The women of Greece rarely wed for love,” I retort. That much is true. “It’s politics, princess. Plain and simple.”

  She doesn’t seem offended by my bluntness. “But Meleager is dead,” she murmurs.

  I stare at her uneasily. I’ve never known death—not really. Not like she has. “Why didn’t you say anything about this earlier?”

  “To whom?”

  I have no answer to give her.

  Eventually, she reaches for the knife by the bread and delicately cuts off a slice. Her movements are almost theatrical in their precision, and I can’t tell if she’s making fun of me or trying too hard. She lifts the bread to her mouth, meeting my eyes to ask for approval. I shrug, and grant her a nod.

  The morning passes in more ridiculous rules and a strange silence bursting with the secrets and fears she’s shared. I study her as she polishes off the last of the grapes, and wonder what exactly Arkadia is going to do with their princess.

  The next week is full of these awkward meals and improvised etiquette lessons. Atalanta follows my instructions begrudgingly as I scrape every last bit of knowledge I have out of my emptying mind. Then, I start guessing. I’m quite good at it. Sometimes, she’ll stare at me with a hint of apprehension, but she never doubts enough to question me.

  I escape to the temple of Apollo as often as I can. I bring weapons from Arkadia’s stronghold, and try to do my worst on it. I examine every inch of the structure. But apparently what little dents I’ve made aren’t enough for Artemis to forgive me. I stare at the tree line, always half-waiting to see if Nikoleta and Isidora will emerge.

  I visit with Phelix in the stables and explore the grounds around the house as much as I can. I hate pretending all the time, making up facts and formalities for a girl I care little about. But the cold creeping in from the mountains is unlike anything I’ve felt before, and the thought of traversing the woods alone in it scares me to my core. The warmth of the house is a comfort I find myself relying upon more and more as winter closes in, even if it means I must share it with Atalanta.

  After a week of table etiquette, her father instructs me to move on to more intimate affairs: traditional dances, phrases to avoid, and how to gauge a man’s political worth. King Iasus is planning a coronation of sorts, so all the surrounding lands will know of Princess Atalanta’s return. I see the truth of it plainly, and figure the guest list will be comprised of nothing but eligible bachelors. The whole event seems insufferable and tediously staged, but at least it’s a few weeks away; no man would want to traverse lands in this cold, and as Nora and Iasus are keen to remind us both, Atalanta needs plenty more training to be marriageable.

  I lounge on the low sofa against Atalanta’s bedroom wall as she attempts to fold a formal tunic across her broad shoulders. The fabric is silk, and as impossible to shape as water. She groans as the sleeves slip off again. She turns to me, tunic half-on, and huffs over to her bed. Atalanta sits down hard, her braid bouncing with the motion.

  “This is impossible,” she mutters. When I don’t reply, she glances up at me in frustration. “I have killed many monsters. But this?” She shakes her head.

  Many monsters. A bitter taste fills my mouth. Artemis’s beast would have bested her. I bite my lip, and change the subject. “The coronation will require it,” I reprimand.

  “Then why don’t you teach me how to put it on?” She nearly shouts the words. I inspect my nails, doing my best to maintain a detached disposition. Inside, my blood is boiling. From my periphery, I see her stand and take a step closer to me. “I don’t think you have a clue what you’re doing.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Atalanta

  I keep my eyes locked on Kahina. For two weeks now, I’ve dealt with her coldness, her distance, whatever—but I won’t tolerate ignorance. Her eyes finally flick up to mine, dark and uninterested. Frustration shrivels up my insides. I start to step toward her.

  “What are you doing inside still?”

  Kahina and I both jerk our heads to the doorway. She exhales loudly, and practically leaps to her feet. Her fingers fly to her hair, adjusting her bun. Phelix stares at her expectantly. I’ve noticed that she usually helps him with the stables in the afternoon, when there’s some semblance of warmth left in the air.

  “Sorry,” she mumbles, and I watch her gather her shawl from the sofa. I study the view out the window, trying not to feel excluded. I might enjoy stable work, if it meant getting to understand Phelix.

  “Would you, uh, like to come with us?” My heart jolts, and I stare back at my brother. His eyes roam across my face, equal parts kind and cautious.

  “Sure,” I say, offering him a small smile and trying not to let him—and especially Kahina—see how much it means to me. She sighs, pushing past Phelix and hopping down the stairs. He frowns slightly after her, then follows Kahina.

  I jog down after them. Kahina shoves open the front doors, and winces at the cold. I bite back a laugh—Greece doesn’t truly get that cold, but her misery over it is amusing. The sunlight is weak behind heavy clouds. The sharp silhouettes of the jutting mountains and the rolling plains beneath them are pronounced.

  I breathe deeply, the air stinging me all the way to the bottom of my lungs. In front of me, I see Phelix mock Kahina’s shivering, and she shoves him with a laugh. If I could join them, I would. But I have no idea how. I tune them out as we stride briskly over the rocky path to the stables.

  When we step inside, we release a collective sigh of relief from the cold. Kahina swivels and inspects the stables uncertainly. “Phelix, did you actually finish all your work?”

  I turn to him, and he ducks his head. “Maybe.”

  “Then why are we here?” I ask. Both of them stare at me, and for a panic-stricken moment, I wonder if they’d forgotten I was with them. Phelix ducks his head farther, and I almost apologize—I had meant it as a genuine question, not intending to offend him. I make another mental note of what not to say.

  “Maybe I thought we could ride them,” he offers, still looking down. I resist the urge to pull up his chin.

  “Yes, please!” Kahina exclaims.

  Phelix’s mouth twists into a grin, and I feel a prickle of excitement. Of acceptance. Especially when I was younger, I’d loved riding horses. I remember how it felt like flying—except the soreness between my legs that always followed.

  Minutes later, we’ve each claimed a horse. Kahina’s is a dappled mare with gentle eyes, and I’ve gravitated toward the white horse my father favors. Phelix’s is black like night, and the tallest of the three. He throws leather cushioning atop his and Kahina’s horses, but I wave him off. I’ve only been trained to ride bareback. The memory rushes back, and I swing my legs over with ease, my face splitting with a smile.

  I catch Kahina staring up at me, wincing at my saddle-less stance. I shrug. It takes her a few minutes to mount her horse, but I can tell she’s done it before. Phelix follows suit, and we make our way out of the stable doors.

  The air is fierce and biting, and as we break into a trot across the reaching fields in front of us, we’re thrashed with its acrid cold. But we’re so thrilled by the way we take off across the plains that the pain is all but forgotten—I feel free and utterly unowned. The grass an
d crops are shriveled and dead from the weather, but Arkadia still sings with vitality. It’s in the big sky and the birds still flying high. Phelix turns back and shouts something that is torn by the wind, and he beckons up a low-sloping mountain. Kahina flicks her reins once, and rides neck and neck with Phelix’s midnight horse. I bristle a bit at the way they share a smile, but squeeze my horse’s midsection once to keep up.

  The three of us slow significantly as the ground inclines. The trees crowd in, and I have to duck to avoid their branches. Phelix takes the lead and holds them back for Kahina as she follows. She does not hold them back for me.

  When Phelix finally holds up his hand for us to halt, my breath catches. It’s like a woven tapestry cut into the tree line—a break in the branches gives a clear view all the way down into the valley, where the fields and houses are all nestled beneath the rolling hills and mountains. Though all the branches are empty and bare, they’re still a magnificent presence, and my heart slows with the beauty of it all. This polis, for what it lacks in riches, overflows with beauty.

  Before I glance over to Kahina, I already know what I’ll see: parted lips, her eyes slightly narrowed, one eyebrow raised. I’m right. But she feels my gaze and turns to me, so I cut my eyes back to the valley. I notice the outline of a racing track down below, behind the palace. It’s overgrown, almost becoming untouched earth again. I wonder why it bothers me that it looks so forgotten.

  We swing our legs over and off of our horses, hopping down to the soft earth.

  Phelix crosses his arms and leans against a big poplar tree. “Beautiful, right?” We don’t need to reply. I can almost imagine it in a rich summer sunset—pinks and oranges mixing in the sky, with clear, golden light cutting through thick leaves.

  “Do you come here often?” I ask him.

  Phelix nods, and for a moment, I think we might be building a connection. But then Kahina’s horse starts butting against Phelix’s, and they’re laughing again. I glance at my hands. They’re weathered, calloused, and scarred. Not like any princess’s should be. I scan the mountains that frame Arkadia. I find myself wondering which way Calydon is. I shiver, drawing my shawl as close as I can.

  Phelix’s words pull me back in. “Are you excited for your coronation?”

  I turn in time to see Kahina visibly wince. I wrack my brain for all she’s taught me, and I straighten my spine, tossing my shoulders back just like she always tells me to.

  “I can still hardly believe Father found me. I’d always wondered where and who he was, and . . .” I falter, not sure what I’m trying to say. Not sure what I want to say. I clear my throat. “I’m just very lucky to have found my family. My home. I’ll be honored to be officially recognized as princess of Arkadia.”

  Kahina tilts her head. “And, of course, you’ll get to choose a suitor?”

  I bristle. “Yes,” I reply unsteadily, staring her dead-on. “Of course.”

  If Phelix notices the tension, he doesn’t acknowledge it. “I bet they’ll come from all over,” he says, his voice warm. I think he’s trying to be kind, but the words just make my stomach churn. “Mycenae, Sparta, Delphi, maybe even Athens—”

  “Oh, I doubt that,” I mutter, my face flushing. My heart ticks faster at the thought of any man stepping onto Arkadian territory with me as his objective. “I’m a bred warrior. I don’t think I have the”—I glare pointedly at Kahina—“grace and beauty to have that honor.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Phelix replies, leaning over to stroke his horse. I can’t stop my hands from trembling at my side. Suddenly, I can’t stop remembering Meleager, and the Pythia’s words. The memories rush through me, and I’m powerless to stop them. I swallow, and sit down hard in the dirt.

  Kahina clears her throat, and to my surprise, she takes a seat next to me. “It’s still a month away, right?” She studies the view. In the fading day, I swear her skin glows. Quietly, she continues, “You should tell your father. Or at least Phelix.”

  “Tell me what?” Phelix shouts from over by the horses.

  “Tell him what?” I whisper.

  She turns her head to me, as if I’m missing something obvious. “Why you don’t want to get married? The boar hunt?”

  “Father will be wondering where I’ve gone off to,” I mumble, starting to get up. Kahina reaches for my arm. She doesn’t pull me or anything, but the contact itself is enough to make me stop.

  “What’s going on?” he asks from above me. His already-impressive height is a little unnerving from all the way down here. I pull my knees up to my chest. Kahina’s hand still stays on my arm. Phelix lowers himself down on the other side of me, his eyes wide with concern.

  I hesitate, mouth open. But this is my brother—if I want to know him, maybe I should start by letting him in. I focus on Kahina’s hand on my arm. It’s grounding, somehow. Slowly, I begin to explain to them—in selective terms—the series of misfortunes that finally led to Father finding me in a crowded Delphi alleyway. I don’t bother explaining the hunters who raised me. They don’t matter—they can’t matter to me anymore.

  I tell them of the prince who gave me a chance. The one who listened and really saw me when he looked at me. I speak of all the men who were in the Calydonian Boar Hunt. But when I start to speak of Hippomenes, and of how the boar was killed, Kahina’s hand falls away. Her face reverts back into the cynical disdain she often reserves for me.

  I’ve just gotten to Artemis’s confrontation when she stands suddenly. Phelix’s head jerks up, confusion lifting his eyebrows. She gives me one last glare before running back to her horse.

  “Kahina!” Phelix shouts, standing up, my story completely forgotten. “Wait!”

  Now, she mounts easily, and with a flick of her reins, she takes off down the mountain. I groan, wondering what set her off this time. I heave myself up to my feet. This time I will get my answer. I stalk toward my horse and mount it, and follow Kahina down.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Kahina

  Every second I’ve spent here has been a mistake. I can’t take any of this—my invented role here, Atalanta’s outright lies, Artemis’s ridiculous task.

  I need to end this. Once the ground down the hill levels out, I jerk my reins to the right. It takes a little bit of force to convince my horse to veer into unfamiliar territory. Unfamiliar for the horse, at least. By now, I could find my way to Apollo’s temple blind.

  When I slew the boar—

  Atalanta’s voice pounds through my head. Her story was sprinkled with truth, but I should have never let pity worm its way into my heart. That girl is an animal, and she will do what it takes to survive. I’ll never be more than a stepping-stone for her. I’d almost let myself forget it.

  I dismount the horse in one motion, not bothering to tie her to the trees. I stalk inside the temple and slam both my fists into the center altar. It does nothing, of course. Rage tears through me, and I grab my knife from inside my tunic, throwing it with all the strength I’d used to take down the Calydonian Boar. And it just bounces off the marble. Tears crowd out my vision, and I try to let out my breath slowly, but a strangled sob escapes.

  “Kahina?”

  At first, I’m convinced it’s still just my mind replaying her voice. But I feel someone touch my shoulder and I recoil. I wipe at my eyes once, then turn to face her with my arms crossed tight across my chest.

  “What?” I snarl.

  It’s a little bit satisfying to see her flinch. Her face grows tight—eyebrows furrowed, gray eyes narrowed intently at me—and it’s impossible to tell if it’s out of concern or anger. Atalanta always seems more wolf than human to me. A product of her upbringing, I suppose.

  “Have I done something to offend you?”

  Her eyes have slowly widened out of her predatory glare. It makes her look earnest, but I know that’s another lie too. I keep my mouth shut tight, maybe because I�
�m not sure where to start. She rolls her eyes impatiently at me, but they catch on the dented column behind me. I watch her as she takes in the rest of Apollo’s temple—the burn marks, my crude carving of Artemis I’d tried to make laying across the front altar, and the few cracks I’ve been able to make in the pillars and foundation.

  Her eyes flick back and over me. “What is this?”

  “A temple to Apollo.”

  She says nothing. Her eyes are fixed blankly on my ground behind me. I glance down and realize what her question meant. My golden knife lays alone on the floor. I curse, and quickly scoop it up from the ground.

  “What are you doing with my knife?” Atalanta asks. If I didn’t know her, the tone of her voice would have me shaking.

  White-hot anger tingles down my spine, and for a second, I’m pretty sure I can feel my heartbeat in my neck. I crane my head toward the forest, throwing one last desperate glance into the tree line. Hoping against hope that maybe I’ve done enough damage for Artemis to finally send Isidora and Nikoleta back for me.

  I didn’t want to get tangled in Arkadia. Part of me fears that maybe the goddess has forgotten about me entirely. I could run for it—try to make it on my own, even though I’ve never been that way before. If I could somehow find a way back to Corinth, to my father and his marvelous ships, to my mother and her beautiful horses . . .

  I glance back at Atalanta. Her face is half-shadowed, half-

  illuminated by the orange light that seeps in between the columns. She stares at my blade still.

  No. Hippomenes knows that would be exactly where I would go. I’m not safe until Artemis says I am. And until then, Atalanta isn’t going to lie for one second longer.

  “It’s mine, you—” I make myself stop. I remind myself that I am in control. “Check your own pack.”

  I cross my arms as she frowns. She never drops my gaze as her hand fumbles quickly by her side, reaching inside. I can see it on her face when her fingers graze upon the hilt. Her jaw clenches as she pulls it out.