Outrun the Wind

by Elizabeth Tammi

  Iasus practically shoves the man beside him toward Atalanta, who takes his hands reluctantly. The smile she’d worn so well crumbles. But a man moves to stand before me, and I half-

  heartedly give him my hands. One has to keep up appearances. We move through the room, never quite making eye contact, since we’re both stealing glances at the princess. The music grows deafening. I can’t hear it over the blood rushing through my head.

  I try to subtly lead us closer to her, and after another brutal few measures, she finally catches my gaze across the shoulder of her dance partner. Faster than a lightning strike, her face floods with desperation, and I’m already letting go of my partner’s hands. He makes a noise of protest, but I walk away.

  “Excuse me,” I say loudly, and Atalanta turns to me, lighting up with mock surprise.

  “Oh! Kahina,” she trills. Her voice pierces me—too high and strained. She looks back to the man holding her hands, who looks to be nearly forty. He has dark eyes and long, graying hair. His gaze is inquisitive, bordering on dangerous. My mouth goes dry, and it’s a good thing Atalanta speaks up. “Pardon us.”

  She swiftly withdraws her hands from his, and latches onto mine. We move through basic movements, but she struggles to keep up. Something’s wrong. “Thank you,” she whispers.

  “Who was that?” I ask, risking a glance behind her. The man still watches her. Watches us.

  “That,” Atalanta exhales. Sweat beads at her hairline. “Would be Zosimos.”

  “What?” I stop in my tracks, but she pulls me along through the next dance. Her hands are shaking. His gaze on us is a gross, palpable thing that I want to rip off. “I’m not sure why my father seems to like him so much. Must’ve set up a stupid polis somewhere and declared himself its stupid prince.”

  I snort a laugh, but there’s really nothing funny about the situation. Not anymore—not when the halls I’ve come to know so well are full of strangers, their eyes all boring into us. We can’t be dancing together for long. Suitors line the wall, staring at us openly. I jerk my head to them, and she nods begrudgingly.

  I let go of her hands, and we walk to her eager audience. She smiles cordially at them; there’s about a dozen or so unoccupied with the servant women. “My apologies,” she begins. “I just wanted to get some last-minute dance instruction from Kahina.” She gestures to me, and I nod at the suitors.

  “Of course,” one of the men replies. I can tell he’s already had some of the precious wine Nora set out. “You two are doing great.” His eyes slide over to me. “Very graceful. Exotic.”

  Atalanta puzzles; she knows she’s heard something amiss, but she can’t place it. But, oh, I certainly can. My foot smashes over his, and he howls in pain. “My apologies,” I say icily. “Guess I’m not so graceful after all.”

  His mouth is frozen open, from pain or shock—hopefully both. Atalanta suppresses a grin. I spin on my heel and leave them.

  What feels like hours later, the musicians finally stand and bow to the crowd. They beckon to the kitchens, where the dinner is paraded out. My jaw almost hits the floor; this is more food than I’ve seen in my entire few months at Arkadia—platters of brisket, baskets of bread, and trays of honeyed cakes are placed across the long table. For once, every seat is taken. There’s still not enough room, and another hastily assembled wooden table is dragged in from the courtyards for them.

  The suitors push and shove to sit as close to the head of the table as they can, though Iasus assures them they will each have their time to make their appeals to the princess throughout the week. My head throbs as the scraping of chairs fills the room. It must be the middle of the night by now.

  Atalanta takes her seat after her father sits, who’s beaming brighter than the torches. This must be more than he’d dreamt of. But then Zosimos slides into the seat to Atalanta’s left. I open my mouth to tell him to move, but why would he listen to me? Iasus would fire me on the spot. Atalanta’s fingers drum impatiently on the table. She twists around in her chair and beckons to me. My heart slams, but I approach, much to the confusion of the suitors. She gives a curt smile to her assembly. “I’m sorry. Where is Kahina’s chair?”

  “Atalan—”

  “Where is it?”

  My face burns. I normally sit to her left when we take meals, but that was before . . . this. Iasus glares at us, but then a chair is dragged to Atalanta’s side and she pats it twice. Everyone stares at me. I swear each of my steps echoes through the hall. The hairs on my neck tingle as I carefully sit down, and if it was anyone other than Zosimos beside her, I’d be gone.

  After an awkward beat, Iasus tells the suitors to dig in. I grab a slice of bread and immediately shove it in my mouth. Hunger and nerves together do not bode well for ladylike behavior. The man across from Atalanta introduces himself as Lysander from Mycenae. He’s overly eager, but one of the younger men I’ve seen so far. His hair is a mess of chestnut curls, his eyes a muddy green. “Sorry, princess. Who’s this?”

  This. I rip the crust of my bread into tiny pieces, wondering if I could get away with throwing them at him. “This is Kahina,” Atalanta answers. Her teeth are clenched. “My closest companion.”

  The bread falls from my hands.

  “Ah,” he replies, clearly uninterested. “So how have you been adjusting to life in Arkadia?”

  Iasus clears his throat. Everyone knows of Atalanta’s dangerous past—the intrigue is probably the reason half the men are here right now. The intrigue is what we’re counting on, if we want to pull this off.

  “She has been adjusting very well,” Iasus replies. “She’s picking up on female arts quite quickly.”

  “And what makes them female?” Atalanta asks. Her voice is playful, but the suitors all take a sudden interest in their plates.

  I bite my lip hard against laughter. With effort, Iasus turns to make conversation with other men around us, ignoring Atalanta’s objection altogether. I feel Zosimos’s stare even without looking at him. I risk a glance to Atalanta and catch her eye. The torchlight ripples like water across her face. We share a brief, conspiratorial smile, but my mind is churning, rebelling against itself. Closest companion.

  Through all the evening’s chaos, I’m acutely aware of Phelix’s absence at the table. He hovers in the shadows between the torches, carefully observing—occasionally, he’ll restock wine or food. Several men attempt to speak with Iasus and Atalanta throughout the dinner, and her obvious disinterest is a sharp contrast to Iasus’s exuberant volume and charisma.

  She and I chat up a storm at our seats, telling jokes and talking about everything from clothes to horses, just to heighten the gap between us and them. Iasus stabs his brisket with his fork as he watches us. Nora and Phelix hover purposefully through it all, refilling wine or lighting torches—anything that can keep them in the room. Each time I see them, pity worms its way through me. Phelix is Iasus’s son. I’ll probably never understand what’s happened between the three of them. I shouldn’t care—Arkadia is just a temporary stop. Phelix gives us a warm smile when he brings in another amphora of wine. I do my best to return it, but then Zosimos clears his throat beside me, and I go tense. He drums his fingers impatiently across the table, and stares at Iasus, willing him to control his daughter.

  But Iasus knows nothing of his daughter, or how to be a father. Not like mine.

  When the wine finally drains and the platters of meat are reduced to bones, Atalanta stands up—just like I’d told her to. Iasus looks briefly startled, but he quickly resumes his confident guise. Silence spreads like wildfire. I never knew a table overflowing with men to be quiet, but their eyes dart anxiously among the other suitors and Atalanta. Phelix stands by the kitchen entrance, his eyes locked on his sister.

  Atalanta and I share one last look before she scans the table, never making eye contact with a single man. She inhales, and the whole room tenses. Phelix bites his nails as
Nora clutches onto a pitcher of wine so hard that I’m surprised it doesn’t shatter.

  “You are all here for my hand.” Atalanta’s voice doesn’t shake or tremble or falter, though I’m fairly certain she’s never been in a room with so many people before—let alone people staring at her. Wanting her. “You’ve brought your riches and stories. But there will be no appeals or speeches. There will only be a race.”

  “A race?” the crowd whispers, looking among themselves frantically, trying to identify a man who does not exist. Only Zosimos seems to catch on. A faint smile forms on his lips as he sets down his utensils.

  “A race.” He raises his eyebrows. “How interesting. Did we expect anything less from our legendary Atalanta?”

  Her face tightens at the word our, but she doesn’t even glance his way.

  “What do you mean—a race?” Iasus sputters, his face bright red, but the suitors talk so loudly that Atalanta can easily pretend not to have heard him.

  “Beginning at dawn one week from tomorrow, one of you will race me per day on the track out back. The price to compete is the riches you have brought. Beat me, and you can keep them . . . and I’ll marry you.” The men turn to each other as if it’s a joke. A few even laugh. They think this will be easy. “Lose, and you must leave by nightfall.”

  “Where do we sign up?” someone shouts, and more laughter erupts from around him.

  Atalanta inspects her nails. “I’m sure all you smart men can figure that out. Good luck to you all. We will see if you are worthy.”

  She smiles in a way that lets each of them know they are not.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Atalanta

  I make my pilgrimage almost daily now. I go before Arkadia begins to stir, so no one—especially Phelix—can see me as I make my way through the darkness to Apollo’s temple. I have to remind myself to call it that, because it is his, if Artemis hasn’t sent her huntresses to get Kahina back yet. But it’s starting to feel more like hers again—to me at least. My prayers to her started silent, but now I’m brave enough to say them aloud.

  By the time I walk out of the temple, the horizon is a disorienting gray, torn halfway between night and dawn. It took longer today. After last night, I had a lot to worry about. To pray for. I walk back to Arkadia’s main roads, reach the house, and push aside the curtains into the adjoining quarters of the palace. I know the way to Kahina’s room well, and our plans re-energize my steps. I push aside the gauzy, purple curtain and quietly kneel beside her bed.

  I reach out a hand to gently nudge her awake, but can’t convince myself to move any farther—her face is all gentle, sloping curves. There’s none of the stress or fear that usually creases her forehead. But her huntress instincts must kick in, because her dark eyes blink open.

  “Wh—” She blinks heavily. “Atalanta. What are you doing?”

  “What you said we were going to do,” I say. “It’s almost dawn. If I’m going to win this, we need to train all we can.”

  She squints at the small, square window on the wall opposite her pallet. There’s still barely enough light to make it stand out from the rest of the wall. Even though Kahina insisted we could train early, she doesn’t seem enthusiastic right now. With effort, she groans and trudges up to a sitting position, wrestling her feet into sandals.

  “Let’s go,” I whisper excitedly, tugging at her arms. We move quietly through the maze of the servant quarters, careful not to disturb anyone. Nora’s suite, bigger than the others by a fair amount, has the curtains still open. Kahina doesn’t bother looking as we pass by, but my curiosity wins. It’s empty. But before I can really register it, we’re sneaking out the front hallway and into the crisp air of early dawn.

  The track comes into view. From down here, it stretches a lot farther than I’d remembered. I study how it curves through the dust, and I pace the length of it for a few moments, evaluating the challenge ahead. I kneel down, tracing my fingers through the packed dirt.

  “We’ll need to spruce it up a bit,” I tell Kahina, who’s still yawning. The trees are only just beginning to rustle with the first bird songs. The sky is so big right now, vast and barely blue, and my heart swells with something I can’t name. “But it will work.”

  I brace both hands on the track. Time to get ready. My head flicks up, and my muscles ache for movement, hungrier than a wolf’s. I let my legs explode into action. Kahina shouts something behind me, but it’s torn away through the air rushing past me.

  I round the bend and approach Kahina with a speed I’d forgotten I could reach. As I pass, I shout, “C’mon, Kahina! You can do it. You’re a huntress, after all!”

  “Not really!” I hear her yell after me, but she’s already gone in a blur.

  Still, the next time I come around, she joins me. I try to slow my momentum. She’s very fast—quicker than a lot of men I’ve fought with. But eventually, she slows to a jog and staggers to the grown-over benches built into the hill’s slope. I wait for her to taunt me or tell me to stop, but she never does. I run until the sun rises over the edge of the earth.

  I can do this. I am nothing if I am not fast. When I finally come to a halt, Arkadia looks different. Feels different. Like maybe, for once, I truly belong to the soil beneath my feet. I grin as I walk back to Kahina, and she grins back. For the first time in years, I remember what it feels like to be awash in the simplest, rawest form of joy.

  The suitors have no idea what they’re in for.

  I spend all day with Kahina and Phelix by the tracks and in the stables. The suitors fringe my vision; they’re curious, but not curious enough to approach us. The Arkadian air feels lighter and sweeter, enveloping the three of us in a world of our own. A world of our making. Phelix leaves us first, but with a smile that’s more real than any I’ve seen on him before. Kahina and I wander to Apollo’s temple as the sun burns red on the horizon.

  We stare at it, and out of habit, my knees bend.

  “What are you doing?” Kahina’s voice echoes through the dented, scorched columns. I straighten, suddenly self-conscious. But I’m not embarrassed to tell her the truth.

  “Artemis strikes me as someone who listens to prayers,” I say. Kahina raises an eyebrow, her skin glowing umber in the scarlet light. “It makes it feel more like . . . hers, if that makes sense.”

  Slowly, her eyebrows furrow. She lets out a thoughtful hum, then crouches down. “I suppose it’s worth a shot.”

  I lower myself beside her, and we both bow our heads in silence. A few minutes later, we leave wordlessly, and walk back just as silent. When I stop outside her quarters, we both falter. The comfort of our silence turns decidedly charged.

  “Thank you, by the way. For the idea of the race. I think the suitors are intrigued,” I say, not quite able to meet her eyes. “You were right. We’ll get money, and I’ll never lose.”

  “You better not,” Kahina retorts. She pushes her hair behind her ears, and clears her throat. “And thank you for the idea of praying to Artemis.” I stare at her for too long, and she ducks her head.

  Before I lose the nerve, I ask her, “Is her protection worth all this?”

  Kahina grasps her hands together. “That’s what I’m counting on. I can’t go back to Delphi. And if I go back home, alone . . .” She rolls her eyes and looks up at me. “Look, I know everything’s always a fight to you. But I know how to pick and choose my battles.” I consider her words, but don’t know how to respond. Finally, she says, “So, I guess I’ll see you in the morning?”

  I nod, and she ducks into her room without a backward glance. I’ll see you in the morning. Thrill rushes through me again, and I half-jog into the darkened palace. My feet are just hitting the stairs when I hear my father’s voice.

  “Atalanta.”

  Dread uncoils in my stomach, and I freeze on the steps. I’d known this confrontation was coming, but the elation of today had
done an excellent job at allowing me to forget about it. The distinct sound of a torch lighting rushes through the air, and suddenly I’m second-guessing everything. I know the look I’ll see before I turn around—the displeasure carved into every line of my father’s face. Because of me. Always because of me, even when he’s given me the whole world.

  “Father, I—”

  “What were you thinking?” His voice is heavy. Acidic. I fight the urge to flinch. He’s always had a degree of gentleness with me. Timidity, maybe. Now, there’s no trace of that affection. His voice writhes with regret.

  “It’s an easy way to get their riches.” I peel through my mind, trying to find something that will make him look at me without the iciness in his storm-filled eyes. “Besides, isn’t it unbecoming to wed a man who can’t even beat me in a simple footrace?”

  It feels wrong to say those words, but I figure he might understand them.

  “You’re lucky the suitors seem interested in this test,” he mutters. He holds the torch in front of him, like a barrier. More than anything, I wish he would see the obvious truth—I don’t want to get married. My jaw quivers, but I clench it shut. He says, “You must swear on the River Styx that you will marry whomever you lose to.”

  He says it like it’s inevitable—that I will lose. The truth sinks deeper and deeper; my father does not know me at all.

  “I swear it upon the River Styx.” I say it without hesitation, even though it’s the gravest vow I have the ability to make. The Styx is the darkest, fiercest river of Hades’s Underworld. To go against it means punishment in life and death alike. But no way am I going to lose. I will conquer each man, and when Father sees how their riches restore Arkadia, he will be proud of his daughter.