The leaves above paint their faces in splatters of light and shadow, and only now do I realize they must have moved me to the shade.
“I will make him lose,” Atalanta whispers. Her voice and eyes are iron.
“I have no doubt of that,” I murmur. She gives me a small, careful smile. I reach a hand to the side of her face, holding her there for a second to steady myself.
“I will kill him,” she continues steadily. “If you like.”
Nikoleta clears her throat subtly. “Let’s not cause chaos if we can avoid it,” she says. I let my hand drop back to the ground. “When Atalanta beats him, he will leave Arkadia and that will be the end of it.”
“The end?” I ask. “So he leaves and gets to keep kidnapping girls? He gets to take my father’s fleet?” My voice breaks off. I close my eyes, inhaling deeply. Artemis and the other huntresses tried to teach me how to ward off these attacks, when I first joined, but my vision won’t focus.
Nikoleta sighs. “Don’t do anything rash, is all. If you want to kill him, I understand. I’m not saying he doesn’t deserve it. But make sure your own death will not follow.” Her eyes go hollow. “Kahina, you know what this means.”
“Lady Artemis was right,” I realize numbly. “Apollo knows where I am.”
The sun turns to a raw, cracked thing—bleeding orange across the sky. Everything turns gold and soft, the colors growing richer as they begin to disappear. It’s a lot like Arkadia, really. It was never more beautiful than the day Isidora and Nikoleta told me to leave. Every second I steal from my deadline is a tender, forbidden gift. I’ve stayed out by the tracks with Atalanta and Nikoleta all afternoon, and now Atalanta’s hair and skin glow bright in the last light. Sharp tears burn the corners of my eyes, and I close them, letting the fear and uncertainty run its course.
When I open them, the sun is long gone.
I stand on legs that shake, but I am standing. “Ready for dinner?” I ask them.
“Always,” Atalanta mutters. She eyes me cautiously, like I’m some animal that might scare off.
“You cannot go to dinner like this,” I tell her.
“Always the handmaiden.”
“Perhaps.”
She glares at me, but there’s no venom in it. The sky is a dark, inky blue—just a hue away from night. I jerk my head toward the palace, and she sighs. She saunters away to get ready for dinner.
Nikoleta stands beside me, staring in the opposite direction. Looking for Isidora, I imagine. I wonder if she’s hurt that Isidora didn’t tell us much of her life here. The muscles cording her back are tense.
After a while, I ask her, “Does it bother you to lose to Atalanta?”
I don’t have to look at her to know the faintest of smiles that ghost her features. “Not at all, actually. It’s . . . refreshing.”
“I imagine.”
“She told me of her upbringing: lost after birth and raised by hunters.” Nikoleta pauses long enough that I glance over to her. She starts walking slowly back to the tents, and I follow in stride. “Kind of like me, in a way. Except I was abandoned and left to die of exposure. And then raised as the only girl in a school of murder.”
She speaks so matter-of-factly that I have to let her words register. She must mean the Spartan agoge—mandatory education for all the Spartan boys that yes, often consisted of murder. They teach the art of war, tactical strategies both on and off the field, and how to wield any weapon on earth. Especially their own bodies.
“She spoke of Meleager,” Nikoleta continues. I miss a step. Intrigue and curiosity flood me, but it’s all washed out by a surprising burst of pain. Atalanta’s only mentioned him a handful of times to me, in all the time I’ve known her—and now she’ll tell someone who arrived only days ago? I blink hard to rid myself of the memory. Specks of blood across Hippomenes’s face, panic making my legs quake as I prayed over and over that he wouldn’t glance my way. “It was difficult for her. But I think she’s recovered impressively. She is remarkable,” Nikoleta admits. Then, she winces. “I realize that wasn’t the most compelling thing to say to make you come with us.”
Nikoleta sets her gaze forward immediately, so I can only barely see the edges of her profile in the night. She says nothing for several minutes. When we reach the edges of the palace grounds, I dare to ask, “Nikoleta? Is something the matter?”
She glances over to me, uncharacteristic lines of worry and stress carving across her angular features.
“Aside from the obvious,” I amend.
“If Hippomenes works for Apollo, then hasn’t the possibility crossed your mind?”
I swallow. “What possibility?”
“That he’s been sent to take back what is his master’s.”
I shut my eyes. She’s right, but I really wish she hadn’t said that. Nikoleta’s voice softens, but her words come out stilted and rushed, with all the unsteady persistence of an earthquake. “We are leaving at dawn, Kahina. That is an order. We have no time or risks left to steal.”
Ahead of us, I see Atalanta bounding up the marble stairs. I breathe deeply, wipe away the beginnings of more tears, and glare at Nikoleta. “Fine,” I choke, against the crushing of my chest. “I’ll tell her after dinner.”
Nikoleta sighs. “I’m sorry, Kahina.”
“Save it,” I snap. I know she is. I know it is not her fault, and I know how much she’s sacrificed to keep me safe. “I’ll see you at dinner.”
I rush into the servant’s quarters. It’s not the apology she deserves, but it’s the best I’m capable of.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Atalanta
Kahina helps me with the finishing touches of my jewelry and hair in my suite. We end up skipping this frivolity most nights, but tonight is different. I know the huntresses want Kahina out. Logically, I know she should get out of here. But I won’t be the one to suggest that. Once we’re done, we slowly walk out to the railing and stare down at the crowds below.
Now there are two men in my home whom I fear.
What more do they want from us? What is there left to take? But looking at Kahina, I know there is still much I stand to lose. Part of me wants to shove her out of Arkadia, away from Hippomenes. Kahina glances over to me, as if she’s sensed my eyes on her. Neither of us say anything. We don’t see Hippomenes or Zosimos, but it doesn’t quell the fear. Wordlessly, we make our way down the stairs.
These dinners have become increasingly informal as more hopefuls pour into Arkadia. The money that I’ve won so far ensures that the long, adorned table is still set with heaping trays of meat, grapes, and cheese, but the seating arrangement has gone to hell. It’s become another time for mingling and roaming across the hall, princes and merchants and statesmen all sizing each other up through thinly veiled smiles and far too much wine. The torches cast haunting light across the men’s gruesome faces, and the fire’s heat mingles suffocatingly with the warm air.
I sigh as we walk into the hall, maybe for the last time with Kahina. I want to twist time around myself, make it bend and grow where I need it most.
Father sits hunched over the table, and his desperate smile and alert eyes are exquisitely painful. He glances at us once, but is only really focused on how the men react. The men around him go silent—as always—and bow their heads once. I nod back, and as soon as the din of conversation swells once more, we’re moving again. We go straight for the food. Kahina grabs a hunk of cheese, not bothering with a plate. I get a slab of meat, tearing it apart with my teeth.
“They actually came,” Kahina murmurs.
“Who?”
She points to the darkest corner, where Phelix fiddles with an uncooperative torch. He’s not that far from us, but with dozens of men speaking among each other, I can’t hear the words he’s mouthing to the girl beside him—Isidora. Nikoleta stands a few paces back from them, her back against the wall, look
ing as bored and frustrated as I feel.
Kahina starts walking over to them, and I follow. Nikoleta shakes her head subtly, but curiosity wins us over. We don’t have to get too close to hear the words they spit out at each other.
“You could’ve at least said goodbye,” Phelix says.
Isidora glares up at him, a fierce fire blazing in her eyes. Kahina and I take a big step back as she sneers at him. “This was years ago. What have you been doing all this time?”
I’ll take that as my cue.
“Phelix!” I exclaim, like we’ve just run into him. I clutch at his arm. He wheels to me, his eyes red. I pretend not to notice. “Tell them to play music.”
He stares at me curiously. The lights of the torches dance beautifully across his face—sculpted with the aspects of both a man and a boy—and then he’s gone, dashing through the throngs of men to the kitchens, to fetch a lyre-player.
“Music?” Kahina asks. Isidora’s eyes follow Phelix, and she crosses her arms.
I nod distractedly, then turn in a circle around myself, making sure Hippomenes has stayed outside. “He isn’t here,” I whisper, though she hasn’t asked. She smiles sadly back at me, and I wish there weren’t so many men pushing at the edges of our periphery, always. They want my hand, but not me—they want the power and fame and beauty of a girl they’ll never bother to know.
Then I see Zosimos sitting alone at the end of the table. Fear slams into my gut. The race—against him—is tomorrow morning.
Following my gaze, Kahina reaches over and squeezes my hand once. I go to squeeze it back, but she’s already dropped away. Nikoleta and Isidora look miserable packed in with so many loud men. All these people make me nearly nostalgic for when I first got here, when despite the cold and the dwindling rations, we’d had so much time and space, just for us. If I could go back . . .
Phelix pushes his way back into my sight, and I jolt like I’ve been woken up. Behind him are Timais and Zetheus, the former with a lyre and the latter with a flute. They play at these dinners occasionally, but gave up in the past weeks because of the insufferable number of guests. It was too loud and too crowded then, and it certainly is now. They share expressions of doubt and caution, but their fingers are already poised across their instruments. They’re itching to play.
“Kahina?” Nikoleta closes the distance between us, and catches her arm subtly. She keeps her voice low, but I hear her all the same. “Is Hippomenes coming here tonight?”
“No,” she says quickly. My chest nearly caves in relief. And it’s not that I expect Nikoleta to laugh or smile at the news, but her eyebrows draw even tighter together.
“What?” Kahina asks, before Nikoleta asks more questions. I stare between them. Kahina doesn’t lower her voice, so I figure she wants me to hear. “Do you really want me to leave in the middle of the night? He won’t come in here. Atalanta posted guards outside.” That’s a lie. But I won’t argue—not if it means she can stay for even a second longer.
Maybe all we have is tonight.
I turn back to Timais and Zetheus. “Would you be okay with playing for us tonight?”
They look to each other apprehensively. “I mean,” Timais starts. His fingers close over the flute’s smooth wood. “We can. But will we be heard?”
“We’ll listen,” I assure him.
The musicians share another glance before shrugging. They walk to where the two thrones stand, and in front of them, they begin to play. It starts out strong and sweet, a simple melody that repeats itself many times before spiraling into a bridge that aches with the fierceness of joy and sorrow and hope all at once.
Not all the men pay them any mind, but more than I expect halt their conversations. Phelix holds out a hand to Isidora, who begrudgingly takes it. I glance uneasily to Kahina.
Well. If this is to be our last night—
I grab her hands, and pull us over to them. She narrows her eyes at me, but I’m certain she’s never smiled wider. The music deafens me to anything else. I try to remember the movements she taught me in this room, long ago, when this palace was empty and cold. Mostly, I follow her lead and don’t care what we do. I’m just focusing on the feeling of her hands in mine, the curve of her neck when her head falls backward in laughter.
I’m remembering how very different this girl I am dancing with is from the huntress that saved me in the forest so many months ago. But there must have been something there, right from the start, for her to have made such a choice. For our fates to intertwine so tightly. I close my eyes to the torchlight, spinning with Kahina in a wide circle across the room. The suitors make way, and I’m deaf to their comments. I’m deaf to whatever words Father mutters under his breath.
I feel it now, so deeply—this spooling out of time. It makes me dare. I pull her closer, and closer still, and every ounce of humor leaves Kahina’s face. My hands grasp at her waist, and I’m shocked at how thin the fabric is; it’s like skin to the touch. We’re still moving, but I’m not certain how or what we’re doing. Everything else spills into a murky, blurred mess of colorful shadows. All I know is her lips are less than a breath away from mine. Her hands look right laced in mine. Her eyes reflect the flames from around the hall. The music grows louder still.
To me, at least.
I could do something. I should do something. I hold onto her tight, drinking her in with my eyes, until the song falls into silence. Just like that, I drop her hands, and the weight of tomorrow morning crashes down on me. It’s not fair. Nothing has ever been fair for me, not once, not ever.
Kahina says nothing as I step away from her. She keeps her eyes frozen on the floor, and her arms tremble slightly. I watch her moisten her lips, smooth her chiton, then walk to the other end of the hall. The men part for her easily, and she looks at none of them. She keeps walking until she enters the kitchens.
I exhale. Isidora is at my side, her eyes wide with alarm. “What—exactly—are you doing?”
Phelix stands just behind her. His jaw is slightly slack, brown eyes wide. I want to go back to when it was just the three of us, stealing fruit to eat in the stables, riding up to our clearing on the mountainside. His eyebrows furrow. “Atalanta?” he asks. But I don’t understand his question.
Timais and Zetheus start up a new song, but the effect is lost on me. Phelix grabs hold of my hand. Father glares at us like a wrathful god. I swallow roughly, and tear my hand from Phelix’s, turning the opposite way that Kahina left from. I run through the front doors, my chest caving in. I look back once, and Phelix and Isidora don’t follow me. Fresh tears spill over. No one ever does.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Kahina
Phelix and Isidora, for the first time all night, don’t argue. Nikoleta slides in with them, and we all sit in companionable silence, staying out of the way of the kitchen servants as they wrap up dinner. When the dishes are finally cleared, Phelix mutters a farewell and turns in for the night. My heart clenches as he slips outside, but I tell myself I can tell him goodbye tomorrow. There will be so many goodbyes tomorrow.
“Are you ready?” Isidora asks quietly. Her thumbs fiddle anxiously. Her dark curls spill all the way down to the coarse wood of the countertop where we sit.
There’s no voice in me that knows the answer—not even Delphi. With effort, I make myself nod once. For her sake. I can feel Nikoleta’s stare pierce through me, and I know neither of them are convinced. But I also know neither of them are surprised. There is guilt written all over them, and I wish I could wash it off. It’s not their fault. Isidora holds onto my hand as the traffic in the kitchens slows to a trickle.
“You should get some rest,” I finally tell them. “Big day tomorrow.”
“We leave after the race, I assume?” Nikoleta asks. She doesn’t look happy about it, but I’m pleased she remembered what I told her of Zosimos. I nod.
“Fine,” she mutters. Nikole
ta stands up, and Isidora follows suit. They both examine me, and I hate the tension. “We’ll see you in the morning.”
“Good night,” I say tightly. After a moment, they finally weave their way through the counters and ovens, and out into the night. I sigh and lean my elbows onto the counter, pushing my hands through my hair.
My shoulders shudder, and I realize silent tears are cutting down my face. I gasp for air against a crushing weight in my chest. Oh, gods.
The kitchen door clicks shut. I jerk my head up, hastily wiping the tears away. Nora stands at the opposite side of the room, her broad arms crossed firmly over her chest. Even in a plain tunic, she manages to look very regal. Like a queen, almost.
Neither of us say anything.
“What was that?” she demands. She walks to the counter closest to her, bracing her hands against it. I shut my eyes. She saw. Of course she saw. “You realize how dangerous that was? Please tell me you do, right? I’ve never known exactly what”—she cuts herself off, staring to the ceiling. I can see the faint lines of wrinkles across her forehead even from here—“what it was between you two. But whatever it is, don’t screw up your life for it. Or hers, for that matter.”
I grit my teeth, a terrible darkness blooming from my core. The tears come back, and I don’t bother wiping them away. “I’m so sorry, Nora. Forgive me. I only—” I break off into tears.
Nora walks briskly over to me, and grabs me by my shoulders. She pulls me close into her. I sob into her shoulder, and she smooths the back of my hair. “Kahina,” she whispers. My crying tears through the room, and I pray we really are alone. She holds me for what feels like hours, and I miss my mother more than ever. Eventually, Nora pulls back and studies me. My tears have stopped, but my cheeks are still wet. She rubs them with her sleeve, then kisses my forehead.
“Nora,” I try, but she smiles sadly and shakes her head.
“It’s going to be all right, dear. Go on, then.”
I cling to her words desperately. Is this the last time I’ll ever see her? If it is, I’m almost glad—I want to remember her precisely as I see her now. The kitchens are uncomfortably warm, but Nora’s strong features ground me. I smile and square my shoulders.
Outrun the Wind Page 19
