Amazon Princess

by Kate Karyus Quinn

  “But do not become complacent. Tomorrow morning you will face a new task from a different god. One of you will be eliminated.”

  Oh crap. My elation dips. There’s a rumble of thunder and Prisha blushes. In his stall, Whiskey lets out a high, nervous whinny.

  “Hey! Stop freaking out, man,” I tell Whiskey, figuring we need to get some sort of dialogue going between us. He instantly goes still and my spirits rise. Maybe I am already one with my horse? There’s another rumble and I glance at Prisha, but she’s watching Whiskey, who has just made a donation to the manure pile.

  “Your steed is terrified of you,” Artemis informs me.

  “What? No,” I insist. “He tried to bite me earlier!” I put my fingers out to demonstrate, but this time he shies away.

  “Fight or flight,” Artemis says in a total ‘duh’ voice. Like this is so basic she’s annoyed at having to explain it. “If you show softness, he will fight for freedom. If you are hard as with your comment moments ago, he will try to get away.”

  I frown. “But if I can’t be mean and I can’t be nice...what option does that leave me?”

  A small smile curls Artemis’s lips. “Indeed.”

  With that, she walks away.

  I turn back to Whiskey, wondering if Artemis is right.

  “Hey sweetie guy,” I coo at him. Immediately his lips curl back exposing his big square horsey teeth.

  Oh yeah. Artemis was totally right. He totally hates me. And fears me.

  “I’m screwed,” I say.

  “Maybe give him a minute,” Rada says, pulling me away from my horse. “Why don’t we grab some breakfast?”

  I notice everyone else has left.

  “No, I’m gonna brush Whiskey,” I tell her. I mean, I don’t exactly know what I’m doing, but I know how to brush some freaking hair. I gotta start bonding with him somewhere.

  He freezes when I enter his stall and his whole body remains locked tight as I begin to brush him. This actually works out well when I start braiding his mane. A fishtail braid is complicated and I’d never be able to make it look properly pretty if he was wiggling around.

  After about twenty minutes, the braid is almost done and Whiskey relaxes just enough to actually blink. Encouraged, I start singing the only horse song I know, “Save a Horse (Ride a Cowboy). He must approve of the message, because he melts further, bending his neck to nibble on his hay.

  I think we’re maybe actually bonding just a tiny little bit, when someone clears their throat. I turn to find Edie, my dragon mentor, staring at me with a half smile.

  “Edie!” I shriek, causing Whiskey to emit a sound that pretty much matches mine. I bolt out of the stall and rush to her, taking her hands in mine. “I passed the first trial!”

  “I knew you could,” she says. “But…maybe less screaming around animals that are prone to stampeding?”

  “Oh, I know all about stampedes,” I assure her. “I was right in the middle of one last night.”

  Edie’s eyes go wide with surprise. “What?”

  Quickly I fill her in.

  “Brandee Jean, did you tell anyone about this? It sounds like maybe someone was messing with you.” She leads me over to some straw bales and we sit across from each other. “Although it doesn’t make sense why anyone would single you out.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “Look, some of the mentors are talking,” Edie says. “They thought you’d be out on this one. If I was going to sabotage someone, it would be the frontrunner.”

  “Yeah, well, what if you’d place a bet against someone? Sophia and Malik put money on my losing.”

  “Oh.” Edie frowns, nonplussed for a moment. “That does complicate things. I guess that I shouldn’t be so surprised. It is a competition. I assume Trevor bet against you? He seems the type.”

  “He’s not all bad,” I say, coming to his defense. I tell her about the boob horse incident from the day before, winning a smile from her.

  “Well, at least he’s not too proud,” she says, but her eyes suddenly narrow. “We may need to talk strategy at some point. It’s possible that alliances could be formed. I need to know who was betting for you.”

  “Alaric,” I say, then adding. “Weird.” I’d been too focused on who bet against me to think about who had my back.

  “Why is that weird?” Edie asks.

  “I don’t know,” I shake my head, confused. “He just plays it like he’s better than everyone else. Like, he knows which fork to use first at dinner and doesn’t pronounce the h in herb, or the l in salmon.”

  “BJ,” Edie says. “Nobody pronounces the l in salmon.”

  “Then why is it there?” I demand.

  “For now I think it would be wise to keep an eye on Alaric,” she says, skipping over my phonetics question. “If he’s interested in an alliance, you could do worse.” She stands and I realize our little heart to heart is over. “I’m here today because I wanted to give you a hint about tomorrow morning.”

  “Oh thank god!”

  “Gods,” she corrects.

  I shrug. “Whatever! Can you tell me which god is running the trial? What do we have to do? What should I wear?

  “I can’t tell you much,” she says. “But in general I think sensible shoes are always a good choice. And comfy underwear. Nothing that rides up.”

  “Are you telling me to wear granny panties?” I demand, hands on hips.

  “Listen to me,” Edie says, suddenly serious. “You don’t have to win to not lose.”

  I nod slowly. “That’s all you can say?”

  “You don’t have to win,” she repeats, “to not lose.”

  “Yeah, I still don’t get it.”

  She sighs. “That’s as specific as I can get, okay? If you were to succeed because of cheating, the gods will find out. And you don’t want them angry with you. Trust me on that one. There’s not much you can do to prepare yourself for the next trial, if I’m being honest. Your time would be better spent on other pursuits.” She eyes Whiskey. “And maybe less braiding.”

  I nod, still not understanding but I don’t want to look as clueless as I feel.

  “I’ll be in touch when I can,” Edie says, rising from the straw bale. “Good luck, Brandee Jean.”

  She leaves the stables, and I can’t help but be impressed when she shifts into a dragon, flying away to go do whatever she does all day. Maybe dispense vague wisdom to other confused beauty queens.

  I return to Whiskey and rest my hand on his back. He instantly freezes, no longer chewing away at his breakfast. “Buddy,” I say. “We gotta figure this out.”

  Artemis had said someone would be eliminated tomorrow, and Edie isn’t willing to bend any rules to give me an edge.

  I guess it’s like Mama always said—whiskey isn’t my only problem.

  14

  Bright and early we’re brought to a round stone room. It’s eerily quiet even though every noise reverberates. I’m scared to say a word, like maybe a loud noise might bring everything down around our ears.

  There aren’t any chairs so I sit on the hard stone, going full on criss-cross applesauce. Edie’s advice on footwear hadn’t been off base, and I’d extended it to my wardrobe as well. I’m wearing a super cute fuchsia tracksuit and my favorite no-show underwear. Prisha follows me to the floor, but everyone else stands.

  “Hello,” someone says and I jump. There’s a guy standing beside me, his kneecaps at eye level. I hadn’t even noticed him. He talks very softly, with a whisper that forces you to lean in, because it feels like what he’s saying is probably important and you don’t want to miss it.

  I cough and everyone stares at me.

  “Sorry,” I say and wince as my words sound like a shout in a church. I notice Trevor across the room with a cup of something. He offers it to Constantine, who sneaks a glance at the rest of the guys, and then gulps it down.

  What is going on with that?

  “I am Harpocrates, the god of silence,” the wh
ispering man continues. I scramble to my feet, Prisha following course. I wouldn’t have tagged him for a god. He’s small and weaselly looking.

  “As well as the god of secrets,” he continues, which actually makes me feel a little better. The god of secrets I can relate to. You can’t live a life on the pageant circuit without noticing who’s had dental work, a nose job, or some cool sculpting on their floppy bits—but everybody knows better than to talk about it.

  “The trial I have set for you today is to see who can remain the quietest, the longest.”

  So…we’re playing the quiet game?

  After having to wrangle a horse, this almost seems too easy. Like child’s play. Except, now that I think about it, I always lost that game.

  From across the room Constantine breathes out a sigh of relief. “I’m gonna scream so loud the moment this starts. Then I can lose this boner, and go home.”

  “Wait, you want to quit?” I ask, to which he nods emphatically.

  “Catching a horse was easy enough,” he says. “But riding one in this state? No, thank you. And besides, I can’t lay on my stomach anymore.” He hiccups loudly and then smiles in a sort of cross-eyed way. “Get ready to make some noise!”

  He sounds a bit drunk. What was in that cup that Trevor gave him?

  “Excuse me,” Harpocrates says in a soft voice. “It matters to me not at all if you wish to purposely lose, but wait until the contest begins before you start to chatter.”

  “Oh no, I’m not trying to lose,” I quickly say.

  Harpocrates lifts a single eyebrow. “Nor are you trying to win.”

  I open my mouth to object, but Prisha nudges me. Hard. Okay, so maybe I sometimes don’t know when to shut up. But if he saw me carrying that horse last night he’d know how hard I’m trying to win this thing. Although...now that I think about it, I wasn’t really trying to win, so much as trying not to lose. So maybe quiet guy has a point.

  “Now,” Harpocrates turns back to the group. “The person who makes a sound first will have to give up their powers to the person who lasts the longest. You have five minutes to prepare.”

  Across the room, Trevor lies down. Constantine joins him, slipping down to the floor in a way that makes me think Trevor most definitely put something in that cup. Malik shifts into his lion form and pads over to an empty area with a circle of sun, circling twice before settling in. Like a true cat, he’s out in seconds.

  “Unfair,” I mumble but I try to get comfy too. Rada sits with her legs crossed, maybe trying to do some kind of meditation. Zahara flies to the roof and settles in on a rafter. Sophia levitates a few feet off the ground looking a bit bored.

  Alaric takes a paperback book from the back pocket of his pants. It’s worn and yellowed. He leans against the wall, letting his long legs stretch out in front of him, and starts to read.

  Harpocrates whisper rings out through the room. “We will begin in five, four, three, two, one. Silence.”

  It’s so quiet the silence is loud. My ears fill with a ringing and I’m afraid to swallow much less adjust myself. I don’t have a lot of padding on my butt and I’m already uncomfortable on this stone floor. I shift awkwardly, doing my best not to let my sneakers squeak. Harpocrates hadn’t just said that we couldn’t talk—we aren’t supposed to make sound.

  Oh my gods…what if I have to sneeze?

  I glance around, suddenly nervous.

  In his corner, Constantine struggles into a sitting position, his mouth falling open as if he’s trying to say something. He seemed sincere about being ready to say buh-bye to his boner and hello to his homeland. But he can’t seem to manage it. His eyes roll back into his head and he looks on the verge of collapse. Trevor neatly catches Constantine just before he would’ve—loudly—crashed to the floor. Gently, but most importantly—silently—Trevor eases Constantine down to the stone floor, slipping me a wink when he sees I’m watching.

  But why would he do that? Why would Trevor help Constantine when he wants to go home and eliminating him puts all of us one step closer to winning? I don’t understand what’s going on, but it almost feels like Constantine has been slipped a roofie, and that’s not okay with me.

  I shoot my hand up into the air, wondering if there’s a special dispensation for tattletales, when suddenly the room is filled with a deafening roar of thunder.

  My eyes snap to Prisha, who has a horrified look on her face. She shakes her head as Harpocrates approaches her.

  “No,” she says. “It’s not my fault.”

  But Harpocrates doesn’t answer. Apparently, he’s playing the game with us. Instead he clamps her arm securely to her upper arm and leads her out. As Prisha’s pleas for a re-do grow softer, I lower my hand.

  This is clearly an all or nothing version of the quiet game, and anything I say—even a warning that Constantine may need a doctor—will be counted against me.

  My eyes flick to Rada, but she’s out in deep meditation, probably concentrating on smooth talking more horses, or maybe thinking about the perfect symmetry of an archery target.

  Poor Prisha. She’s the loser so she’s out. It’s single elimination so the rest of us are safe, and who really wants uncontrollable thunder as a power, anyway? I mean, I’ve spent enough of my life stitching on a smile while holding farts in.

  What Edie told me last night comes back to me. You don’t have to win to not lose. I get it now. That girl deserves a medal for mentoring.

  I stand, stretch, slap my butt a few times to wake it up, then announce, “I’m out.”

  I’m not gonna win this thing and in the process lose my damn mind. No way is that a good trade-off. I’d rather get out of here and bond with Whiskey. Maybe I’ll check in on Prisha. I know she’ll be bummed that a girl was the first one out after all, and doubly bummed that it was her.

  On my way out, I stop beside Trevor. Leaning down I grab a handful of his hair and bring him close, my lips against his ear.

  “You drugged Constantine,” I say.

  His eyes go wide with pretend innocence. I tighten my grip on his hair.

  “I saw you. All I want to know is he’s okay or if I should get one of those healer type people in here?”

  Trevor gestures to where Constantine is sleeping, his mouth hanging open slightly and a little bit of drool making its way down his cheek. Reaching up, Trevor taps gently on my hand that’s holding his hair. After a moment, I release him. He smiles at me and then crawls toward Constantine and gestures for me to follow.

  Taking my hand in his, Trevor guides my fingers until they cover Constantine’s wrist. After a moment, I feel the solid beat of his pulse.

  I look up at Trevor and our eyes meet. His hand still holds mine. Slowly he lifts my hand and brings it to his lips. Without a sound, Trevor kisses each of my knuckles. Then flipping my hand open, he peels open my fingers and places one last kiss in the center of my palm.

  The whole time his eyes continue to stare straight into mine. Pure naughtiness is in them, along with a dare. Or a promise. I’m not sure which.

  As I’m still deciding Trevor’s other hand drifts across my collarbone and then further south, skimming the v of my T-shirt.

  Abruptly, I pull away and scramble to my feet, glaring down at Trevor. Did he really think I was gonna let him silently feel my up in front of all the other contestants? What sort of girl does he think I am?

  I glance around to see if anyone was watching. Sophia smirks at me and mouths something that looks like whore. Everyone else seems to be in their own world...except Alaric was watching too. Right now he’s looking down at his book, but the tips of his ears are fiery red and there’s a stiffness to his posture that tells me he saw everything.

  “You’re a jerk,” I tell Trevor just as Harpocrates grabs hold of my arm to escort me out. Trevor just smiles at me, so I give him the finger too, and add, “You’ll get yours, buddy.”

  Honestly, though, I don’t know if that’s true. I’ve been around long enough to know that assholes don�
��t always get their comeuppance.

  But if Brandee Jean has anything to say about it—Trevor will.

  I can’t find Prisha anywhere. I think she’s been spirited away.

  I guess they had us clear the day for the competition, ’cause there’s nothing on my class schedule. I enjoy a leisurely breakfast and then make my way to the stables.

  Whiskey manages to shit himself upon my arrival, which is not exactly encouraging. Luckily, not all the Amazons are like Lilliana. A few teach me the basics of horse care and show me how to slowly start training Whiskey. First, I’m supposed to rest a blanket across his back to let him get accustomed to having weight there, and slowly work up to him wearing a saddle.

  “Slowly is the key,” a black-haired Amazon tells me. “It will take time. But…” She eyes Whiskey, who hasn’t even flicked his tail, his eyes locked on my every breath. “With this one the problem might be getting him to move.”

  I really hope the second part of Artemis’s contest isn’t a race. It would be awesome if she took a page from Harpocrates and we were asked to see which mount could be quiet the longest.

  “You and me, boy!” I say, flipping Whiskey the peace sign. I hear his teeth grind, but that’s about it.

  I take my lunch to the Harpocrates temple and find a few more contestants have been eliminated. Apparently Constantine started to snore and that made Sora giggle. I join them, all of us gathered outside the closed doors of the quiet room.

  “What happened to you throwing the trial?” I ask Constantine.

  “I wanted to!” he says. “But I couldn’t even talk. It was like I was paralyzed.”

  Yep. Roofied.

  “You had the right idea, anyway,” Sora tells me. Gods, he’s beautiful. I look away so I’m not just staring at him open-mouthed. “I wasn’t going to win that,” he goes on. “But I’m competitive so I wasted four hours of my life.”

  The door opens and Zahara is escorted out, along with Trevor. Trevor is covered in…something white and black that looks like it belongs on my truck’s windshield. Oh my gods is that...?