to be my
step-mother."
He speaks with insolent boldness. In my place, Lysandra
would strike him for it. I only veil my face in helpless modesty as his words
echo in my mind. He thinks I'm pretty ? I've seen my reflection in the polished mirror and worried
over the length of my nose. Does he not see the flaws?
The black filly gives an impatient snort, then nudges
against Cassander's shoulder. "Your gift, Princess Arsinoë," he says,
holding out the reigns to me.
When I take the leather straps from Cassander, our fingers
brush. I flush. To hide it, I press my cheek against the horse's long neck.
Styx smells of the olive oil that has been brushed into her fur to make her
gleam. She nickers gently in appreciation of my touch.
Then Cassander flourishes me a bow. "It seems as if
you've made two new friends today."
I look
for my mother in the women's quarters. Instead, I find Lysandra playing a game
with one of the slaves. Lysandra's pretty head is bent in concentration as she
races her agate stones across the game board. I hope she doesn't look up and
notice me. I almost make it round the lotus-capped pillar before I hear
Lysandra crow, "There she is! The new Queen of Thrace."
I should run away before she can tease me. I should run to
my mother's arms and ask the meaning of my betrothal. But a boy noticed me
today. He may only be a king's bastard. He may only be a stable-hand. Still, he noticed me
and said that I was pretty. And so I find the courage to square my shoulders
and face my half-sister. "What do you know of it?"
"I know you're to marry a very old man," Lysandra
says.
"But my bridegroom is a king, isn't he?" I ask,
pretending pride I don't feel.
She laughs, cruelly, letting the dice fall from her hand
before moving more agate pieces on the board. "Only the King of Thrace. My husband
will one day be the King of Macedonia."
So then Lysandra is to be married too. She must be miserable
inside and afraid to show it.
"Will we have to leave Egypt?" At fifteen, I'm too
old to cry. Nonetheless, I'm blinded by sudden tears .
My home is here in Alexandria where the green Nile River flows into the vast
blue sea. Here where the hieroglyphics scroll down temple walls. Here where the
scent of lotus perfumes the air and the white marbled buildings gleam in the
sun. Here, where I dreamed I would be a Pharaoh. "I would rather be Queen
of Egypt than any other place."
Lysandra snorts. " You would. And I don't care if you do. Go be
the broodmare of some old man. Call yourself queen of barbarians here or in
Thrace. I'm returning to the place our ancestors ruled. To the place from which
Alexander the Great conquered the world."
I realize that I may never see Lysandra again. It should
make me gleeful. Instead, it forces the tears to spill over my cheeks. Now,
there will never be any chance for us to be sisters. Only rivals, as my mother
said.
Or strangers.
My mother sweeps into the room wearing light Egyptian
garments, the finest linen made anywhere. She sees the tears in my eyes and
demands, "What are you doing to my daughter now , Lysandra?"
"Only telling her about our betrothals," Lysandra
replies, with an expression of innocence.
My mother glares at Lysandra. "Run along. Queen
Eurydice is looking for you."
It is a lie and we all know it. Lysandra's mother and mine
are locked in combat for the king's favor. Never would one rely upon the other
to carry any message. Nevertheless, Lysandra casually tosses her game pieces on
the floor for the slaves to clean up. Then she leaves us alone.
"You knew of my betrothal?" I ask my mother.
"You knew that I was to marry some old man?"
"Of course I knew," my mother replies, beaming
with pride. "You're to marry Lysimachus, the King of Thrace. He was one of
Alexander's bodyguards. One of his successors."
Which means he's old enough to be my father, several times
over. "He's a stranger."
My mother shrugs. "It was the best bargain I could make
for you. Egypt needs Thrace for an ally.
step-mother."
He speaks with insolent boldness. In my place, Lysandra
would strike him for it. I only veil my face in helpless modesty as his words
echo in my mind. He thinks I'm pretty ? I've seen my reflection in the polished mirror and worried
over the length of my nose. Does he not see the flaws?
The black filly gives an impatient snort, then nudges
against Cassander's shoulder. "Your gift, Princess Arsinoë," he says,
holding out the reigns to me.
When I take the leather straps from Cassander, our fingers
brush. I flush. To hide it, I press my cheek against the horse's long neck.
Styx smells of the olive oil that has been brushed into her fur to make her
gleam. She nickers gently in appreciation of my touch.
Then Cassander flourishes me a bow. "It seems as if
you've made two new friends today."
I look
for my mother in the women's quarters. Instead, I find Lysandra playing a game
with one of the slaves. Lysandra's pretty head is bent in concentration as she
races her agate stones across the game board. I hope she doesn't look up and
notice me. I almost make it round the lotus-capped pillar before I hear
Lysandra crow, "There she is! The new Queen of Thrace."
I should run away before she can tease me. I should run to
my mother's arms and ask the meaning of my betrothal. But a boy noticed me
today. He may only be a king's bastard. He may only be a stable-hand. Still, he noticed me
and said that I was pretty. And so I find the courage to square my shoulders
and face my half-sister. "What do you know of it?"
"I know you're to marry a very old man," Lysandra
says.
"But my bridegroom is a king, isn't he?" I ask,
pretending pride I don't feel.
She laughs, cruelly, letting the dice fall from her hand
before moving more agate pieces on the board. "Only the King of Thrace. My husband
will one day be the King of Macedonia."
So then Lysandra is to be married too. She must be miserable
inside and afraid to show it.
"Will we have to leave Egypt?" At fifteen, I'm too
old to cry. Nonetheless, I'm blinded by sudden tears .
My home is here in Alexandria where the green Nile River flows into the vast
blue sea. Here where the hieroglyphics scroll down temple walls. Here where the
scent of lotus perfumes the air and the white marbled buildings gleam in the
sun. Here, where I dreamed I would be a Pharaoh. "I would rather be Queen
of Egypt than any other place."
Lysandra snorts. " You would. And I don't care if you do. Go be
the broodmare of some old man. Call yourself queen of barbarians here or in
Thrace. I'm returning to the place our ancestors ruled. To the place from which
Alexander the Great conquered the world."
I realize that I may never see Lysandra again. It should
make me gleeful. Instead, it forces the tears to spill over my cheeks. Now,
there will never be any chance for us to be sisters. Only rivals, as my mother
said.
Or strangers.
My mother sweeps into the room wearing light Egyptian
garments, the finest linen made anywhere. She sees the tears in my eyes and
demands, "What are you doing to my daughter now , Lysandra?"
"Only telling her about our betrothals," Lysandra
replies, with an expression of innocence.
My mother glares at Lysandra. "Run along. Queen
Eurydice is looking for you."
It is a lie and we all know it. Lysandra's mother and mine
are locked in combat for the king's favor. Never would one rely upon the other
to carry any message. Nevertheless, Lysandra casually tosses her game pieces on
the floor for the slaves to clean up. Then she leaves us alone.
"You knew of my betrothal?" I ask my mother.
"You knew that I was to marry some old man?"
"Of course I knew," my mother replies, beaming
with pride. "You're to marry Lysimachus, the King of Thrace. He was one of
Alexander's bodyguards. One of his successors."
Which means he's old enough to be my father, several times
over. "He's a stranger."
My mother shrugs. "It was the best bargain I could make
for you. Egypt needs Thrace for an ally.
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