Your father needs you to assure his
alliance. This is an opportunity. It's also an honor, Arsinoë."
"Not as great an honor as my father shows to
Lysandra!"
My mother strokes my hair. "Is that what you think?
Lysandra's husband is only the second son of a king. Lysandra will still be a
princess while you become a queen. Be glad that your bridegroom is an old man. I've arranged that you'll
be his chief wife. You'll also be younger than any of the other women in your
husband's harem--none of them will be able to steal his love away from you
before he dies."
These things I don't want to think about. The scheming at
court. The lies and manipulations. The women all currying for favor. One rising in fortune, the other sinking into obscurity. How will I
fare in such a nest of vipers? "But Mother, when the King of Thrace dies,
I'll be a widow. I'll be alone in a strange place."
My mother sighs as if I were a very stupid girl.
"You'll be wealthy and the mother of son with a claim to Thrace,
Macedonia, and Egypt besides. When your husband is dead, you'll have no man to
rule over you. And you can eliminate your rivals. That's the best gift I can
give you, Arsinoë."
"But I don't want rivals!" I cry. "I don't
even want a husband. I want to live in Egypt, forever."
"Then you shouldn't have been born a royal
princess," my mother snaps. "This is the fate of royal women. To be
traded by men in power. Or we become hetaeras like Thais and trade ourselves away.
One way or another, Arsinoë, life is a bargain."
" You're no broodmare, are you?" I ask Styx,
petting her withers as we walk side by side. She is eager to get out and away
from the stables. The moment the hot sun of Egypt glows upon her glossy flanks,
she trots, shaking her long mane as if preening for the other horses. She knows
that she's special; she's barely tamed and her wildness calls to me.
Not waiting for the guards or the grooms that oversee the
stables, nor even for the eunuchs who chaperone me, I
leap up onto her back.
Having given her no warning, I'm not surprised when she
rears up.
To stay on her, I squeeze her sides with my thighs. I am
reckless. Let her throw me, trample me, I don't care.
So long as I have this moment.
Styx whinnies, pawing at the air. Then while the grooms and
guards and palace eunuchs shout warnings, she's off like an arrow shot from a
bow. I cling to her back, every muscle straining to make her accept me. Behind
us, I hear hooves clattering against the stone path as mounted men give chase.
But I don't want to be saved.
She gallops past the gardens. There is a low wall facing the
ocean and she makes for it. It's her escape. Our escape. Knotting her black
mane in my hands like rope, I hold tight, leaning forward to encourage Styx to
jump the wall. She's like the wind beneath me, a power that surges up and up
and up.
We land hard but I don't fall. We ride on through loamy
soil, which gives way to sand, and Styx never loses her footing. I half hope
she'll gallop into the ocean even if we both drown. But at the last moment, she
turns from the surf, pounding down the shoreline.
It's glorious.
We ride past the agora where merchants do their trading. We ride
past bricklayers straining and sweating in the sun to build our library. We
ride out the Moon Gate.
The wind tears the ribbon from my hair, and together, we fly
free.
Thirsty from our long ride,
Styx dips her muzzle into the sweet waters of Lake Mareotis. She drinks for a
long time while I watch the fishermen in their flat boats pushing their way
through the marshy reeds with long poles.
The sun is low and red in the desert sky when I hear someone
call my name.
Styx is munching on the grass, but her ears prick up in
alarm. I think it's one of my father's guards sent to fetch me. Instead, I see
the gilded sandals of Cassander.
"How did you find me?" I ask.
"I looked for Styx," he says, making his way
through the shrubbery. "She has a taste for tall grasses, so I
alliance. This is an opportunity. It's also an honor, Arsinoë."
"Not as great an honor as my father shows to
Lysandra!"
My mother strokes my hair. "Is that what you think?
Lysandra's husband is only the second son of a king. Lysandra will still be a
princess while you become a queen. Be glad that your bridegroom is an old man. I've arranged that you'll
be his chief wife. You'll also be younger than any of the other women in your
husband's harem--none of them will be able to steal his love away from you
before he dies."
These things I don't want to think about. The scheming at
court. The lies and manipulations. The women all currying for favor. One rising in fortune, the other sinking into obscurity. How will I
fare in such a nest of vipers? "But Mother, when the King of Thrace dies,
I'll be a widow. I'll be alone in a strange place."
My mother sighs as if I were a very stupid girl.
"You'll be wealthy and the mother of son with a claim to Thrace,
Macedonia, and Egypt besides. When your husband is dead, you'll have no man to
rule over you. And you can eliminate your rivals. That's the best gift I can
give you, Arsinoë."
"But I don't want rivals!" I cry. "I don't
even want a husband. I want to live in Egypt, forever."
"Then you shouldn't have been born a royal
princess," my mother snaps. "This is the fate of royal women. To be
traded by men in power. Or we become hetaeras like Thais and trade ourselves away.
One way or another, Arsinoë, life is a bargain."
" You're no broodmare, are you?" I ask Styx,
petting her withers as we walk side by side. She is eager to get out and away
from the stables. The moment the hot sun of Egypt glows upon her glossy flanks,
she trots, shaking her long mane as if preening for the other horses. She knows
that she's special; she's barely tamed and her wildness calls to me.
Not waiting for the guards or the grooms that oversee the
stables, nor even for the eunuchs who chaperone me, I
leap up onto her back.
Having given her no warning, I'm not surprised when she
rears up.
To stay on her, I squeeze her sides with my thighs. I am
reckless. Let her throw me, trample me, I don't care.
So long as I have this moment.
Styx whinnies, pawing at the air. Then while the grooms and
guards and palace eunuchs shout warnings, she's off like an arrow shot from a
bow. I cling to her back, every muscle straining to make her accept me. Behind
us, I hear hooves clattering against the stone path as mounted men give chase.
But I don't want to be saved.
She gallops past the gardens. There is a low wall facing the
ocean and she makes for it. It's her escape. Our escape. Knotting her black
mane in my hands like rope, I hold tight, leaning forward to encourage Styx to
jump the wall. She's like the wind beneath me, a power that surges up and up
and up.
We land hard but I don't fall. We ride on through loamy
soil, which gives way to sand, and Styx never loses her footing. I half hope
she'll gallop into the ocean even if we both drown. But at the last moment, she
turns from the surf, pounding down the shoreline.
It's glorious.
We ride past the agora where merchants do their trading. We ride
past bricklayers straining and sweating in the sun to build our library. We
ride out the Moon Gate.
The wind tears the ribbon from my hair, and together, we fly
free.
Thirsty from our long ride,
Styx dips her muzzle into the sweet waters of Lake Mareotis. She drinks for a
long time while I watch the fishermen in their flat boats pushing their way
through the marshy reeds with long poles.
The sun is low and red in the desert sky when I hear someone
call my name.
Styx is munching on the grass, but her ears prick up in
alarm. I think it's one of my father's guards sent to fetch me. Instead, I see
the gilded sandals of Cassander.
"How did you find me?" I ask.
"I looked for Styx," he says, making his way
through the shrubbery. "She has a taste for tall grasses, so I
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