my touch.
Then Cassander flourishes me a bow. "It seems as if you've made
two
new friends today."
I search 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 and demand to know 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?" I ask. 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 once 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 Macedonia, where our ancestors ruled. 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 her. "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 fans herself with an ostrich feather. "It was the best bargain I could make for you. Egypt needs Thrace for an ally. Your father needs you to assure his alliance. This is an opportunity and an honor, Arsinoë."
"Not as great an honor as my father shows to Lysandra!"
My mother reaches out to stroke my hair. "Is that what you think? Lysandra's bridegroom 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
Then Cassander flourishes me a bow. "It seems as if you've made
two
new friends today."
I search 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 and demand to know 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?" I ask. 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 once 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 Macedonia, where our ancestors ruled. 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 her. "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 fans herself with an ostrich feather. "It was the best bargain I could make for you. Egypt needs Thrace for an ally. Your father needs you to assure his alliance. This is an opportunity and an honor, Arsinoë."
"Not as great an honor as my father shows to Lysandra!"
My mother reaches out to stroke my hair. "Is that what you think? Lysandra's bridegroom 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
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