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 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 sons with a claim to the thrones of 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, life is a bargain."
"You're no broodmare, are you?" I ask Styx, petting her withers as we walk side by side. The filly 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 who oversee the stables, or 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, 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. Loamy soil gives way to sand, but 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 waters of Lake Mareotis. She drinks for a long time while I watch the fishermen in their flat boats using long poles to push their way through the marshy reeds.
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 thought she might take you to the lake."
Picking at the wild grass, I say nothing, which Cassander takes as invitation to sit beside me. "I don't want to marry your father," I blurt out. "I don't want to go to Thrace."
Cassander nods, taking up a handful of pebbles and skipping one across the surface of the lake. "So what do you plan to do then? Jump into one of those reed boats and offer yourself as a wife to a local fisherman?"
His mockery gives me sharp offense. "I am a royal princess. Do you think I would lower myself?"
Cassander shrugs. "I'm just a bastard boy; what do I know of royal honor?"
He skips another stone over the water. To his surprise, this one comes up under a rush of white froth. And a hippo lifts its snout from the water to roar at him.
"Zeus Almighty!" Cassander shouts, scrambling to his feet.
The hippo must have slipped past the patch of reeds without our notice. Now it has our full attention. Styx whinnies in sharp fear. I'm the only one who doesn't move, even though I know how truly dangerous a hippopotamus is. This one fixes black eyes on me, rivulets of water streaming down its pinkish grey flesh. It opens its mouth in another roar and shows enormous teeth.
Then it rushes me.
"Run!" Cassander cries.
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As the great creature closes in on me, I only close my eyes. I'm too terrified to move, or too resigned to my fate. Perhaps this is no ordinary hippo, but the Egyptian goddess Taweret come to claim me for Egypt forever. I wait for the painful crush of a hippo's jaws.
Instead, Cassander's steely grip closes around my wrists and I'm yanked to my feet. "I said, run!"
So we run.
Cassander is strong and swift. With my horse, we clamber up the bank onto the road, away from the hippo—which, in spite of its blubber, could probably catch us if it really tried. We don't speak until we are well away, leaning against the city wall, doubling over from our efforts.
Styx is still on alert from our narrow escape. She trots in a circle, head high, making her outrage plain.
I rub the sore spot on my wrists where Cassander's grip left marks. "You saved me."
"Only by a hair!" His eyes are clouded with anger, his face red with exertion, and he pants like the breath has been stolen from his lungs. "Why didn't you run?"
I too am fighting for breath, and I gasp, "I don't know."
He stares at me. "Did you want to be eaten alive?"
I lower my eyes to the ground. "I don't know."
"What's wrong with you? Thrace isn't so bad. It's a barbarous land, but there is a palace and all the luxuries you find here."
"You don't know me well if you think all I care about is luxury."
Cassander snorts. "I don't know you at all. And I can't get to know you better if you're inside the belly of a hippo."
Dusty and glowing with perspiration, I'm surprised he