Quiver by Stephanie Spinner

pleaded. “What was she like?”
    “Tall, beautiful, restless,” Entella said fondly. “She was from Iolcus, in Thessaly, a distant relation of the king.”
    “Which king? Pelias?” Jason, heir to the throne of Thessaly, had been forced into hiding as a boy when his uncle Pelias seized power. After years in the care of Chiron the Centaur, he came before Pelias to claim his birthright. Pelias sent him after the Golden Fleece, assuming his nephew would never return alive. It was a serious mistake.
    Entella nodded.
    “You said I am like her. How?”
    “In appearance. In bearing. She was forthright, as you are. And . . . she loved horses.”
    “Ah. So she was like a stable girl, too?” I asked. The thought warmed me.
    Entella nodded. “She told my mother, who served her, that she would rather live with them than in the palace. That shocked my mother so!” Entella’s plump face worked with emotion.
    “Why?” The words made sense to me, given my father’s temperament.
    “My mother was terrified of horses,” Entella began. “. . . And then, when . . .” She stopped. Her face seemed to crumple.
    “What?” I asked.
    “Excuse me, my lady,” she said, visibly distressed. “I must go.”
    “Don’t leave.” Surprised by the hot tears in my eyes, I reached for her hand. “Please,” I whispered. “I never knew her. I want to hear more.”
    “When the king exposed you, the queen begged him to change his mind,” she said. “But he refused. She fled the palace on her horse. Many hours later the horse returned alone.”
    “It was a black horse,” I said, “with a white mark on its brow.”
    Entella’s tear-filled eyes widened. “How do you know?”
    I saw it again, as I had on waking. “A dream,” I said, and then, “Please go on.”
    “She was in the forest. She had hung herself. My mother said that the queen died of despair when she could not find you.”

SIXTEEN
    “I will marry, but only if two conditions are met,” I told my father when we were seated. Once again, he and Nephele and I were dining. Once again, his meal was wine.
    “What are they?”
    “First, the man I marry must outrun me.”
    He laughed in surprise. “So you favor a contest!” he exclaimed. “Well, well. You are my daughter after all.”
    And my mother’s also, I thought.
    “What is your second condition?” he asked.
    “Anyone who loses against me must die.”
    Nephele drew in her breath so sharply that she squeaked.
    “You are joking,” said my father, “aren’t you?” His smile was less assured now. There was a brief silence while he waited for me to reassure him. Instead, I shook my head with my eyes narrowed. He must believe I meant every word.
    “Well!” he exclaimed, pulling in his chin with a frown. “That is rather harsh. Why should I agree to it? Why would any of your suitors agree to it?”
    I had thought carefully of how I would answer.
    “As you say, I am your daughter, and your only child. You would not let me go cheaply, would you?” Unspoken between us was the knowledge that he had once thought me utterly worthless, and had thrown me away. If there were the faintest fissure of regret in his rocky heart, I was resolved to hammer at it.
    When he did not reply, I continued, “Moreover, if I marry a man who is my equal, your kingdom will reap the benefits. The son who comes of two strong parents will be strong also, and perhaps even a good ruler. I presume that is what you want for your people.” Or you are a bad king as well as a bad father, I thought. It was not necessary to say this; I knew he understood.
    “As for the suitors agreeing to it,” I went on, “they will.”
    I had rehearsed my next words with care.
    “The arrogant will leap at the chance to win against me,” I said. “They will be thinking only of the fame such a feat will bring, not the consequences of failure. The infatuated,” I went on, as if they had often wearied me, “will happily risk their lives for love.”
    He