Quiver by Stephanie Spinner Page B

conviction. “He loved her dearly.” Her hands slowed. “One day when they were newly married, I saw him do something— I was just a girl, but I have never forgotten it.”
    I bowed my head, waiting.
    “Your mother was at the gates, on her horse. They were saying goodbye. Just before she rode away, your father leaned over and kissed her leg.”
    I tried to picture it and could not.
    “The look they exchanged made me blush,” she said, “all the way down to my toes.”
    “So they were happy?” The words cost me effort.
    “At first.”
    She would not say it, so I did. “Until I was born.”
    Her hands stopped, settling on my shoulders. She had a warm, kindly touch, and I was grateful for it. I let my head fall back so that it rested on her bosom. I had no memories of my infancy, only Castor’s account of finding me, alone and naked, in a she-bear’s den. “You looked like a fat, filthy grub,” he liked to say, “with cheeks pink from howling.” He would always add, “thanks to the goddess,” but it was years before I knew why.
    At length Entella said, “She could not forgive him. And he would not let her leave.”
    But she found a way, I thought. I closed my eyes against the hot sting of tears and saw my mother’s horse picking its way back to the palace. What had my father felt, I wondered, when it appeared without her? Grief? Remorse? Rage? Fear? Whatever it was, I thought, it had not changed him. He was a tyrant then, and he was a tyrant now.
    A defiant voice inside me said, do not let him crush you.
    I took a deep breath. “Entella,” I said, “I need poison. Can you find some for me?”
    “Oh!” This was almost a shriek, and Aura, who lay at my feet, started in alarm. “How can you ask me such a thing?” cried Entella. “I will not help you take your own life!”
    “No, no,” I protested, “you misunderstand. The poison is not for me—it is for my opponent.”
    “Your opponent? What opponent?” She was so agitated that beads of sweat appeared on her upper lip.
    “Please, calm yourself,” I said, forcing her to sit. “I will explain why I need it, if you will only listen.”
    She dried her face on her hem. When her bosom stopped heaving, I said, “I do not wish to marry. My father insists on it. So I have set conditions. That is why I am racing.”
    “And the poison—?”
    “You have not heard?” I asked. She shook her head. So Pistos has been quiet, I thought, surprised. “My suitors must race me,” I told her. “Those who lose must die.”
    “Die?” She was incredulous.
    I nodded unhappily. “No man can outrun me,” I said. “I have proved it many times. Some have even called me”—I lowered my voice, lest the gods take offense—“the swiftest mortal alive.
    “I thought my reputation would keep suitors away. I was wrong. It seems the threat of death is alluring.” I grimaced. “And now I must honor the conditions I set.” I thought of Castor, who had taught me that honor was keeping one’s word. What would he make of these happenings? I wondered. I would give a great deal to know.
    “You are so determined not to marry?” asked Entella.
    “Yes.”
    “Why?”
    “I have my reasons.” After a moment I said, “I was always told that the goddess Artemis saved my life. I took a vow of chastity in her honor years ago. Before I came here she sent me a sign, a warning against marriage. I cannot ignore it.” Entella’s solemn expression told me she understood, and I was grateful.
    “I thought offering poison would be . . . kinder.” As soon as I said this, it sounded foolish and stupid to me. Death was death.
    “Will you help me?” I pleaded, taking her hand. “You are the only one I can ask.”
    When she hesitated, I said, “I do not want to cause anyone’s death. But if the first dies, the others may stay away. That is my hope.”
    She squeezed my hand and told me she would do what she could. Her words so reassured me that I felt easier about hearing my