Free 0451472004 by Stephanie Thornton

winced.
    “Alexander, son of Philip of Macedon,” my grandmother said. She too was drawn to the sheer size and power emanating from Alexander’s guard, and bowed as she addressed Hephaestion. I cleared my throat in an attempt to redirect her misguided attentions, but she ignored me.
    Hephaestion and Alexander exchanged grins, and it was Hephaestion who corrected my grandmother in fluent Aramaic. “This, Dowager Queen Sisygambis, is Alexander of Macedon.”
    “My apologies for so egregious an error,” my grandmother said smoothly, but I thought I detected a rare flush of embarrassment on her cheeks.
    “It is no mistake,” Alexander said, his smile wide. “Hephaestion and I have been of one mind since we were boys, two sides of the same coin. Thus, he too is Alexander.”
    One mind and one flesh as well.
    To my shock, he knelt on one knee, and I took satisfaction at his wince, although there was otherwise no sign of his leg wound. The rest of his retainers followed suit, but it was almost humorous to watch Hephaestion find his knees, akin to watching a poorly trained bear bow. “I am honored to be in the presence of King Darius’ women.”
    “And we are honored by your attentions,” my grandmother answered. “This is Queen Stateira and her daughters, the princesses Stateira and Drypetis.”
    Hephaestion stared at me as the men stood; then his lips curled into a grin. “Beware the younger one,” he whispered to Alexander, his lips almost grazing the man’s ear. “She hisses. And spits.”
    I did my best to look down my long, albeit broken, nose at him, but that was difficult considering the top of my head scarcely grazed his shoulder.
    Alexander inclined his head to us, which I supposed was another honor. “I shall guarantee your safety and comfort while I make arrangements with King Darius for your return.”
    “You mean while you ransom us,” my mother stated, ignoring my grandmother’s pointed look.
    Alexander shrugged. “So it is in the ways of war.”
    “As dowager queen, I believe I may speak on my son’s behest,” my grandmother said. “Perhaps instead of a ransom, you may be amenable to a more enjoyable arrangement?” She stepped past Barsine, sniffing as if she were rancid meat, then nudged my sister forward. To her credit, Stateira stared straight ahead, although she’d gone pale as milk. “My eldest granddaughter, Stateira, is of a marriageable age. Marry her, become my son’s heir, and put all this foolish war business behind us.”
    My sneaky, slippery grandmother. Alexander would become my father’s heir only if the babe in my mother’s belly was another girl or, worse, another stillborn. But, of course, Alexander didn’t yet know of my mother’s pregnancy.
    Alexander blinked at her boldness, then chuckled. “I like you, Sisygambis of Persia. However, there is one flaw in your otherwise cunning logic.”
    My grandmother smiled, and I realized with a start that she was enjoying this, the sly old she-cat. “And what might that be?”
    “While I appreciate the women your empire has to offer”—Alexander tucked Barsine’s perfectly manicured hand over his—“I’ve already taken your family as captives. I could marry all of you if I wished it, but as King Darius discovered when he fled today, wives and children are a costly burden to any campaign.”
    “You may be right,” my grandmother said. “But in time you may come to see the beauty of my offer.” The word beauty was pointed as her gaze flicked to my sister and prompted a genuine smile from Alexander.
    “Perhaps,” he answered. “But in the meantime, we break camp and you shall accompany me.”
    “We thank you for your generosity,” my grandmother said, bowing over her hands and stopping just short of kissing her fingertips in a proskynesis as if she were addressing a god or a king.
    Alexander turned to my mother, her face pale and her hands clasped over the still-flat belly that would soon burgeon with my