Free 0316382981 by Emily Holleman Page A

as though at nineteen she still hadn’t grown into a woman.
    “I worry about you here in Alexandria, surrounded by snakes.” He scanned the chamber as though he expected to spot one slithering across the onyx floor.
    “But my dear Dio, I won’t be in Alexandria. I’ll soon sail with Pieton up the Nile to Thebes, to be worshipped by the adoring throngs.”
    She followed Dio’s gaze to Nereus, old and drunk and crooning at the side of some young creature on the lute. From time to time, his hand crept higher up her leg, but the player paid his improprieties no mind. And then he turned his glance to Dryton, young and handsome and silent, watching every detail from his seat. He looked as though he had not touched a drop of wine.
    “You trust these men to rule in your name, in your absence?”
    “No, I don’t trust them, nor that stammering Thais either, though I can’t imagine he would have the balls to defy me.” Berenice looked back at the man at her side. “But what other choice do I have?”
    “Let me put off my voyage to Rome. Your father remains in Rhodes. For all we know, we have ample time to reach the Latium shore before he does. I can hold the palace in line until you return from the Upper Lands. And I can hound Dryton for all he knows about the Piper’s plans.”
    A fervor reached his eyes, gleaming with the lamp’s flame. She’d not seen that look before. There was an intensity to it that made her shiver. “Very well.” She smiled. “Delay your voyage for two weeks. When my royal entourage passes through the city gates, you’ll set sail.”
    As he stood, he clasped her hand and pressed it to his lips. An unfamiliar feeling stirred in her gut. Perhaps this is what her eunuch feared most of all: that Dio might offer something that he never could. Nonsense, she chided herself. The man is as old as your father, and twice as fat.

Younger
    A rsinoe slithered across grass and sand. She saw not with her eyes but with her tongue. A wolf, a hulking monster from a forgotten age, stalked ahead. He, too, hunted for blood. Her belly smoothed the prints left by his paws. A quail darted through the stalks, a fawn lingered at the shore, a peahen cocked her head. Everywhere she looked flashed lush and ample game. But the wolf ignored these delicacies. Hunger seized her, fang to tail. And then the blades opened to reveal his prey: a pair of foxes, one red and strong, the other white and withered.
    Tail wagging, the wolf approached. He circled first his red cousin and then his white, round and round, the dance of fools. With each turn her hunger swelled, and her tongue tasted lies. Why was he toying with his food? And then the wolf’s aspect changed: teeth bared, the fiend returned. He tore the fire fox’s throat. Its mouth dripped with blood as the creature twisted in the yellow grass. In death, the creature’s snout flattened into a human face—the red-crowned head of a familiar man. Her attention turned; her tongue caught another whiff of fear. Limping, the white fox fled—he fled toward her, and she hissed in pleasure. But at once the wolf was on him too, snapping his neck and tearing into his flesh. And then he turned his bloodshot eyes on her.
    Dawn’s rosy fingers stole her dream. Only cobwebs remained and soon those, too, were scraped away as Myrrine’s deft hands plaited her locks for the new day. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a figure lurking in the doorway. No, it wasn’t possible. Arsinoe sprang from her stool; she could scarcely believe it. But there he was: her tutor with his narrow eyes and cracked nose.
    “Ganymedes!” She ran across the chamber and threw her arms around the eunuch’s neck. He remained—he hadn’t abandoned her. She wanted suddenly, desperately, to be held.
    “Calm yourself.” He pried away her hands. “There’s no need for such messy sentiment.”
    Hurt, she stepped back. Even here, he rejected her. This wasn’t how their reunion was supposed to begin. The