Free Alcestis by Katharine Beutner

out today.”
    “You’re so good to watch her,” Phylomache said, her voice dropping into the same coo she used on her daughter. “You’ll make a good wife, Alcestis.”
    I picked up the apple slices, slightly damp and flexible now from my touch, and ate one to keep myself quiet. Phylomache didn’t notice. She rarely did.
    “Tell me,” Phylomache said, pulling off another chunk of cake. “Did you like him, this Admetus? Was he handsome or ugly? Did he bring many men?”
    “It doesn’t matter,” I said. “Father won’t hear him whether I liked him or not.”
    “Oh, Alcestis. Have pity on a huge married woman and tell me tales. I’m stuck here all day with nothing to amuse me.”
    I looked down at the bedsheets tangled around Phylomache’s legs. I couldn’t tell her what I thought of him. Phylomache wanted me happy in marriage. If she knew I admired my cousin, she’d bother Pelias to accept him, and we’d both suffer for it. “I don’t know if I liked him. He’s small, much thinner than Pelias or Acastus, and very brown. Looks nothing like them. I suppose he takes after the mortal side. He smiles often. I did like that.”
    “Not too often, I hope,” Phylomache said, leaning in.
    “No, not too often. And I suppose he’s more handsome when he smiles, though he looks young.”
    “You shouldn’t meet the man first, I think,” Phylomache said. “If you meet him before you marry him, then you have time to dislike him. No sense in that. If Pelias chooses him, you’ll wed him, and you’ll be all right, if the gods bless the match.”
    “Phylomache, Pelias is not going to choose him.”
    “Hmm,” Phylomache said with the expression that meant she was having a thought she considered very clever. “Does he have a lot of land?”
    “He’s a king,” I said, frustrated. I knew none of the details of Admetus’s rule, but that didn’t matter—Pelias disliked him because he had come to pursue me, not because of the size of his kingdom. “He must. I don’t know. Ask Pelias.”
    “I will.” She smiled. “The boy hasn’t lost you yet.”
    “He’s not a boy,” I snapped, flushing, and dropped a half-eaten apple chip into my skirt. “And he doesn’t have me, Phylomache. You mustn’t let Pelias hear you say that. It’s not you he’ll be angry at.”
    “Oh, he is a boy,” Phylomache said, looking down at her lap where crumbs had landed after bouncing down her belly. She brushed at them ineffectually and spoke again without looking up. “They’re all boys, really, even the gods. Hunting and fighting and making babies.” She stroked Asteropia’s head again, flicking a bit of hair out of the child’s eyes. “It’s not so bad, though.”
    I had not seen her look this sad since the wedding. I reached over Asteropia and touched Phylomache’s wrist, the skin papery and warm beneath my fingertips. “Are you—are you all right?”
    Phylomache heaved a great sigh and looked up, her eyes a little watery. “Yes. Just tired of this. I want the baby out and healthy and grown enough that I can sleep in my bed again.”
    I want that too, I thought, then bit my lip. “Do you need anything?” I asked. “I can’t go downstairs till morning, but I could call one of the servants.”
    Phylomache shook her head. “No, just help me up. I want to walk around the women’s quarters.” I slid off the bed and held out my hands, trying not to wince when her fingers clamped around mine. Phylomache hissed when her feet hit the floor and stood slowly, as if she were being lifted by a rope and pulley. She shook off my steadying hands and took a few steps on her own.
    “All right?”
    A nod. Phylomache lumbered away like an ox. I watched her until she’d gone through the doorway then went to the window again, leaning out to count the torches in the courtyard. Some of them had been doused; Pelias must have decided that the Pheraean men were no threat. The yard was quiet, no talk or laughter carrying on the