eyelashes curling against brown cheeks. But now the king of Pherae was here, small and slight, taking hesitant steps into the hall under the head maid’s glare, and he blotted out my imagined men.
I waited for him to speak. Admetus took one more step toward me, and the head maid frowned and yanked me back. There was a long, tense silence.
“Is there—is something wrong?” he asked, sounding as uncertain as a child. It was strange to hear that tone in a man’s voice; Pelias was never unsure.
I smiled and smoothed my hands over my hips, feeling the cloth move against my skin.
“We must wait for my father,” I said. The head maid huffed a breath and gave me a sharp pinch on the soft flesh above my elbow. I twitched my arm away. “He may be some time,” I added, looking at the floor.
“I thank you for your hospitality,” Admetus said. His dark eyes were soft and entreating, like a hungry calf’s. He looked away from me, then looked back, looked away again. It was a pattern; I saw that now. Our eyes could not meet for too long a time, but he could flutter his gaze over me like a bird’s wing, and I could watch blood rise above the line of his beard and spread hot down his throat, where the skin stretched silky and fine.
He was waiting for me to say something else, I knew it, but I could think of nothing to say to him, especially with the maid standing beside me. If he were my brother, I could’ve prodded him for news of Mycenae and the other kingdoms, but I did not know how to speak with a suitor. I was not supposed to know how to speak with a suitor. I did know about the workings of a household, and these days, thanks to Phylomache, I knew a fair amount about the workings of babies, but I didn’t think a king would be interested in a discussion of colic. Should we speak of the coming harvest, the god-blessed weather? Silence sprawled between us, broken only by the murmur of our breath.
“Will you not speak?” he asked. “Please?”
Too importunate—the head maid shifted uneasily beside me. I could see lighter lines around the corners of his eyes where the skin had folded when he squinted into the sun, and wondered how it would feel to smooth those creases with my fingers. “I cannot entertain you without my father’s consent,” I said. “I am sorry I cannot speak to you, but I would not incur his anger. ”
“No,” Admetus said instantly. “No, lady, I would not have you anger him. You must forgive my insistence. We shall await your father.”
We awaited my father for hours, both of us silent, listening to the sounds from the kitchens and the courtyard, the servants talking and his men laughing together outside. I stood until my back began to hurt. When I called the servants to bring in couches, Admetus sat down with an ill-disguised sigh of relief. He reclined on the couch as if he were at a party with my father, propped on one arm, one leg sprawled out along the couch and the other bent. His tunic slid above his knees. The skin there was paler, soft looking, and when he moved a hand to twitch the fabric back into place I stared at the contrast between his sun-darkened hand and his pale thigh, vulnerable as a woman’s flesh.
PELIAS CAME THROUGH the gates at twilight with a roar like a wounded beast’s. I jumped, startled, and Admetus bolted off the couch. The slaves had their eyes lowered, as always, but I saw one of them fighting back a smile. Pelias stood in the doorway to the great hall, eyes gleaming ferociously. He had a bloodstain on his tunic and a smear of something visceral along one calf.
“Welcome, honored guest,” Pelias said, voice booming through the hall, smile knife sharp. “Admetus, son of Pheres, Nephew. I thank you for your visit. What is your purpose here?”
I felt my face go hot. “Father!” I ducked away from the head maid’s pinching fingers. “Please.”
“I did not ask you to speak, Daughter,” Pelias said. He hadn’t taken his eyes off my
I waited for him to speak. Admetus took one more step toward me, and the head maid frowned and yanked me back. There was a long, tense silence.
“Is there—is something wrong?” he asked, sounding as uncertain as a child. It was strange to hear that tone in a man’s voice; Pelias was never unsure.
I smiled and smoothed my hands over my hips, feeling the cloth move against my skin.
“We must wait for my father,” I said. The head maid huffed a breath and gave me a sharp pinch on the soft flesh above my elbow. I twitched my arm away. “He may be some time,” I added, looking at the floor.
“I thank you for your hospitality,” Admetus said. His dark eyes were soft and entreating, like a hungry calf’s. He looked away from me, then looked back, looked away again. It was a pattern; I saw that now. Our eyes could not meet for too long a time, but he could flutter his gaze over me like a bird’s wing, and I could watch blood rise above the line of his beard and spread hot down his throat, where the skin stretched silky and fine.
He was waiting for me to say something else, I knew it, but I could think of nothing to say to him, especially with the maid standing beside me. If he were my brother, I could’ve prodded him for news of Mycenae and the other kingdoms, but I did not know how to speak with a suitor. I was not supposed to know how to speak with a suitor. I did know about the workings of a household, and these days, thanks to Phylomache, I knew a fair amount about the workings of babies, but I didn’t think a king would be interested in a discussion of colic. Should we speak of the coming harvest, the god-blessed weather? Silence sprawled between us, broken only by the murmur of our breath.
“Will you not speak?” he asked. “Please?”
Too importunate—the head maid shifted uneasily beside me. I could see lighter lines around the corners of his eyes where the skin had folded when he squinted into the sun, and wondered how it would feel to smooth those creases with my fingers. “I cannot entertain you without my father’s consent,” I said. “I am sorry I cannot speak to you, but I would not incur his anger. ”
“No,” Admetus said instantly. “No, lady, I would not have you anger him. You must forgive my insistence. We shall await your father.”
We awaited my father for hours, both of us silent, listening to the sounds from the kitchens and the courtyard, the servants talking and his men laughing together outside. I stood until my back began to hurt. When I called the servants to bring in couches, Admetus sat down with an ill-disguised sigh of relief. He reclined on the couch as if he were at a party with my father, propped on one arm, one leg sprawled out along the couch and the other bent. His tunic slid above his knees. The skin there was paler, soft looking, and when he moved a hand to twitch the fabric back into place I stared at the contrast between his sun-darkened hand and his pale thigh, vulnerable as a woman’s flesh.
PELIAS CAME THROUGH the gates at twilight with a roar like a wounded beast’s. I jumped, startled, and Admetus bolted off the couch. The slaves had their eyes lowered, as always, but I saw one of them fighting back a smile. Pelias stood in the doorway to the great hall, eyes gleaming ferociously. He had a bloodstain on his tunic and a smear of something visceral along one calf.
“Welcome, honored guest,” Pelias said, voice booming through the hall, smile knife sharp. “Admetus, son of Pheres, Nephew. I thank you for your visit. What is your purpose here?”
I felt my face go hot. “Father!” I ducked away from the head maid’s pinching fingers. “Please.”
“I did not ask you to speak, Daughter,” Pelias said. He hadn’t taken his eyes off my
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