Read Online Quiver by Stephanie Spinner - Free Book Online Page A

had been drenched in boar’s blood.
    “Greetings, Cepheus,” I replied. “I am surprised to find you here.”
    He swallowed several times before replying, and a flush crept up his thick neck. “I am surprised also,” he confessed. Then he made an abrupt, harsh, braying sound that could only be laughter. “And I will be surprised if I win this race,” he went on, “but I—I could not stay away.”
    Here was a Cepheus I did not know—awkward, bewildered, almost humble. Great gods on the mountain, I thought, looking away, what is he trying to tell me? At this moment my father appeared. He was as pale as a specter, and so weak that Nephele and Mataios had to help him into his high-backed chair.
    “I see that you two are renewing your friendship,” he said approvingly.
    Friendship! I thought. That is not what I would call it.
    He settled himself and looked out at the crowd, which quickly fell silent. “You are witnesses to this race,” he announced in his deep voice, “between my daughter Atalanta, and Prince Cepheus of Arcadia. If the prince wins, he and Atalanta will marry. If Atalanta wins, the prince will die.”
    There was an audible intake of breath. Some spectators, it seemed, were hearing the terms of the contest for the first time.
    My father looked over at us. He raised a skeletal hand. “At my signal,” he said.
    We crouched. I could feel Cepheus staring but kept my eyes resolutely on my father’s hand until it fell. Then I began to run at a very moderate pace. Cepheus charged forward, pumping his arms and scrambling into the lead, a feat that drew loud acclamation from his friends. I let him stay ahead as we took the first turn at the southwest corner of the palace. I had no desire to humiliate him.
    As we ran north, there were cries from above. The stable boys were atop the walls screaming encouragement, their voices as high and piercing as the whistles they used to summon the horses from the fields.
    “Faster, Princess, faster!” called Koris. “Don’t trot, gallop!” I waved to him. A few of the guards stationed on the wall called out to Cepheus, who was able to maintain his speed as we started uphill.
    I caught up to him just past the northwest corner. It was the point at which the track fell behind the palace, and where we would be visible only to those on the wall. Even they, however, could not hear what we said.
    “Cepheus,” I called, loping beside him. He turned, and there was such naked hope on his face that my gut clenched with pity. He actually thought I might let him win.
    I held out the vial. “Take it,” I said. “Quickly!” When it was in his hand, I told him what it was. He was too breathless to speak, but he shook his head once, violently, and threw down the vial without breaking stride.
    I retrieved it and caught up to him. “Please take it!” I begged. “There isn’t much time.” We would soon round the third, northeast corner, where the final stretch began. I lay my hand on his broad forearm, and for a moment he slowed. I could feel the blood pumping beneath his skin.
    “It is best this way,” I told him, hating the empty words. In truth, the poison was just as much for me as for him; I could not bear to see him strangled, or beheaded. I was overcome with such self-loathing that I shuddered.
    There was fear in his eyes now, and he was panting too heavily to reply. The sound he made was awful, like tree limbs groaning in winter wind.
    I pressed the vial into his hand. “I am sorry,” I said.
    Then I ran to my victory.

TWENTY-ONE
    Aphrodite:
You shot the wrong person, you naughty boy!
    Eros:
I did?
    Aphrodite:
Stop giggling. You know Atalanta was meant to be your target.
    Eros:
Sorry.
    Aphrodite:
You’re not, but never mind. You’ll have another chance very soon.
    My next suitor—a Cretan prince in ringlets and gold earrings—arrived two days later. Many silk-clad young men came with him, chattering amongst themselves as if they were attending a court