Alcestis by Katharine Beutner Read Free Book Online Page B

me while I listened to the rhythm of a living heart—but I remembered it distantly, the exact sensations fading, sinking in the honey of nostalgia. Had she really smelled so, and felt so, and made such a murmur in her sleep? I remembered my dead sister’s touch as better than any touch I’d had since: better than the casual pats of the servants, the accidental slips of Pisidice’s fingers, the occasional furtive brow kiss from my brother. Pelias did not even kiss my forehead at dinner anymore. I’d hated that ritual, until it stopped.
    Pisidice looked at me. “We must go in. They’ll finish soon.”
    “They won’t finish till dawn.”
    My sister gave me a sharp look. “And you shouldn’t have been outside the palace walls at all. We must go in.”
    I gave her an ungracious nod and looked back at Hippothoe’s grave. My stomach was still shaky with the remnants of laughter, but the sight of the grave caused a heaviness in my belly, a great quiet: the absence of Hippothoe’s life. I felt that the best part of me had been cut out like a sacrifice to the gods. I said a small prayer to the gods of the underworld, asking them to care for her. I did not know how well they would listen.
    When I lifted my head, Pisidice was watching me. She had her arms crossed over her chest again but her expression was not unkind. “Come on,” she said, and turned away. I followed.
    The courtyard seemed huge in the darkness. The palace loomed heavy and bright before us, and within it the bedroom song was fading now, voices going ragged with overuse. A breeze stroked my hair like the touch of a ghost. I watched Pisidice’s feet on the stairs, the arch of her ankles, the sway of her skirts. I wondered if she would teach me how to walk like a woman— and I felt myself straighten a little, my shoulders going back and my eyelids lowering. We went through the entry hall and through the great hall. All around, boys and girls had paired off to kiss under the watchful eyes of the servants; I heard Pisidice mutter something rude under her breath. We passed a group of boys who stood outside the bedchamber doors, arms linked, shouting out the last boys’ verse of the song and grinning at us as we went by.
    In the hall beside the kitchens, some boys slept along the walls, and I had to step over their splayed limbs. Their faces were hidden in shadow, but I could guess how old they were by looking at the size of their hands: some nearly twenty, some no more than twelve. The absence of touch was a hollow hurt, but I could not imagine wanting any of those hands on my skin.
    I followed Pisidice into the women’s quarters and paused to dip my fingers into the bowl of water by the door. The room was empty of servants, the beds smooth and neat. Pisidice stood across the room, arms bent awkwardly as she reached for the ties on the back of her bodice. I wiped my hands on my dirty skirts, walked over, and pushed Pisidice’s hands away.
    “I can do it.”
    Pisidice let her hands drop. “Go on then.”
    I tugged the lacings through each hole in the bodice and listened to the breaths Pisidice let out when the cloth loosened. My sister’s skin warmed the fabric, sent out heat to my moving hands. We stood in the women’s quarters, removed from the noise and laughter still ringing in the great hall, the fading bursts of merriment. By the time I pulled the last lacing free, we were both holding our breath, silent in the silent room, waiting. Pisidice was waiting for me to finish, waiting for her own wedding, waiting for her life to begin, and I was waiting for her to pull away from my touch.
    I will miss you, I thought. But at least you’ll be alive.

3
    I SAT ON the porch alone, distaff and spindle lying untouched by my feet, sandals dangling from my toes. It was late afternoon, and the low-angled sun spread out warm over my feet like a sleeping dog. Asteropia was napping upstairs next to Phylomache and the men had gone off to hunt. I put my elbows on my