Melisto’s eyes widened. She gazed with disbelief at the gold beads, the glowing amber of the sphinx’s head. “For me?” she said. Her fingers uncurled like poppies opening to the sun. The necklace, still warm from her mother’s flesh, fell into her hands.
Lysandra’s voice broke the spell. “No, not for you! What would a child do with such a treasure? You must take it to Brauron and give it to the goddess as an offering. Don’t you understand? I need Artemis to bless me.”
Blood rushed under Melisto’s skin. She shook herself as if another jar of water had been poured over her head.
“I’m pregnant,” Lysandra said bluntly. “The whole household knows. Are you so backward that you haven’t guessed? Doesn’t it occur to you, when I’m sick morning after morning, that I’m going to have a child?”
“I’ve heard you throwing up. I don’t think about it.”
“Of course not; you think only of yourself. Can’t you understand what a source of shame it’s been, to have only one child, and that child a daughter? What about your precious father! Haven’t you seen how he longs for a son?”
Melisto lifted her eyes. It was the accusing, owl-eyed look that Lysandra most detested.
“Don’t scowl at me like that! How many times have I told you: a girl of good family keeps her eyes lowered! What will the priestesses at Brauron think if you glare at them like a wild animal?”
A retort flashed through Melisto’s mind. “Maybe they’ll think I’m a bear.”
Unexpectedly Lysandra laughed. “Maybe they will. Perhaps they’ll tame you; I never have. I pity them, all the same.” The smile died on her lips. “Remember your father, Melisto. Have pity on him, if you have none on me. He’s wanted a son since before you were born. If the goddess favors us, he’ll have one at midwinter. Take the necklace to the priestess at Brauron. And pray for me. Another birth like yours could kill me. I could die.” Her voice sharpened. “Does that mean nothing to you?”
Melisto wasn’t listening. Before her mind’s eye rose an image: her father with a son in his arms. Jealousy leapt and burned inside her. Then her mother’s words sank in. Lysandra could die. Melisto didn’t want that. She wondered if there was any point in saying so. She gnawed her lower lip, searching for words.
“It’s light outside,” observed Thratta.
The four women turned as one to the storeroom window. Dawn had given way to bright morning. The procession was to begin on the Akropolis before noon. Melisto’s heart beat double time.
“We mustn’t be late.” Lysandra’s voice was calm. “Put on the necklace, Melisto. That way, you won’t lose it. Remember what I’ve told you and kiss me goodbye.”
Melisto kissed her mother’s cheek. The two of them embraced ceremoniously and separated in perfect unison. Melisto held out her hand to the slave women. She was not fond of Chresthes or Evnike, and she thought it was good of her to take their hands.
“Goodbye, Chresthes. Goodbye, Evnike.”
Her face paled when she saw Thratta standing before her. The Thracian woman stood with the rolled bear-cloak in her arms. Melisto had not prepared herself to part with Thratta. All at once it was as if some god possessed her, pulling her face into a tragic mask. In a moment her mouth would grimace, spilling forth grief like lava.
Rough hands clamped down on her shoulders. “Turn around,” Thratta ordered. Melisto felt the wadded bear-cloak press against her back. Thratta was lashing it into place: crisscross over her chest, crisscross between her shoulder blades. The cord was too tight, and the irritation was distracting.
Thratta leaned forward, speaking into Melisto’s ear. “Do you know what I think? I think you will be a good Bear. I think some god has made you strong.”
Melisto blinked. Thratta tied the final knot, yanking the two ends of the cord so sharply that Melisto rocked on her feet. Then she whirled about, flinging her arms around the slave woman. She tensed her eyelids to seal the tears inside.
A moment passed, then another. Melisto stepped back: she wanted to be the first to pull away. She set her chin, screwing her mouth into a fierce line that was meant for a smile. Some god had made her strong. She would go to Artemis and serve as a Bear.
2. SACRIFICE, BUTTERFLY, FIRE
On the crown of the Akropolis, the sun blazed, and the wind breathed in gusts. Melisto stood before the Temple of Artemis, conscious that the crowd was watching her. She had known there would be a ceremony and a sacrifice, but she hadn’t known so many people would come to watch. As a Bear, she was a celebrity, destined to serve both Artemis and Athens.
The Athenians had reason to be grateful to Artemis. When the citizens fought against the Thirty Tyrants, the goddess appeared on the battlefield, bearing a torch. It was Artemis who granted the warriors inspiration and victory. The Tyrants were overthrown, and democracy was restored. A new temple dedicated to Artemis the Torchbearer was being built down at the harbor.
Melisto tried not to fidget. She kept her eyes downcast and obeyed the four strong-looking women in charge of the Bears. They herded the girls away from their mothers and discouraged them from tearful goodbyes. One frizzy-haired child of six or seven defied them, waving to her mother, calling out, and sobbing. Melisto darted a scornful glance in her direction.
The temple doors opened. There was a murmur from the crowd as the priestess of Artemis emerged. Melisto glanced sideways and then stared. The priestess from Brauron was the most beautiful creature she had ever seen.
She was seventeen years old and dressed like the goddess herself in a deep violet robe with a fluted hem. The cloth was tissue thin,
