Amazon Princess

by Kate Karyus Quinn

  “I think they’re staring at me,” Trevor says. “They’re not used to males.”

  Oh. I look around and don’t spot the other boys. But I do see Rada. I head over to her, Trevor in tow.

  “Hiya roomie!” I say as we sit down across from Rada. Her fork pauses midway between her plate and her mouth. Eggs spill onto the table.

  I stare. Eggs. There’s a whole platter of them in the center of the table, along with pancakes and for the love of all that is holy, bacon.

  Plopping into a seat, I fill a plate and shovel food into my mouth. I’m making little moans of pleasure but I don’t even care. It just tastes so good.

  “It’s nice to see a woman eat with enthusiasm,” Trevor says.

  “Oh man, I’ve been living on Quik Powder and frozen beef,” I tell him. “Plus, ever since I got my super strength, I seem to have super metabolism too. Wish that part could’ve happened when my favorite donut shop was still open.” I pause and look around the table. Spotting salt and pepper, I pick them up to see if anything else is hiding behind them.

  “What do you need?” Rada asks, curious.

  “Where’s the cheese for the eggs?”

  She shrugs. “Not a lot of dairy on this island. Unless you want Goat Milk.”

  I put down my fork and level a look at her. “Milk comes from cows,” I tell her. “Duh.”

  “Actually,” Zahara chimes in. “All mammals have mammary glands. Milk can be had from any of them.”

  “First you need breasts,” Sophia says, snidely. “Guess nobody will be getting a refill off you, harpy.”

  “Actually,” Zahara says, not at all perturbed. “Not all mammals have teats. The exceptions are the two monotremes the Echidna and the Platypus.”

  “Actually,” Sophia mimics back at her, “you’re ugly.”

  “I’m about to actually shove this fork up your—”

  But I don’t get to hear what adventure the harpy has in store for her utensil. Trevor’s hand slams down onto mine, effectively ending the conversation.

  “I’ve got it!” he says, and pulls me away from the table.

  11

  “The conversation at breakfast has given me a wonderful idea,” Trevor says, leading me back down the path toward the pasture. “I know how to catch my stallion.”

  I come to a halt. “I said milk comes from cows…”

  “No, no,” he waves his hand in the air. “Everything you said was inane, of course. It’s what the other girls said that caught my interest.”

  I take a second, mentally replaying breakfast. “Oh,” I say, hitting on it. “Boobs. Of course. Boobs is what caught your interest.”

  “Precisely,” Trevor says. Except, he’s not really Trevor anymore.

  He’s a horse…kind of. The head isn’t quite right.

  I squint trying to figure out exactly what about it is wrong—beside the fact that the boy I was just talking to is now a horse. Finally, I put my finger on it. Trevor isn’t able to change the eyes. That explains why Alaric’s stormy ones kept bugging me yesterday. But this is way more obvious. Human eyes in a horse’s head are not a pretty thing.

  Although, I doubt any of the horses will be focusing too much on his eyes. When Trevor said he was inspired by the boobs, well he definitely had a very specific vision.

  “Um, I don’t think boy horses are into girl horses with huge knockers.” I tell him. “Also, I’m here to tell you, running with those things hanging lose is gonna be painful.”

  But Trevor can’t hear me, he’s already beating hell for leather down into the pasture. Well, he’s kind of awkwardly shuffling, and tripping over his own boobs occasionally, ending up face first in a bunch of dandelions. A stallion comes over to investigate, and horse-Trevor struggles to his feet.

  “Well God bless his triple E ass,” I mutter. “Well, not his ass,” I correct myself.

  Because mother of all that is holy, it’s working.

  Another stallion has wandered over, curious as to what the first one found so interesting. Trevor tries to toss his mane, but this throws him off balance and sends him belly up…which is the best way to show off his attributes.

  Now all the boy horses are coming over to investigate, completely ensnared, all conscious thought lost.

  Trevor gets back to his feet…er…hooves, and seems to pick one stallion at random, giving him a slight nudge and leading him off toward a copse of trees. The others stare after them. Apparently voyeurism is a thing, no matter the species, and boys will be boys has never been more true than it is right now.

  But none of that helps me, like, at all. Alaric teleported his khaki-d ass right onto a horse’s back. Malik and Zahara both used their bodies—Zahara her wings, Malik his shifting abilities—to wrangle their steeds. Me? I’ve got super strength, but that doesn’t mean anything if I can’t get within grabbing distance.

  Going down into the pasture, I try talking low and walking slowly, my hands outstretched and open, like Rada did. But the horses just chomp grass and move steadily away from me, so that I never get any closer.

  Tired of the slow and steady I approach, I switch it up, lunging at the closest stallion. It rears at me, hooves flashing above my head.

  “Gaaaah!” A terrified scream escapes me. I scrunch myself small, hands over my head, eyes scrunched closed, certain I’m a goner.

  The sound of hoofbeats fills my ears and the ground trembles with them. Cautiously, I screw open one eye to discover that the horses are running away.

  I decide in this moment that I hate horses. What’s so great about horses anyway? Sure, when people needed them to get around, I can see why a person might keep them around. But now that we got vehicles with heated seats, it seems like the horse riding thing oughta just be retired.

  “Success!” Trevor declares, as he approaches on the back of his clearly bewildered mount.

  “How did you manage?” I ask, narrowing my eyes. “Did you seduce your horse, Trevor?”

  “Preposterous!” Trevor shouts. “I simply used temptation as a ruse to draw my prey in.” He heads off toward the stable, his mount kicking up dust behind him.

  Unfortunately, he’s forgotten to eliminate the evidence of all his horse shifting. That horse has two tails—and one of them is Trevor’s.

  But I decide not to tell him; I’ve got bigger problems. The most obvious one being that I’m the only contestant left standing in the meadow. The only one without a horse.

  “Edie,” I say under my breath. “Now would be a great time for you to fly in here and save the day…”

  But my dragon mentor doesn’t show. She’d warned me that her duties were strictly limited to giving advice. She wouldn’t be able to help me during the trials in any way. But still…

  Glumly, I survey the pasture. The remaining horses have moved away from me, ears flicking toward me as try one last time to approach. It’s a half-hearted gesture, and they seem aware that I don’t have much fight left in me. They trot away, completely unconcerned, knowing full well I’m not going to catch them.

  “I’ve got until midnight,” I say to myself, then repeat it again, more loudly for the horses. “You hear that? I’ll be back!”

  I’m kicking my way along the trail back to the stables when I hear a bell ringing, loud and clear, rolling over the hills.

  Crap. I’ve got to get to class.

  Archery: Arrows are a girl’s best friend is taught by a goddess named Devana, who is apparently on loan from a Russian school. The shooting range isn’t far from the stables, thank the gods. I show up slightly sweaty.

  All the Amazons are in their uniforms and I am so not, but manage to do the face squish thing and end up wearing something pretty similar to what everyone else has on—a version of the school uniform, except my little white blouse is cinched at the waist and my skirt is in violation of all dress codes, ever.

  Sophia turns her nose up when she sees me, her own skirt ending demurely right above the knee. But I don’t care. After not bagging a
horse this morning, I need all the confidence I can get. And for Brandee Jean Mason, that means showing some skin.

  “Hey,” Zahara whispers, as I grab a textbook entitled “Assholes Get Arrows,” along with a bow from the wall, and a quiver of arrows. “Any luck? Did you wrangle an Equus Caballus?”

  “I think that’s personal,” I tell her.

  “She means a horse,” Prisha explains.

  “Oh. No.” I shake my head, but decide not to go into detail at the moment since class is starting and I really can’t piss off yet another god.

  Devana tells us to read through the first chapter as a refresher and then move onto target practice. I open the book, but only get through a few pages before my eyes start to glaze. The whole thing is about making your own bow and goes into detail over the different types of wood and...well, I don’t know what else, because that’s where it lost me.

  Closing the book, I decide to try some target practice instead. Zahara is sitting with her book open, but her eyes closed, so she was obviously having trouble with the reading as well. I give her a nudge and we move over to one of the targets.

  Devana walks the row of students, adjusting a bow here, correcting posture there. Like all the gods I’ve seen around her so far, she’s got that whole ‘Yeah, I really am this naturally gorgeous’ vibe going on.

  “I see zat I have a few of ze kontestants in my class,” Devana says, eyeing me, Alaric, Zahara, Prisha, and Sophia. “Ave you shot bow before?”

  I look stupidly at the weapon in my hand; it’s almost as tall as I am. I have no idea how to hold it, how to use it, or even which way to point it.

  Why couldn’t this be a tap class?

  Alaric and Sophia, however, nod confidently, each of them stepping up to take a shot at the targets on the far end of the green. Alaric does fairly well, landing three arrows in the outer rings of the bullseye, while Sophia shoots everything straight down the middle, even being a total show-off and splitting one of the already embedded arrows with a fresh one.

  “Yeah, yeah, we see you, Robin Hood,” I say, to which she tosses her mane of dark hair and gives me a nasty look over her shoulder.

  “Let’s see what you’ve got,” she says, coming to stand beside me.

  “Oh, I’ve got plenty,” I shoot back. But words are the only thing I can shoot.

  It takes me three tries to get the stupid arrow on the stupid string, then I fumble and it falls to the ground. Prisha also looks immensely confused, so Devana does a step by step tutorial while the Amazons giggle at how crappy we are.

  It doesn’t help that Devana’s tone is one you would use on a toddler who didn’t quite make it to the potty, but tried really hard.

  “All right now, you, Ze Zhunder Girl. You give try,” Devana tells Prisha.

  Prisha and I exchange nervous looks. It stinks to be bottom of the class, but at least I’m not alone there.

  I watch as Prisha actually manages to notch her arrow and hit the outside of the bullseye, accompanied by a clap of thunder. She grins at me and I can’t help but grin back.

  Devana nods. “Good enough, for beginner. You, Strong Girl. Iz your turn.”

  I can do this. I hope.

  I notch an arrow and draw back on the string. It’s the furthest I’ve gotten so far and I’m feeling optimistic about this arrow actually getting some air. Then something freakishly cold slides down the back of my neck. I yelp and twist around to see Sophia with one of her long vampire fingers extended and a nasty smile on her face.

  Meanwhile, my arrow does get some air, but it goes so wide of the mark that it hits a target belonging to the group next to us.

  “Watch it.” One of the Amazons turns, her face dark.

  “I hit the target,” I say. “No congratulations for the girl who never held a bow until today?”

  The Amazon takes a step closer to me...and it’s definitely not to offer a friendly slap on the back. “You’re not an Amazon. You never will be. The only one we’d ever accept as our queen is one of our own.”

  “Right,” I nod. “So you’re rooting for Constantine, then?”

  The girl obviously has no sense of humor, cause her eyes narrow even further as she spits at me, “I’m rooting for Rada.” The Amazon snatches the bow right out of my hands. “You’re not worthy of this weapon.”

  “Lilliana,” Devana cuts in. “Is true, zis one has no talent for ze arrow. Perhaps she vill improve some, or perhaps she remain clumsy oaf. Ve vill see.” With those crushing words, Devana takes the bow away from Lilliana and hands it back to me. “Ve must let her try and pretend to be good sport until she lose contest and go away. Okay?”

  With that, Devana gives me what I think is meant to be a comforting pat on the shoulder before drifting off to another section of the room—presumably where she can help someone with natural talent.

  Despite Devana’s words, Lilliana is not appeased. She steps closer to me so I can see very clearly how overdue her eyebrows are for plucking.

  “Sorry won’t cut it when one of you accidentally shoots someone.” Her eyes slide over us, the outsider contestants. “If an Amazon gets hurt they’ll have to hold the rest of the trials at Underworld Academy after all.” She grins in a way that is not pretty. “Because I’ll send you there myself.”

  More thunder rings out and Prisha looks like she’s about to pee her pants. This is bullshit.

  “Well, now I know who to ask for advice if one of the trials is baseless threats and—” Before I can say more, a hand lands on my shoulder. A well-manicured one.

  “She meant no disrespect, my lady,” Alaric says, giving the Amazon a low bow. She eyes him for a second, then dismisses him and turns back to her group.

  I’m about to go after her, but Alaric squeezes my shoulder, steering me away. “I don’t think cracking wise at the natives is in your best interest.”

  “And since when are my best interests your business?” I ask, but it all comes out as kind of a sloppy mess of vowels because I’m about to cry.

  I couldn’t catch my horse. I can’t shoot a bow. The mean girls aren’t just mean, but armed as well.

  How the hell am I supposed to compete here?

  “Brandee Jean,” Alaric says calmly, pulling an honest-to-goodness handkerchief from his pocket. “There is only one person that I want to see win this competition, and that’s me.”

  “Watch it, buddy, assholes earn arrows, remember?” I point to a nearby textbook. But it’s hard to keep an edge on my voice.

  “And there’s only one person I want to see lose,” he continues. “Was Trevor able to capture a horse this morning?”

  “Oh,” I say, taking the handkerchief from him and blowing my nose, making sure to leave something nice and shiny right across his embroidered initials. “You’re not being nice to me right now. You’re milking me for information.”

  He says nothing for a moment as something unreadable flashes in those stormy eyes. Then he shrugs. “Of course. I am a cold fish, obsessed with the duty I owe my title and heritage. We bred nice out of the bloodline several generations ago and never looked back.”

  I frown. Did I hurt Alaric’s feelings? Does Alaric have feelings? “Well, thanks for the hanky anyway,” I say, folding it neatly so the snot’s a nice little present waiting inside.

  Alaric takes a step back, rejecting the handkerchief. I expect him to say keep it, but instead he says. “Please wash that before returning it to me.”

  I toss it at his chest. Even though I have the strength of Zeus, it’s still just a hanky. It bounces off harmlessly as my temper flares.

  “Clean your own laundry,” I shout at him. “And don’t ask me to do your dirty work!”

  I stomp away from him back to the line of students, but my little tantrum has caught Devana’s eye. “You, Strong Girl. Dress for class next time. Zis is not Stripper Akademy. And bring your glasses vith you! Da?”

  “I don’t wear glasses,” I tell her, to which Devana turns and eyes my single arrow—still stick
ing out of the wrong target.

  “Zen maybe get eyes checked,” she says. “Or take job as magician’s assistant. Pretty girls kut in half. Zip.” She mimics a scissors with her hands.

  Remembering Alaric’s advice to not make enemies of the Amazon, I choke back my suggestion of where she can stick her arrows. Somehow, I give her a tight nod and manage a, “Yes, ma’am,” before walking away, arms crossed. But her voice follows me as I head for the dorms.

  “Is good pay! And benefits! Health insurance very important for girls being kut in half!”

  12

  Rada is in our room when I get there, her curly red locks spread across her pillow as I bury my face in my own, resisting the urge to sob. The only thing that could make this day worse is having to face the rest of it with red puffy cry face.

  There’s a weight on my bed as Rada joins me, and the warmth of her palm on my back.

  “You okay?” she asks.

  “No,” I yell into my pillow. “I couldn’t catch a horse, and the big Russian god-woman just told me to be a stripper’s assistant.”

  “Strippers have assistants?” Rada asks, and I roll over, wiping away the last of my tears.

  “Sorry, no. She called me a stripper, but she told me to apply to be a magician’s assistant.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Rada says, rolling r’s and dropping her voice low like, Devana’s. “Pretty girls, kut in half. Zip.” She makes the scissors motion, just like the archery instructor. “That’s kind of her go-to insult. Which is weird because it’s not really that offensive.”

  I sniffle. “Yeah, but it’s the way she says it.”

  “Like you’re the most useless person alive. Yeah, I know. You’re not the first person to run off the archery field in tears.”

  I sigh. “I bet. It’s just…” I look up at Rada and her calm, freckly face. I know technically she’s my competition, but I wouldn’t mind coming in second to her, even if she is sporting more split ends than a homeless German Shepherd.

  “I’ve had a sucky day,” I admit. “I’m the only one who didn’t get a horse this morning.”