Read The Queen's Handmaid for Free Online

than a used-up, dry husk.
    “I have tried . . . tried to be of value to you . . . to help . . .” Her chest shook.
    “Ha! Do you think you are the only one who can sing a pretty tune or sculpt a pretty pot? There are girls lined up to take your place. So go! Go with him!”
    Everyone—first Samuel, then Herod, and now Cleopatra—seemed to wish Lydia out of Egypt. But it was the only home she’d ever known. She had sworn by her independence, by her refusal to need anyone. But how could she leave Caesarion? Samuel?
    Herod patted her head as though she were a favorite pet. “There now, it is settled. I am pleased—”
    “No.” The word bubbled up from her chest unexpectedly.
    Both rulers eyed her in surprise, as if they had already forgotten her presence or perhaps her ability to have an opinion of her own.
    “No, I have no desire to leave Alexandria.”
    Cleopatra chuckled. “You don’t seem to understand. I have no desire for you to remain.”
    The fear, the cold fear of being ripped from the cobbled-together family she had created for herself, drove the words from her mind to her lips and into the air before she could stop them. Despite Andromeda, or perhaps because of her hideous undeserved death, Lydia spoke aloud what lay hidden in her heart.
    She stepped forward, hands tight at her sides. “Who will know which of the plants in your chamber must be kept well watered and which to keep dry? Who will remember which robes and jewels you wore for each city appearance and how to arrange the striped nemes and gold uraeus so they frame your face in a way both feminine and regal? Who will help you fool your visitors into believing that it is you who knows how to spread a banquet table or furnish a room with luxury?”
    Pathetic, all of it, and yet she kept on spewing, as if she could prove her worth with such a list. “And who, my lady, will sing your boy to sleep when he wakes up screaming nightmares of his murderous mother?”
    Oh, this last—this last she should not have said. Even Herod seemed to take a step backward, to abandon her there on the field of battle.
    Lydia had proven nothing, had won nothing. Only lashed out in pain, the desperate act of a condemned woman.
    And she saw her condemnation in Cleopatra’s eyes, though the queen held her tongue. Her lips remained sealed, her jaw tight.
    Lydia was empty now, empty like that dry husk waiting to be blown away in the hot wind of Cleopatra’s wrath.
    “That will be all for tonight, Lydia. I have business to discuss with our new friend. If it should please you to give us privacy, that is.”
    The sarcasm cut as sharply as any rebuke, but it was only the dull leading edge of what was to come.
    Lydia bent her head to Herod, then to the queen, and pushed toward the door. As she passed Cleopatra, she could almost feel the cold radiating from the woman’s body.
    Lydia reached the hallway alive, which seemed no small miracle.
    Andromeda had spoken out of a naive foolishness and had her throat slit for the indiscretion. What would Cleopatra do with a servant whose condemnation had been calculated with intent?
    Lydia hurried toward the steps, her hand stealing to her throat to feel the reassuring though unsteady leaping of her pulse.
    Whatever was to come, nothing would be the same.

Four
    C leopatra watched with satisfaction as Lydia fled into the hall. The girl’s petite features and slight stature brought to mind a colorful butterfly. Indeed, she had been fluttering around the royal family for years now. If the girl weren’t such a favorite with Caesarion, Cleopatra would have rid the palace of her after Ptolemy’s death.
    She slammed the door on the girl’s flight, then turned in one smooth motion to smile at Herod. “I am surprised.” She crossed to a small table along the wall, set with a jug of wine and a platter of Alexandria’s finest cheeses. “I should not have thought you a man to waste your time on servant girls.” She tossed a coy smile over