Excerpt from Clytemnestra by Costanza Casati, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

"It was nothing. I sprained my ankle."

His eyes are a bright blue, like a gemstone catching light always in a different way but safe, like the crystal-clear water of the shore, never too deep, never too scary.

"Do you fight?" she asks.

"Yes, but not like you. We fight with weapons."

"What happens when someone attacks you and you have no weapon?"

Tantalus laughs. "There are guards around us."

"There are no guards now."

He smiles, opens his arms. "Fight me, if you want. So we shall see if we barbaroi earn the name you have given us." He doesn't speak with anger or contempt. "But I warn you, I am afraid I am no match for you."

She is surprised. She doesn't know any man who speaks like this. "Maybe we should fight with weapons then."

Tantalus moves forward, one, two, three steps. "Oh, I am sure you would be stronger still. I have heard that you always fight to win."

"And you don't?"

Tantalus is close now: she can see the little lines around his eyes. "I never had to fight to earn anything in my life. That is my condemnation, my weakness."

Again, surprise. The men Clytemnestra knows don't speak of their weaknesses. She considers what he said. A life like that is hard to imagine.

"I can see that with you it must be different," Tantalus adds, "so I will try again and again, if you will have me."

"And if I will not?"

"Then I will go back to Maeonia. And I will have learned how painful it is not to have what you desire."

"That would be good for you."

"I am not so sure."

Clytemnestra leans back, even though she wants to touch his face. She wants to feel his smooth skin under her hand, to press her body against his. But all good things must wait. So she leaves him empty-handed.

* * *

They start going together to the river, day after day. They walk under the sinking sun of the late afternoon, when the earth is still warm beneath their feet. As they sit with their legs dangling in the water and the reeds tickling their backs, Tantalus tells her stories of the people he has met and the lands he has visited, of the gods he worships and the myths he enjoys. He tells her about the Hittites, with their war chariots and storm gods. He describes Crete, its mighty palace, each wall covered with rich colors and patterns warmed by the sun. He tells her about the first ruler of Maeonia and his proud daughter, Niobe, whose seven sons and daughters Artemis killed.

"Niobe wouldn't stop crying," Tantalus says, "so the gods turned her into stone. But even then water kept streaming on the rock."

He tells her of Colchis, the wondrous land of Aeëtes, son of the sun, and the spells he conjures to terrify his people. "Dust warriors fight for him, dragons too. And now he has a daughter, Medea. They say she is dangerous. They say she is a witch, just like her father."

"Maybe she won't be dangerous," Clytemnestra points out.

"Maybe," Tantalus says, "but children usually grow up to be like their parents."

"And what about your parents?"

Tantalus speaks of the rulers of Maeonia, the fathers of gold and silver coins. Clytemnestra can see he likes to tell these stories. She doesn't care much for myths—she has grown up with her father and brothers, who look at the world with no enchantment or illusion. But Tantalus is a gifted storyteller, so she listens.

As he speaks, she is stricken by how wonderful and scary it is to hang on his every word and to wish she could listen to him forever. It is like jumping over the edge of a cliff and falling, her heart racing, yet always longing for more.

* * *

In the next few days, Clytemnestra watches her parents as she has never done before.

When commoners walk in the megaron with their pleas, Leda speaks and gives orders, but only when Tyndareus asks for her opinion. At dinner, when he glances at the servant girls—carelessly enough for his wife to see—Leda drains her wine in silence, though there are sparks in her eyes as if she were ready to catch fire. Clytemnestra sees that her mother challenges her father and that he likes her for it, but only up to point. Play with the wolf too much, and he'll rip off your arm.

Excerpted from Clytemnestra by Costanza Casati. Copyright © 2023 by Costanza Casati. Excerpted by permission of Sourcebooks. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.