Chapter 1 #3
“Very well. I will retire and leave you to your…indulgences, brother,” the king said before turning to the gray-eyed girl. “We are most pleased to have you with us for the summer, Penelope.”
Penelope. I knew that name. Princess Penelope.
“As am I, uncle,” she said, bowing her head.
“Clytemnestra is desperate for you to join her at the gymnasium, you know. A little training will do you good.” The king pinched Penelope’s arm. “Get some muscle on that bone.”
“I will train if you wish, uncle, and if my father permits it.”
“Good girl.” Tyndareus patted her cheek once before exiting the room with Acte in tow.
In the following silence, I realized Icarius was still watching me. When I met his gaze, he leered closer, the pendants around his neck jangling.
“You are dismissed, Penelope,” he said.
I felt a sudden spasm of fear at the thought of being left alone with this man. I did not know what he wanted from me, but every inch of my body was screaming at me to run.
My eyes darted to Penelope.
“Does she have to?” I asked, but before the question even left my lips, Icarius had grabbed my face again. This time, his touch was harsher, nails biting into my cheeks.
“You will speak when spoken to, slave.”
His grip hurt, making hot tears sting along the bridge of my nose, blurring my vision.
Icarius rippled with disgust. “Stop that.”
But the tears would not stop; they fell thick and fast as a sob swelled in my throat.
Icarius let out a frustrated growl, releasing me.
“I said stop that, or I’ll give you a real reason to cry—”
“Father.” Penelope’s voice cut smoothly between us. She motioned to the table behind her. “We were in the middle of a game. May we resume?”
“I said you are dismissed, Penelope.”
“But our game is unfinished.”
“Do you think because we are on Spartan soil, you can behave like one?” he snapped over his shoulder. “You are a princess of Acarnania, and Acarnanian women obey.”
Penelope bowed her head. “Of course, Father. My apologies. I am merely surprised that you would accept defeat so readily.”
Icarius turned the full weight of his attention to his daughter. While he was distracted, I quickly rubbed my eyes with the heels of my hands, furious at myself. I did not even know why I was crying. I was no baby.
“You thought you were going to win?” he asked slowly.
“Yes, I believe the game was quite clearly mine,” she said.
Icarius’s eyes flared, then he glanced back at me for a moment, considering.
“I will indulge you this once, Penelope, but only because I wish to teach you a lesson in hubris. Understood?”
“Of course, Father. I always enjoy your lessons.”
A jeweled finger jabbed into my face. “You. Wait.”
I shrank against the wall as Icarius strode toward his daughter, taking the stool opposite her.
“It is your turn,” Penelope told him, her eyes flicking briefly to mine.
I did not know what game they played; I had never seen the likes of it before.
A wooden board was set between them, divided into squares.
They took turns tossing a small, dotted cube, then moving stone pieces around those squares.
It seemed dreadfully dull to me, yet I found I could not look away, my eyes continually wandering back to Penelope’s face.
They did not speak as they played, save for the occasional grunt from Penelope’s father. Their silence felt stiff and uncomfortable, yet they seemed indifferent to it.
“An unwise move, daughter,” Icarius finally announced. “Look here. Do you see your mistake?”
Penelope considered his move before making one of her own. She sat back, allowing her father to inspect the board. Something glowed inside me as I watched the smile fall from his lips.
“Does that mean I’ve won, Father?”
“Again,” Icarius demanded, rearranging the pieces on the board.
“As you wish,” she said, retrieving an elaborately decorated jug set between them and refilling his wine.
Icarius snatched the cup and drank deeply, then motioned for Penelope to refill it again.
“You.” He clicked his fingers at me. “Go wash and wait for me in my bedchamber.”
I bowed, then hesitated. I had thought we were already in Icarius’s bedchamber.
Discreetly, Penelope tilted her head toward the adjoining room. I gave a small, grateful smile and headed inside, certain I could feel her eyes following my every step.
In the darkened room, I could just make out the shape of a giant bed, piled high with invitingly soft furs and blankets. Along the right wall was a small table where I found a bronze water bowl and a rag.
Carefully, I dipped the rag into the water and ran it over my arms and legs, watching my skin lighten to its usual freckled shade of pale olive.
Once the water had turned cloudy and dark, I attempted to tackle my curls, using my fingers to untangle the knots.
Eventually, I gave up the pointless battle and began to pace.
It did not take long for tiredness to set into my bones, weighing down my steps. My mind reached for my mother. We had never spent so long apart, and her absence ached like a bruise.
“Again!” I heard Icarius’s voice reverberate through the walls.
I was not sure how long their games would continue, nor did I know what would happen when they finished, but I pushed that thought from my mind as I continued pacing.
As time wore on and my legs grew sluggish, I decided to perch myself on the edge of the giant bed. I sat rigidly, ready to jump to my feet if I heard anyone approaching. But the bed was so soft and inviting, I could not help but sink a little lower, down and down, until sleep rose up to greet me…
“Wake up.”
I jolted upright. “Mama?”
“Shh. It’s all right.” That voice came again as two gray eyes greeted me. “It’s Penelope.”
My cheeks warmed. “I…I wasn’t sleeping or nothing.”
She smiled. In her hand, she held an oil lamp, the small flame illuminating her face with a honeyed glow.
“It’s time to go,” she told me.
“Go where?”
“Back to your mother.”
“Now?”
“Yes. I shall take you.” She motioned for me to stand.
“What about Master Icarius?”
“He has dismissed you.”
I frowned. “Did…did I do something wrong?”
Penelope’s gaze was edged with something like sadness, but sharper. “Not at all. Come, we must go.”
I followed her back into the main room where Icarius was slumped in his chair, snoring loudly. As we crept past, I couldn’t help but stare. He seemed a lot less scary now, face smoothed by the soft hand of sleep, and I noticed his lips were stained a dark crimson.
“Father always falls asleep after too much wine,” Penelope whispered as she led me out into the hall, a small smile curling at the corners of her mouth.
We walked in silence through the passageways. Nyx had fully taken hold of the palace now, stealing away all its beautiful details. I found myself inching closer to Penelope, reassured by the oil lamp and her steady steps. She walked with such purpose, as if she paid the darkness no mind at all.
“How’d you know the way?” I asked her after a while, hoping my voice might chase away any beasts lurking around us.
“My uncle took me on a tour once.”
“And you remember it all?”
“Yes,” she said simply. “What is your name?”
“You…want to know my name?”
She glanced sidelong at me, the lamplight toying with her features, making their sharp edges flicker. “Why would I not?”
I shrugged. “Dunno. People don’t normally. Not people like you.”
“What do they call you then?”
“Slave…sometimes other names. Names Mama says I can’t repeat.”
“Does that bother you?”
Nobody had ever asked me that before. “Slave” was one of the first words I had ever learned, alongside “master.” It was as familiar to me as my own name.
“I’m Melantho,” I answered instead. “And you’re Princess Penelope.”
“Just Penelope will do.”
“Penelope,” I repeated with a nod.
“Melantho,” she mirrored.
We grinned at each other.
“So how’d you do it? Keep winning that game you and your papa were playing?”
“Because my father always expects me to lose,” she said. “Being underestimated is a woman’s greatest power. That’s what my mother says… Used to say.”
“She doesn’t say it no more?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because she’s dead.” These words held no emotion, as smooth and flat as a pebble in Penelope’s mouth.
I had no idea what to say to that.
“It’s the way of things,” she continued, eyes set on the darkness ahead. “Death is part of life. It is as the gods intended.”
“How old are you?”
Penelope’s eyebrows lifted. “Ten summers. Why?”
“You don’t talk like you’re ten.”
“How do I talk?”
“Like a grown-up. Not like the kids I know. But kids down below are thick as mud. Well, the boys are anyway. The other day, I saw one trying to shove worms up his nose.”
A laugh burst out of Penelope then, the force of it seeming to catch her by surprise.
“Why was he doing that?” she asked.
“I dunno.” I shrugged. “Boys are stupid.”
She laughed again, and the sound reminded me of lemons, sharp and bright. I found myself leaning into it.
We came to a familiar set of stairs, and I was met with a rush of disappointment. There was still so much I wanted to ask Penelope, but the questions tripped over themselves, tangling up inside me. Penelope kept quiet, too, though the echo of her laughter still clung to her face, lightening it.
When we reached the bottom of the stairs, it was like waking from a dream. The walls here were narrow, the paint faded and cracking, floors coated with dirt, air as stale as old flatbread. It seemed impossible to think that a beautiful world existed just above our heads.
Down the passageway, I could see the guards standing watch outside our sleeping quarters.
They kept the men and women separated at night, with a guard positioned at either door.
I had always found their presence reassuring, as if King Tyndareus wanted his slaves watched over, kept safe.
But in that moment, the sight of them made my lungs feel tight.
“It was nice to meet you,” Penelope said. “Melantho.”
I smiled. “Penelope.”
Conscious of the guards now watching us, I quickly bowed. Penelope then nodded to one of them, and he dutifully unlocked the door.
The guard shoved me inside, and I was swallowed up by a hot, sweaty darkness, one that stuck immediately to my skin, weighing me down.
The familiar stench of overcrowded bodies clogged my throat, and I almost gagged.
I turned back to Penelope, her face like a last gulp of fresh air, one I wanted to hold on to as long as I could. Then the door slammed shut.
I picked my way through the slumbering bodies strewn across the floor, trying my best not to trip over the sprawling limbs.
“Melantho?” My mother’s voice guided me forward. She was in the far corner, sitting upright with her back against the wall. It was too dark to make out her features, but her voice was alert, as if she hadn’t been sleeping at all. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, Mama.”
She reached for my hands, her fingers damp and shaking.
“Are you…sure? You can tell me…if you’re not.” She sounded strange, her words stiff.
“I’m fine, Mama. I promise.”
We settled into our usual position, my mother curled around me as I tucked myself into her warm chest.
“Did he hurt you?” she whispered against the shell of my ear.
“Who?”
“The king’s brother.”
I thought about the strange way Icarius had stared at me, my insides twisting.
“No, Mama.”
“You can tell me if he did.”
“He didn’t.”
She held me tighter. “Whatever happened, it wasn’t your fault, Melantho. You must know that. It’s important.”
I wasn’t sure what she meant, so I kept quiet.
My mother began stroking my hair then, whispering apologies into my ear.
I did not understand her sadness, nor did I like the feel of it in my chest, heavy as a stone.
So I pretended to be asleep as her warm tears dripped against my cheek, her confusing whispers falling into rhythm with my breathing.
I’m sorry. Forgive me. I’m sorry. Forgive me…
I blocked her out, thinking instead of Penelope. I replayed our meeting in my mind, over and over, like tracing the edges of a new trinket, committing every detail to memory before tucking it safely away, knowing I would revisit it again once the morning found me.