Chapter 2
The king did not summon me again.
I had never experienced rejection before, and I hated the feel of it, the way it lingered low in my belly, caught between a sting and an ache.
Acte still visited the kitchens nightly, and each time I watched her escorting a new slave upstairs, that feeling inside me intensified.
Why them? I wanted to scream. Why not me?
“It’s for the best,” my mother told me, though these words made little sense. How could the sweaty, overcrowded kitchens be better than that beautiful, glimmering world above?
“Maybe you said something the king didn’t like,” my brother suggested.
It was the fifth morning after my summons, and Melanthius and I were unpacking a fresh delivery of goods. Though the cart was now empty, we loitered beside it, savoring our time together before Melanthius returned to the stables where he worked.
“I didn’t say nothing to him,” I murmured, scuffing my sandals against the cart.
“Maybe you did it wrong then.”
I stared up at my brother. Even though we were the same age, Melanthius had always been taller than me, which, for some reason, made him think he could act like the eldest.
“Did what wrong?”
“Well…” He glanced away. “You know.”
I frowned, unused to seeing him lost for words. Usually, Melanthius had too many to fit into one breath.
“Know what?”
He folded his arms. “The sex.”
“The what?”
“The sex.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s what the king summons us for.”
“Oh.” I paused. “But…what is it?”
Melanthius chewed his lip. “Well, I was hoping you’d tell me. The other boys laugh when I ask.” His brows drew together. “You sure you didn’t have it?”
I wrinkled my nose, considering the strange new word. “I don’t think so.”
“Huh.” He pushed his dark curls off his face. “Maybe you did, and you just did it wrong.”
“I did not.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I didn’t.”
He smirked at my temper, always so quick to rise. “Maybe you were so bad you didn’t even know you were doing it, and that’s why the king don’t want you no more.”
I shoved him hard, and he stumbled backward, slamming against the cart.
“Hey…Melantho? Melantho!”
I stormed away, anger and humiliation boiling beneath my skin. I knew I was not allowed to wander off alone, but there was a horrible pressure building inside me, demanding space.
The sticky summer air clung to my skin as I stomped across the rolling palace grounds.
Ahead of me, I spied the workers’ fields, golden and swaying, dotted with slaves toiling beneath the steadily climbing sun.
I watched as they swung their sickles, figures shimmering in the fingers of heat that rippled from the ground.
Beyond them, the Eurotas river glittered like a fat, twisting snake, winding its way toward the mountains.
“Stop!” Melanthius panted, stumbling beside me. “What’re you doing?”
“Walking,” I snapped without slowing my pace.
“You’ll get into trouble.”
“I don’t care.”
Melanthius opened his mouth to argue when a gaggle of slave boys hurried past, sandals slapping eagerly against the pink soles of their feet.
They were heading toward a long, narrow building set apart from the palace.
Though I had never stepped foot inside, I knew this to be the gymnasium where our masters trained.
“What’re you doing?” I called out to the boys.
“Shh,” one hissed.
“We’re gonna watch the princesses fight,” another whispered.
“We got bets on how quick it’ll take Precious Penelope to cry.”
Penelope. Her name twisted inside me.
“I’m coming too,” I said.
“Melantho.” My brother grabbed my arm. “They’ll beat us if they catch us spying.”
“Then go back to the stables, coward.”
Melanthius scowled, releasing me, and I followed the boys through the uniform columns standing like tall teeth at the mouth of the gymnasium.
As we crept inside, I glimpsed Spartan women stretching in the shade of the colonnades.
In the center of the space, there was a rectangular training ground, and there, limned in early morning light, was the most fearsome girl I had ever seen.
“Clytemnestra,” my brother murmured, crouching beside me in the dark.
“I thought you weren’t coming?” I muttered.
“Well, I can’t let you get into trouble alone, can I?”
I made a face at him before turning back to watch the princess.
Clytemnestra was completely naked, her body strong and bronzed, hair falling down her back in a tangle of gold.
She was a fascinating sight, but my focus was drawn to the gray-eyed girl beside her.
Unlike her older cousin, Penelope had chosen to wear a thin tunic, hair plaited tightly around her head.
She was saying something, though I could not make out her words.
“If you wish to spend the summer here in Sparta,” Clytemnestra replied loudly, “then you must train like a Spartan. Or do you wish to remain weak?”
Penelope stood very still while Clytemnestra paced around her. I had seen slave boys scrap before, but their fights were just bursts of childish temper. The way Clytemnestra circled Penelope felt entirely different. It felt…dangerous.
“She’s gonna hurt her.” I whispered the realization as it came to me.
My chest felt oddly tight, as if someone were clutching at it.
“I’ve seen Clytemnestra flatten girls before,” one of the other boys snickered. “Maybe she’ll break Penelope’s big nose.”
“Or knock her out cold,” another smirked.
“Come on, Precious Penelope,” Clytemnestra goaded as titters rippled through the crowd of women. “I’ll let you strike first.”
“Women of Acarnania are not permitted to wrestle,” Penelope said.
She began to walk away, but Clytemnestra darted forward with frightening speed, catching Penelope’s wrist and twisting her arm between them.
“Stop it,” Penelope gasped.
“This is the only way you will grow stronger, cousin. Trust me. It’s for your own good.”
“You’re hurting me.”
“I’m helping you!”
I was moving before I even realized it, as if an invisible rope were tugging me out from the shadows.
“Melantho!” My brother grabbed for my hand, but I surged forward, out of his reach.
I stopped at the shallow steps fringing the training ground. Still, nobody had noticed me, too engrossed in the brewing fight. I could have fled in that moment, could have run back to the safety of the kitchens and my mother’s waiting arms.
But instead, I called out, “Princess Penelope!”
Every head snapped toward me.
I hesitated, the dusty air crawling down into my lungs, choking my next words. I had never had so many people staring at me at once. But then my gaze found Penelope’s, and the ground suddenly felt steadier beneath me.
“King Icarius sent me to summon you,” I said, racking my brain for a grown-up word, one that might make my lie sound more believable. “He…requires your company.”
Penelope’s eyebrows rose, but it was Clytemnestra who said, “Why would my uncle send a kitchen slave to relay such a message?”
“He probably just finished bedding her,” a woman snorted. “Are children not his type?”
I was unsure what she meant by that or why everyone found her comment so amusing. Everyone except for Penelope, whose cheeks seemed to redden.
“I’m just following orders,” I said.
“If my father has summoned me, I must obey,” Penelope announced, but Clytemnestra did not let go.
“We must finish our training first, cousin.”
“King Icarius says it’s urgent,” I insisted, struggling to meet Clytemnestra’s glare even from a distance. “He sounded…angry.”
Penelope’s lips twitched. “You cannot deny the king, cousin.”
“He is not my king,” Clytemnestra spat, though she released her cousin’s wrist.
Without hesitating, Penelope turned on her heel and walked toward me. I smiled as she approached, but Penelope’s face was blank as she continued past.
“Come,” she murmured over her shoulder. “Do not speak until we are away from here.”
I stumbled after Penelope as she glided away from the gymnasium, her steady steps quick yet unhurried.
When we were finally back in the shadow of the palace, she halted.
We were standing at the rear entrance, the one the slaves used, which led through the storage rooms, tucked away out of sight.
It was quiet there, save for the chattering cicadas in the nearby olive trees.
I couldn’t help but stare at Penelope. I found it impossible not to. Even though her eyes were a little too far apart and her nose pointy, she was still the prettiest girl I had ever seen.
She absently rubbed her wrist, the one Clytemnestra had grabbed.
“Does it hurt bad?” I asked.
Penelope shook her head, then turned to look at me. “Why did you lie?”
I stiffened. “I didn’t—”
“My father is out hunting today.”
I folded my arms across my chest. “Oh.”
Her eyes seemed darker than they had before, and I wondered if she was angry with me.
“You could have landed yourself in a lot of trouble.”
“I know,” I mumbled to the ground.
“So why did you do it?”
“She was hurting you.”
Penelope frowned as if my answer were confusing to her.
“But she could have hurt you if she discovered you were lying,” she said.
“I know.”
“So why risk yourself for me?”
I shrugged, but Penelope continued staring as if she were waiting for me to say more. I glanced around, trying to think of something.
“Why do they call you ‘Precious Penelope’?”
She sighed, lifting her face to the sky, and I feared I had said the wrong thing.
“It was Clytemnestra who started it,” she murmured. “When I was born, I was very sick. My cousin likes to remind me of that. The Spartans aren’t fond of…fragile things.”
“She’s mean to you.”
“It’s the Spartan way. Clytemnestra doesn’t know any different.”
“That don’t make it right.”
Penelope smiled at that. “No, I suppose not.”
We stared at each other for a moment, and I felt a strange shyness creeping over me.
Over the past five days, I had been desperate to see Penelope again, imagining all the things I might tell her, all the questions I could ask.
But now that she was here, every thought in my head seemed to disappear.
All except one.
“Did I do something wrong? The other night?”
Penelope’s smile vanished. “What makes you ask that?”
“The king hasn’t summoned me again.”
She glanced away. “Well…I…I asked my father not to.”
“What? Why?”
“For the same reason you lied to Clytemnestra.”
I frowned, shaking my head. “But your father summons other girls. Why do they get to go and not me?”
Penelope winced as if I had said something hurtful. Her fingers were fumbling together, and I noticed she was picking the loose skin around her nail beds, which seemed very un-princess-like to me.
“I cannot win every battle,” she whispered, though it felt as if she were answering an entirely different question.
I was about to tell her this when someone seized my arm, yanking me backward.
“Melantho! What were you thinking? You’re such a—” My brother cut himself short, nut-brown eyes widening as he regarded Penelope standing beside me.
“Hello,” she said.
Melanthius bowed low, addressing the ground as he spoke. “Princess, please forgive my sister’s behavior.”
“This is your older brother?” Penelope asked me with a smile. “You look so alike.”
“He isn’t older. We’re the same age,” I grumbled, irritated by this interruption. “And we aren’t that alike. Melanthius’s hair is way more brown than red, and his nose is bigger. And uglier.”
My brother pinched my arm. “Melantho.”
“What? It’s true.”
Penelope glanced between us, looking as if she were biting back a laugh.
“Princess, I’m sorry.” Melanthius bowed again. “I gotta take Melantho back to the kitchens. She’ll be scolded if not.”
“Yes. Of course. I am sorry for keeping you, Melantho.”
“I don’t mind,” I said quickly. “I could stay a bit more.”
“No, your brother is right. I must go as well. My father needs to speak with me after all.” Penelope’s smile curled wider. “I am told it is urgent.”
I found myself grinning as I watched the princess walk away, wishing with all my heart that I could follow.
“What were you doing?” Melanthius rounded on me once Penelope had disappeared.
“What? We were just…talking.”
“You can’t talk with her.”
“Why not? She’s nice.”
My brother grabbed my wrist, squeezing tight. “No, she isn’t nice, Melantho. She’s one of them.”
“One of who?”
“Our masters.” He spat on the ground as he’d seen the older boys do.
“She’s not like them—”
“They’re all the same, Mel.”
“Says who?”
“Says everyone.” He began pulling me back toward the kitchens. “You can’t trust her kind. Ever. Understood?”
I said nothing as I let him tug me away.
***
The following morning, a familiar figure stalked into the kitchens.
“You. Follow,” Acte said to me, her voice as bored as her stare.
I glanced at my mother, watching her face turn sickly pale. A spoon hung in her hand, our master’s cooked oats dripping thickly onto the countertop.
“No. No… Not so soon,” she whispered. “You can’t… She’s got duties here. Her place is here.”
“Her place is wherever our masters decide it is.” Acte’s clawlike fingers dug into my shoulders, making me wince. “Come, girl. You have been summoned.”