Chapter 4
We became inseparable after that day, tumbling headfirst into a friendship that felt forged long ago, as if it had always existed within us, waiting to be discovered.
Before long, we refused even to spend our nights apart.
Penelope had a pallet made up for me beside her bed, and though I missed the warmth of my mother’s embrace, I welcomed having my own space for the first time in my life.
I also welcomed the opportunity to spend more time with Penelope, often forgetting to get any sleep at all in my haste to fill more hours with her company.
We wanted to know everything about each other—every thought, every memory, every feeling—letting it become ours to share.
Whenever Penelope spoke of her royal life, it was like peering into a thrilling, distant world, one I was desperate to be a part of.
Though when it came to family, Penelope said noticeably little.
She briefly mentioned her elder sister, who had been married off to a faraway king when Penelope was very young.
She seemed to actively dislike talking about her father, though she did recount the story surrounding her birth, how she had been born sickly and her father had instructed she be thrown into the sea.
I gasped when she said this, feeling dizzy with anger.
It was customary, she reminded me in a matter-of-fact tone, to discard weak children at birth, especially girls.
It was said Penelope had been saved by a flock of ducks who carried her to safety.
Her father had been delighted by this divine sign, for it could only have been a message from the gods. He had cherished her ever since.
“That is how the story goes anyway,” Penelope said.
“You don’t believe it?” I asked, still mesmerized at the idea that she had been saved by the gods.
She flashed that secretive smile of hers and replied, “I think my wet nurse was very cunning, and I think my father was always jealous of the rumors surrounding my uncle’s children. He wanted a child beloved by the gods, too, so he was ready to believe any story, however fanciful.”
“So it’s true about King Tyndareus’s children? That only one of each pair of twins was fathered by Zeus?”
“Apparently so. It has caused endless competition between Castor and Polydeuces. The princesses, however, do not seem to mind all that much.”
“Because everyone knows Helen is Zeus’s daughter,” I pointed out. “Because she’s the most beautiful.”
Penelope tilted her head at me then, her clever eyes quietly assessing.
“Must divine power only manifest in women as beauty?”
I adored it when she asked me questions like this. It felt like she was gently prodding my brain, opening doors in my head I did not even know existed.
And Penelope asked a lot of questions.
Nobody, in all my life, had ever shown such an interest in me as she did.
Penelope had a way of listening that made you feel like the most fascinating being to have ever existed.
She would sit utterly motionless, yet her mind was never still; you could see it turning behind her eyes, examining each word I offered her as if it were a special artifact, slipping it carefully between all the other pieces of information she had collected.
Penelope hoarded knowledge, I came to realize, and she had an incredible ability to remember everything.
“Knowledge is the only currency we women can afford,” she explained once.
It was one of the first things I loved about Penelope: her hunger to know more. Perhaps I also loved that she made me feel like my words were worth listening to, worth remembering.
“What do you like about me?” I asked her one night when we were lying in our beds, our words painting life into the shapeless dark.
As usual, Penelope took her time considering my question.
“I have always felt as if I were looking at the world from a distance,” she said eventually. “But it does not feel like that when I am with you.”
***
“I have something for you,” Penelope told me one morning.
We were lying on the cold stone floor of her chamber, our hands splayed over our stomachs. Though summer was fading away all too quickly, the days remained warm, the air choked with a lazy, clammy heat.
“What is it?” I propped myself up on my elbow, watching as Penelope got to her feet and padded across her room.
When she returned, something was draped between her hands, sky-blue swathes of fabric shimmering in the light.
“Your gown!” I sat up, grinning. “You finished it!”
Penelope held it out to me. “Here.”
My eyes widened. “What?”
“It’s for you.”
“For me? But…it took you all summer to make that.”
“I know.”
“Are…are you sure?”
She laughed. “Of course I’m sure.”
“Don’t you want it?”
“I made it for you, Melantho.” Penelope stepped closer. “Go on. Put it on.”
I eagerly tugged off my old, ugly tunic and tossed it aside. Penelope then helped me into the gown. It was more material than I was used to, rippling down to my ankles and gathered at my shoulder with a pin Penelope fastened for me.
“There,” she said, stepping back. “What do you think?”
“I think…” I hesitated, trying to find the perfect words through the strange lump in my throat. “I think it’s the best thing in the whole entire world.”
I began twirling then, letting the gown swoosh around me in a wave of brilliant blue, so soft and light and beautiful. Penelope’s laughter twined with mine as I took her hands, spinning her with me, letting the world melt away into a dizzy blur.
“Thank you!” I cried out again and again as we spun.
Then abruptly, I stopped.
“What is it?” Penelope asked, hands still warm in mine.
I stared at her for a silent moment as the realization crept in, stealing the laughter from my lungs.
This was a goodbye gift.
I looked to the balcony, to the bright brush of summer sky beyond. I imagined I could see it: the threat of autumn lingering on the horizon like a dark, ugly stain, marking the end of Penelope’s stay here. The end of our time together.
“I…I don’t have anything for you,” I murmured.
Penelope shook her head. “That doesn’t matter.”
But it did. In that moment, it mattered more than anything, and I felt a desperate, clawing panic at the thought of Penelope having nothing of me to take with her. Nothing to remember me by.
An idea struck, brilliant and sudden. “What’s something you’ve never done? Here in Sparta.”
Penelope raised an amused brow. “Why?”
“Just tell me.”
“Well…” She thought for a moment. “I’ve never swum in the Eurotas river before.”
I squeezed her hands tighter. “That’s what we’ll do. That’s my gift to you.”
Penelope’s smile shrank. “Melantho…I am not permitted to leave the palace grounds. You know this.”
“But Clytemnestra can.”
“She is not my father’s daughter.”
“Then we’ll sneak away. Nobody will know.”
I sensed her hesitation, but now that this idea had seized me, I refused to let it go. I wanted to give this gift to Penelope, needed it. For if we did something Penelope had never done before, then it would burn me into her memory forever.
“I’ll keep you safe,” I insisted. “Promise. It’ll be fun.”
“I think this is a bad idea.”
“You think too much.”
She laughed at that. “Have you ever swum in the river before?”
“We go sometimes to wash. I know a spot. It’s real nice and not far, I swear.”
I watched her turn the plan over in her mind. “I’m not sure…”
“Would Precious Penelope go swimming?” I challenged, folding my arms. “Or would she spend her whole summer hiding inside?”
That convinced her.
It was surprisingly easy to slip away from the palace, the heat making the guards sluggish and oblivious.
Once we were beyond the palace grounds, we skipped through the fields, past the slaves forced to work beneath the punishing sun, their skin blistering, minds melting.
As we passed them, I thought of our masters shut inside, being bathed and fanned and watered.
For the first time in my life, I found myself questioning the fairness of it all, a single word planted in my mind like a seed, one that would take root deep in my core—Why?
When we reached the Eurotas, we were both panting, and I felt guilty that I had already stained my beautiful gown with sweat and dust. Carefully, I peeled it off and hung it in a nearby tree.
When I turned around, Penelope was frozen, staring at the river.
The currents were gentle, rambling through the thick greenery crowding at the water’s edge.
“Race you!” I cried, rushing ahead.
It took me a moment to realize Penelope was not following. When I turned back, I saw she had not even moved.
“What’s wrong?” I called out.
“You go in,” she insisted. “I’ll watch.”
I hurried back up the bank toward her. “I’m not going in without you.”
“I…I don’t think I can, Melantho.”
“Why?”
Her eyes narrowed. “What if I drown?”
I snorted. “Drown?”
She closed her eyes, her chest rising and falling unsteadily. “Melantho…I can’t.”
“You can. You just think you can’t.” When she opened her eyes, I was standing right in front of her, my hand outstretched. “So stop thinking.”
A laugh escaped her, small and tight. “Stop thinking?”
I nodded, wiggling my fingers. Something sparked in her eyes then, and she threw her hand into mine. Before she could think twice or even strip off her gown, I dragged her into the river.
We shrieked in unison, the sun-warmed water feeling deliciously crisp against our clammy skin. I dove under, my whoop of delight escaping in a flurry of bubbles. When I surfaced, Penelope was watching me, arms folded over her chest.
“You can’t just stand there. You have to go fully in.” I inched toward her, grinning. “Do you want me to help?”
“No…wait—Melantho!”
My name turned into a shriek as I shoved her backward into the water.
“You pushed me!” Penelope spluttered when she emerged, drenched and frowning.
I bit back a giggle. “Only a little.”
She stared at me, water dripping down her face, dangling on the ends of her lashes.
For a moment, I feared I had truly upset her, but then I caught that glint in her eyes, the one that always shone before any game we played.
She lunged for me, and we went crashing into the water together, our laughter mingling with the bubbling currents.
We spent all morning playing in the river. Afterward, we lay belly-up on the bank, damp limbs humming with exhaustion. We stayed that way for hours, lounging on the baking sand, time stretching around us like a long, lazy yawn.
We were like rulers of our own kingdom, as bright and endless and untouchable as the sky itself.
At one point, Penelope turned to me, propping her head on her bent arm, wet hair sticking to her flushed cheeks.
“I think this is my favorite day,” she told me.
I smiled so wide it hurt. “I think so too.”