Chapter 16
I woke to the taste of blood in my mouth.
My face was pressed against something hard and cold. There was a puddle beside me, of what I could not tell.
I groaned, the sound low and harsh, seeming to cleave itself from my very bones. Shackles bit into my wrists as I pushed myself upward, my entire body screaming in protest.
Blinking, I tried to find my bearings. The room I was in was horribly dank, swept up in shadows and dust and a frightening sense of hopelessness. Behind me, I could feel the rough ridges of a wall.
“You’re alive.” The darkness spoke, its small voice not at all how I imagined the goddess Nyx would sound.
“Who’s there?” I managed, the words clunky on my tongue. I sounded drunk.
“Melitta,” came the voice again, and recognition seeped through me, followed by a rush of disappointment.
She had not made it.
Had any of us?
I could hardly recall what had happened in those final moments. My mind was like a shattered mosaic, rattling with so many broken pieces I didn’t know how to fit back together. I remembered the panic, the chaos, my heart hammering in my chest as if it might explode…
“How long was I out?” It hurt to talk; my whole face throbbed, and there was a sharp sting above my left eyebrow.
“All night,” Melitta replied. Her voice was thin. Defeated. “I thought you were dead.”
“Not yet,” I muttered, wincing as I shifted to sit more upright. “The others?”
“They took them to another cell.”
I heard her sniffle, trying to fight back tears.
“I told Melanthius this was a foolish idea. I told him—”
“He did this for you, for your…” I trailed off.
My eyes were slowly adjusting to the dimness, and I could just make out Melitta’s outline, the crumpled curve of her body.
“You know what they do to slaves who try to escape, don’t you?” She was crying now, the sound seeming to make the darkness feel heavier around us.
I said nothing, waiting for the fear to seize me. The panic.
But all I felt was a horrible, echoing numbness.
Perhaps it was too much for my body to accept, the soul-crushing realization that all my hopes and dreams had just died in my hands.
Perhaps a part of me had always known I would never escape this nightmare.
“I’ll tell them it was my idea. I’ll say you were forced into it,” I said.
Melitta hiccuped a sob. “What? Why would you do that?”
“Because you have something to live for.”
“And you don’t?”
I had nothing to say to that.
A screeching noise carved into the room, and I flinched as a rush of light spilled across the floor, illuminating its filthiness.
“Out,” the guard barked.
In the torchlight, I could now see how awful Melitta looked, bloodied and broken. I glanced down at myself, realizing I was no better.
We moved gingerly, our bodies stiff and sore, as the guard escorted us to another, larger cell. Here, a firepit painted the grim stone walls in streaks of red and gold. Before the small fire knelt three figures, their heads bowed, hands bound.
Melitta burst into tears at the sight of my brother. His right eye was swollen shut, his throat dappled with bruises. Beside him, Xanthias was slumped forward, his filthy blond hair hanging limply around his face. As I stared at the third hunched figure, my stomach plummeted to my toes…
“Callias?” I gasped.
My friend looked up at me, his beautiful face horribly swollen.
The guard struck the backs of my legs, and I fell to my knees. He then placed a hand on Melitta’s shoulder, forcing her down beside me.
“It’s gonna be all right,” Melanthius murmured to Melitta. “I won’t let them hurt you. I swear it.”
The guard left without a word, and in the following stillness, I felt my heartbeat quicken, the previous numbness swallowed by my rising fear.
“Callias, what happened?” I whispered.
He said nothing, just kept staring at the floor with unseeing eyes.
“I’m so sorry,” I tried again.
“I told you,” he murmured, his voice frighteningly frail. “I told you it was a foolish plan.”
“Someone ratted us out,” Melanthius said. “I swear on the gods, when I find out who it was—”
“What does it matter? It’s done. It’s over.” The cut on Xanthias’s lip split as he spoke, blood streaking down his chin.
“It’s not over,” I whispered. “Not yet.”
Xanthias’s gaze slid up to meet mine. There was no fear or dread in his eyes, not even pain. There was just an abject emptiness, echoing and endless. I felt it strike deep in my core.
The door heaved open, and a terrifying figure strode in, flanked by four guards.
The king of Sparta looked exhausted. Dark circles bruised beneath his eyes, and the creases lining his face seemed even more pronounced than usual. He scowled, and I noticed there were still traces of last night’s wine around his lips.
Anger knotted in my stomach, thick and acidic.
What a nuisance we were, to interrupt his revelry.
He let the silence pace around us like a circling beast. The others kept their eyes down, but I met Tyndareus’s glare with one of equal fire. I would not shrink from him. What would be the point now?
Between his fingers, Tyndareus twirled a long iron rod. He then wordlessly stalked toward the firepit and placed it into the flames with a slight sigh.
“Did you know Spartans purposefully starve their sons?” he asked.
He was staring into the fire as he spoke, and the shadows played across his ugly face, toying with his thick web of scars.
We knew better than to reply, so we waited for him to continue.
“We feed them so little that they are forced to steal to survive. If they are caught in this act, they are punished.” He twisted the rod, and I watched the triangular tip spear the heart of the flames, glowing white-hot.
“But it is not the stealing we punish them for, rather their failure to steal successfully. For their failure demonstrates their inability to outsmart and outmaneuver their opponents. It shows they underestimated them, and to underestimate your opponents is to disrespect them. This offense cannot go unpunished. Do you see what I am getting at here?” He turned to us, the fire burning crimson in his eyes.
“I could have almost admired your bravery if you had been successful in your escape. But your little plan was so ill thought out it was simply offensive. No, no, not offensive…disrespectful.”
I felt Melitta trembling beside me as Tyndareus began pacing, his footsteps menacingly slow.
“Tell me, do you take your king for a fool? Well, surely you must if you thought such an idiotic plan could have outwitted me. Though I suppose I do have one thing to thank you for…” A smile slashed across his face.
“I’ve been meaning to test out my new hunting dogs.
They are rather remarkable creatures, are they not? ”
“Fuck you,” I spat.
To my surprise, the king’s smile only widened.
“I take it you’re volunteering to go first then?” he asked as two guards advanced, hauling me forward.
“No, no! Not her! Take me instead! Take—” My brother was silenced by a blow to his temple.
“Do not worry, boy. You will get your chance,” Tyndareus said as he approached the firepit.
“I want you to know I take no pleasure in this. But there is a certain trust between master and slave, is there not? And that trust has been broken. So now actions must be taken to protect my property and to ensure you remember your place.”
He removed the rod from the fire, the metal singing with a sinister, searing heat. I instinctively recoiled as Tyndareus drew closer, but the guards tightened their hold around my shoulders. One of them knotted my hair in his fist, wrenching my head backward.
“You will want to hold still for this,” the king warned.
He angled the scorching rod just above my forehead, and I stared up at the triangular end, the metal glowing so hot it rippled with veins of gold.
Be brave. My mother’s voice sliced through my panic, and I willed it to center me.
I would not give Tyndareus the satisfaction of my fear. This man had already taken so much from me; I would not let him have this. So I closed my eyes, forcing my breathing to steady itself, my mind to focus.
Think of a happier place. Think of a safe place.
I felt the sandy bank of the Eurotas river beneath me, my skin damp and cool, belly aching with laughter…
I think this is my favorite day.
“Stop!” A cry ripped me from the vision.
My eyes snapped open to see a figure storming in, as if she had been torn straight from my mind.
“Stop this at once,” Penelope commanded.
The guards gaped at her, uncertain what to do. She was a princess after all; they could not simply seize her.
Tyndareus lowered the rod, his anger caged between the harsh lines of his face.
“Penelope? What do you think you’re doing?”
“I should ask you the same question, uncle.”
Tyndareus scoffed at her impudence. “These slaves were caught trying to escape. I am carrying out the necessary punishment.”
“They are not your property, not anymore,” Penelope shot back.
She was fearless, her eyes blazing, face set with a stern resolution I had never seen before.
“You promised these slaves to me as my wedding present. You swore an oath. Thus, they are under my control. It is not your right to punish them. It is mine.”
Tyndareus laughed as if this were all some elaborate joke, but at the coldness of Penelope’s glare, his amusement soon withered into irritation. “The gifts have not yet been bestowed. These slaves escaped under my ownership, so I shall punish them as I see fit.”
“And then what? You shall present these gifts to Odysseus and me with fresh brands on their foreheads, brands that mark them as deserters? Do you not think my husband would be offended by such a gift?”
“I will not give them as gifts at all,” Tyndareus snapped, his patience a fraying thread pulled tauter with every word. “They are not worthy.”
“They are mine. You swore it on the river Styx.”
“I will give you other slaves, better slaves.”
“I want these ones.”
“Them?” Tyndareus jabbed his rod toward me. “Look at them. They are pitiful, disobedient creatures. You are still young, Penelope, and have yet to run a household of your own. So trust me when I say these slaves will not be worth the trouble.”
Penelope held her uncle’s glare, voice quivering with a quiet determination. “You gave me your word. These are the ones I want.”
I stared at the king and princess, fear still sharp in my veins. Tyndareus sighed, shaking his head as if Penelope were nothing more than a petulant child.
“All the attention of the wedding has gone to your head, girl,” he muttered. “Very well. You can have the ones I promised you.”
“Unharmed.”
“Yes, yes.” Tyndareus waved her off. “If you really wish to burden yourself, then fine. You’ll be doing me a favor.”
Glancing at the others, I felt a fragile flicker of hope kindle between us.
“But I am keeping the others.” Tyndareus’s words were a fist to my gut.
“I will take all of them, uncle. You said yourself they are not worth the trouble. Let me handle—”
“Do not command me,” the king snarled. “You either take the two, or you take none. Decide.”
Something shifted behind Penelope’s eyes, darkening them.
“Very well, uncle,” she whispered.
No, no…
Tyndareus motioned to his men, and they dutifully dragged Melanthius and me to Penelope’s feet. My brother was crying out for Melitta, screaming her name over and over until a guard stuffed a rag down his throat, forcing him to choke on his own silence.
Penelope kept her gaze on the king.
“May I take them away and have them…tidied up, uncle?” she asked stiffly. “They need to be made presentable for the gift-giving ceremony.”
“Once I am finished here. They must first witness the consequences of their actions.”
“Uncle—”
“Do not test me again, girl.” The words had a serrated edge to them, so sharp they shocked Penelope into silence. “Let me make myself very clear. The only reason you are not being punished for your insolence is because of your help in catching these deserters.”
I stared incredulously at Penelope, but she refused to meet my gaze.
“You will watch, too, niece,” Tyndareus added. “Now you are a wife, you must learn how to handle your property. Understood?”
Penelope bowed her head. “Yes, uncle.”
Tyndareus clicked his fingers, and two guards hauled Callias forward.
“No!” I cried. “He’s innocent, I swear it! He had no part in this!”
“Do you think you are the first to try to defy me?” Tyndareus asked as he placed the rod back in the fire. “I know this game, slave, and I know it always requires a rat on the inside. Penelope here discovered yours rather quickly. She’s always been a smart one.”
I turned to Penelope. “What does he mean?”
She said nothing.
“Princess. Help me.” Callias tried to scramble toward her on his knees, but the guards dragged him back. “I beg of you. Let me serve you. Please!”
“Save him,” I cried breathlessly, but Penelope’s gaze remained fixed on the wall ahead, face vacant. “Penelope! Take him, not me. I’m begging you. He doesn’t deserve this. Please, save him—”
A guard grabbed me, his hand smothering my cries as Tyndareus removed the rod from the flames once more.
Seizing Callias by his hair, the king pressed the searing tip into his flesh.
And all I could do was watch as the sound of my friend’s screams tore me apart.