Chapter 17
My blood swirled in the water like crimson puffs of smoke.
I stared down into the bowl, trying to summon the energy to continue cleaning myself, to scrub those ugly remnants of my butchered hopes and dreams from my skin.
Gods forbid I should look unsightly when I was paraded before my new masters.
I wished my brother were with me. I could still hear his screams, those animalistic noises he had made while Tyndareus branded Melitta. I could still smell her burned flesh, the stink of it clogging my nostrils, making me gag. I knew my nightmares would reek of it forevermore.
I stared at my reflection in the water, hating every inch of untouched skin that stretched between the swelling and bruises. I should have been with the others, shivering in a cell, my forehead seared with the brand that would claim my face forever, symbolizing what I was. What I would always be.
But here I was instead, being primped and preened for my new masters.
I pressed my palms into my eyes, hard enough to hurt. I couldn’t unsee it. Callias’s beautiful face being mutilated by that monster. He had never even wanted any part in this doomed plan; he had helped us out of kindness, out of friendship.
I flinched when the door opened, knocking the bronze bowl to the floor. Quietly, Penelope stepped into the room, staring at the spilled water now pooling around my feet.
“I brought a change of clothes.” She sounded hesitant, her earlier defiance drained from her body. “The gift giving will begin shortly.”
I glared at the wall ahead of me, fisting my hands so she couldn’t see them tremble. “My brother?”
“He is in a nearby chamber. He is being…less compliant.”
“He will not go to Ithaca.”
“I was hoping you could speak with him. Convince him to cooperate.”
I turned with a snarl. “Why would I do that?”
Penelope stared at me, her gaze tripping over every bruise and cut marring my face.
She seemed to steady herself before replying, “Melantho, you know the fate that awaits him if he remains here. You do not want that for your brother.”
“You do not get to decide what I want. Or perhaps you think you do now that you own me?”
“It’s not like that—”
“No? ‘They are mine.’ Those were your words.”
She winced. “I was only saying that to protect you. You must know that.”
“Protect me?” I laughed, the sound ugly and ragged in my throat.
“Yes, I had to—”
“I heard what Tyndareus said. He said you helped.”
Penelope drew in a careful breath. “It’s not what it sounds like.”
I strode toward her so I could glare directly into her entitled, lying face.
“Did you send the guards after us?—Yes or no?”
She said nothing, but I could see the guilt darkening her eyes. It was all the confirmation I needed.
I snatched the fresh clothes from her hands and stormed away.
“Please, Melantho. Just let me explain,” she pressed.
“I was worried about Agamemnon. I heard him at the celebrations. He said there was a slave he was looking for. I feared it was you. I feared he wanted retribution for what happened the other night. When I noticed you were no longer in the banquet hall, I…I was afraid. I could not leave, so I summoned a guard to look for you. To make sure you were safe.”
“Well, they found me,” I sneered over my shoulder. “What of Callias?”
“I knew he was a friend of yours, so I told the guard to ask him if he had seen you. I didn’t know they would… I didn’t…” She trailed off, voice fracturing. “This wasn’t what I wanted. I had no idea what you had planned. If I had, I would never have—”
“You know what I think?” I tossed the fresh tunic aside before turning back to her. “I think you sent the guards after me to make sure your wedding gift hadn’t wandered too far. To keep an eye on your property.”
“My property?”
“That’s what I am now, aren’t I?”
Penelope stared at me for a long moment, her face unreadable. The only hint of emotion she let slip was her hands clutching tightly at her gown.
“I was going to tell you today before the ceremony. I was going to explain everything. That was why I wanted to speak with you,” she said quietly.
“I did this to protect you. You and your family. Don’t you see?
In Ithaca, I will be a queen. I will have the power to make sure you can live a safe life. Don’t you want that?”
“I wanted to be free.”
“Free?” She shook her head. “Melantho, there is no freedom for us. Not for women. We are always owned by someone: a master or a husband or a father. The world won’t let us exist otherwise. We are always possessions to them.”
“There is no ‘we,’” I spat, striding toward her. “Don’t you dare try to compare us. You know nothing of what I’ve been through.”
“I was not—”
“You’re just like the rest of them. You stood there and did nothing. He branded them, and you just watched—”
“I did what I had to do to save you.”
“Why do you get to decide which of us is saved?” I was shouting now, jabbing my finger into her face. “This is all your fault. All of it!”
“So your ridiculous plan was my fault too then?” Anger stole into Penelope’s voice, and I found a vicious kind of satisfaction in hearing it.
“It wasn’t ridiculous.”
“Of course it was, Melantho. How could you have ever believed otherwise? If the guards hadn’t caught you, you would have been found by wolves or hunters or slave traders or gods know what else.
Did you think for a second about that? Did you think at all?
Did it even cross your mind that you could have—” The words caught in Penelope’s throat, and she swallowed. “You could have died, Melantho.”
“Of course I knew that,” I seethed. “Did it cross your mind that maybe I would have preferred that?”
Penelope went very still then, her anger flickering out immediately. She lowered her gaze.
“I just want to help you, Melantho.”
“What about what I want?”
My question hung between us, hardening like ice, and I watched as a rare shyness crept over Penelope. She addressed her next words to the floor.
“I suppose I thought…you might have wanted this. To come to Ithaca…with me.”
“I don’t want to go anywhere with you.”
A bright flash of pain carved across Penelope’s face, but she quickly composed herself.
“I am afraid it has already been decided,” she said, shifting back into that steady, empty tone. “My uncle has agreed to gift you to Odysseus and me. We cannot—”
“I am not a gift.”
She sighed, the sound grating irritably over my skin. “Melantho, I did not—”
“I am a person!” I screamed at her over and over, the words like a piece of my heart being ripped out of me, bloody and raw and beating. I realized I was crying, hot tears spilling down my cheeks.
“I know,” Penelope whispered. She sounded wounded, and I hated her for being hurt by my pain. It did not belong to her. She did not deserve it.
“No, you don’t. You don’t understand. You never will.” I furiously dashed my tears away. “You will always see me like the rest of your kind do.”
“I have always seen you as my friend, Melantho.”
“Your friend?” I scoffed. “Friends do not own each other, Penelope. You would know that if you had any real ones.”
She recoiled, and I felt a grim sense of victory, though the feeling was hollow in my chest.
A silence settled. Penelope stared intently at the wall behind me, her face shimmering with emotions she would not dare spill. I glared at her, willing that perfect mask to crumble.
“I hate you and every one of your kind,” I said, hoping this finishing blow might finally shatter that infuriating composure.
But it did not.
Instead, Penelope nodded, as if in agreement with my words. She then straightened her shoulders, absently patting down the folds of her gown, eyes avoiding mine.
“I must go,” she said, voice scraped clean of all feeling. “The gift-giving ceremony will commence shortly. Then we are to depart for Ithaca.”
I watched her turn and walk toward the door, her back as straight as an arrow ready to fly.
She paused at the threshold. I wanted to look away, but I found my eyes tracing her profile, the steep angle of her nose, the graceful slice of her jaw.
“I am sorry,” she whispered. “For the others.”
Then she walked away, and I felt a suffocating wave of exhaustion crash through me. I welcomed it, letting it pull me under as I stared into the empty space Penelope had left behind.