Chapter 18
I had never seen the sea before.
I had heard stories, of course, of those wine-dark waves.
Many slaves had spoken of it as if it were a living, breathing thing, a beast that paced, restless and hungry, always on the edge of a vicious temper.
Only Poseidon could leash the violent creature, though he rarely did.
They said the god preferred to let his tides run free, to stir fear in the hearts of those who dared venture into his domain.
In my mind, I pictured the sea as some watery monster prowling the horizon, swallowing ships in its foaming maw.
But when we arrived in the bustling port town and I stared out at that expanse of blue, I saw only beauty, the world cracked open before me, spilling out in endless azure waves, wider than I had ever imagined it to be.
In Sparta, the skyline had always been encased by towering mountains, cupping the kingdom like a giant palm. But here, I could see where the heavens brushed the tips of the earth, bleeding into the waves. This horizon was limitless, and for an instant, it made me feel limitless too.
I tried to grasp hold of that fleeting, weightless sensation of possibility.
But then the guilt found me, staining the moment with its sharp, rotten teeth. Why did I deserve to enjoy this view while Callias, Melitta, and Xanthias were enduring my punishment?
What right did I have?
The question hung over me as I stretched my aching limbs.
Beside me, Melanthius stared blankly at the ground.
He wore the same empty expression he had since leaving Sparta, when we had been packed into the cramped wooden cart we now alighted from.
I knew his thoughts were elsewhere, left behind at the palace along with his heart.
Odysseus’s guards herded us toward the harbor. His men were notably more polite than those of Sparta. Instead of snapping their orders as if they were scolding mutts, they spoke in calm, neutral voices: “This way. Follow me.”
There were ten of us in total gifted by the king, and we walked alongside the chests of gold and fine trinkets that made up Penelope’s dowry. Tyndareus had been generous. Clearly, he thought his niece a worthy prize.
Ahead of us, I saw Penelope arm in arm with Odysseus. She pointed at something on the horizon, and he leaned close to whisper in her ear, his lips hitched into a grin as he spoke. She laughed, the sound tinkling over the breeze.
I turned away, the view no longer seeming quite as beautiful.
Ahead, giant wooden structures were gathered in the harbor, towering so high I had to crane my neck to glimpse the tops of them.
Ships. I had only ever encountered them in paintings and stories.
Shielding my eyes from the sun, I struggled to comprehend the sheer size of them.
They stretched long and narrow, with giant oars spilling from their sides like legs.
On the decks, wooden poles stood proud, reaching so high they looked as if they were piercing the sky.
My eyes drifted to the sailors, their bronzed faces calloused by the sea breeze, lips dry and cracked. They looked like the bark of a tree, gnarled and worn, yet there was something about them I envied—the lightness to their movements, the easiness of their smiles, the glint in their eyes.
My drifting gaze collided with my father’s, and I saw his shoulders tense as he traced the bruises marring my face. An unspoken awkwardness shifted between us, and he quickly glanced away.
I wished he had stayed behind in Sparta. Penelope must have thought it would be a comfort, to embark on this new life with a parent at my side. But my father’s presence only served to remind me of the one I had lost. The only true parent I had ever had.
A thought struck me then, like a knife through my chest.
“She won’t be able to find us,” I whispered to Melanthius. “If Mama ever returns to Sparta. If she comes looking for us. We won’t be there.”
My brother stared ahead with frighteningly empty eyes. “She won’t be coming back.”
I knew he was right; of course I did. Sold slaves never returned.
But hope was a stubborn, foolish thing, and I could not shake the feeling that leaving Sparta meant leaving behind that tiny scrap I had left, the thread that had been holding together all those broken pieces, letting me cling to the possibility that I might one day see my mother again.
“We’ll never see any of them again,” Melanthius whispered.
I felt the guilt weigh heavier inside me, that familiar exhaustion rising to greet it. I wanted to lie down and sleep. To disappear. To be anywhere but in my own head.
“At least we have each other,” I murmured, reaching for Melanthius.
He said nothing as he walked ahead, leaving my outstretched hand to hang limply in the air.
It was a full day’s sail to Ithaca.
Though I wanted nothing more than to gaze upon those dancing tides, we were placed in the cargo hold alongside the other “commodities,” wedged into damp shadows that tilted and groaned, making the world feel untethered and my stomach roil.
Many threw up, my brother included. When I tried to help Melanthius, he just stared at me with those dead eyes, bile drying on his chin. He did not bother wiping it off.
I gave up trying to comfort him after a time and stared into the swaying darkness, the vomit-stained air burning in my nostrils.
I wondered where Penelope was. Likely being pampered above deck, enjoying the fresh, salty breeze on a cushioned throne beside her husband.
The thought made the anger thicken inside me as the waves carried us away.
***
My first impression of Ithaca was that it looked deeply unwelcoming.
The island was made up of giant, rugged mountains that clutched at the sea like fists, terse tufts of greenery sprouting between their thick knuckles.
Whereas Sparta was flat and green and flush with life, it felt as if Ithaca were purposefully trying to repel visitors, the harsh landscape growing steep and crooked to ward off any who wished to claim her as their home.
Though it seemed few had dared to, save for the flocks of animals that trundled over the hills like passing clouds.
Prince of Goats—that was what Agamemnon had called Odysseus.
As we disembarked from the ship, it took a moment for the ground to steady beneath me. Around us, waves lapped at the jagged, bald shoreline, dipped plum-red in the evening light. Gratefully, I drew in a lungful of fresh air, though the stench of bile still lingered in my nose.
Scanning the harbor, I noted that the men of Ithaca appeared just as weathered as their land.
Though I was surprised to see how warmly they greeted Odysseus, as if he were an old friend, clasping hands and slapping shoulders.
Farther up the shoreline, I glimpsed small, ramshackle houses gathered in tight clumps. Was this the kingdom of Ithaca?
We were quickly sorted into carts, then lugged up a narrow road beaten into the hillside. The bumpy, twisting path seemed to revive everyone’s nausea, and I had to keep my eyes set on the horizon to stop my stomach from emptying itself onto the overcrowded floor.
Gradually, Ithaca’s palace came into view.
It was a strange, rambling structure built into the side of a large hill, towering floors clambering up the cliff edge, connected by sheer stairs left exposed to the elements.
It looked as if the palace had once been decorated with bright splashes of red and blue and green, though the paint had mostly been stripped away now, feasted on by salt-toothed winds, leaving cold marble beneath, white as bone.
Once we had climbed out of the carts, we were led up those steep stairs cut into the rock.
Up and up we went, past the lower levels of the palace, where I assumed the slaves resided, climbing higher and higher until the steps opened out into a large courtyard, hugged on all sides by towering colonnades.
This was where the largest portion of the palace had been built, sprawling over the flattened hilltop and boasting uninterrupted views of the entire island.
I took a moment to catch my breath; the stairs had been arduous on my broken body. With my hands braced on my thighs, my gaze drifted over Ithaca, the ragged, sparse hills spilling outward in all directions, framed by glittering waves.
Melanthius appeared beside me, eyes glazed.
“What do you make of it?” I murmured.
He shrugged. “All prisons are the same.”