Chapter 20 #2
Odysseus watched me for a moment. His gaze had a prying edge, as if he were trying to slither his way between my words to the raw truth beneath.
“It would be natural if you did, you know. I would not take offense. Sparta was your home for a long time and you—”
“Sparta was never my home.”
Odysseus went very still then, his blade poised over the wood.
“You should not interrupt me, Melantho,” he said. His anger was strange. It held no sharpness; rather it was smooth and heavy, like a stone at the bottom of a lake. Steady. Fixed.
“Apologies, master.”
He held my gaze, and I wondered if he saw the hatred burning inside me as I spoke those words. I hoped he did.
He smiled. “It’s all right, Melantho. Just something to remember in the future. The relationship of a slave and master is all about respect.”
I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes.
“You know, it used to bring me great shame, being the prince of Ithaca,” Odysseus continued, surprising me.
“My kingdom seemed so small and worn compared to those of my peers. So I tried to get away from it, traveled all of Greece and beyond. But always, Ithaca called me back. Always, I came home. This place—it gets into your blood. Your bones. You can’t escape it.
Now it is my mission to bring Ithaca the renown she deserves.
” His words rang with the hollowness of a well-worn performance, and I wondered how many times he had made people endure this little speech.
“One day, Melantho, you will be proud to call this land your home. I assure you.”
Slaves do not have homes, I silently screamed at him while my lips formed the words, “Yes, master.”
As if sensing my rage, Argos let out a grumble before skulking away to the shady corner of the room.
A quietness settled then, the only sound coming from the raspy song of Odysseus’s blade against the wood.
I watched his hands as he worked, so steady and sure.
Thoughts came unbidden, and I imagined those hands on Penelope.
I saw them skating over her bare skin, tracing the curves of her body…
“So, Melantho.”
I snapped my attention back to Odysseus’s face, my cheeks hot.
“I suppose you are wondering why I called you here.”
I had a perfectly good idea, though admittedly carving furniture was not exactly the foreplay I was used to.
“It is not my duty to wonder what my master’s desires are. I only act upon them.”
My smile mirrored the flirtatious curl of my words as I slipped into that familiar role with ease.
I would be lying if I said a part of me did not enjoy it, toying with those threads of desire, tying them like invisible leashes around my master’s throat.
Of course, the power was fleeting and hollow.
But it was power all the same, and I had missed the taste of it.
“What is it you desire, master?” I prompted, inching a little closer to him.
“As of right now, my primary desire is to keep my wife happy,” Odysseus said, rubbing a wood shaving between his thumb and forefinger. “That is why you are here.”
I felt the smile fade from my face. “Because of…your wife?”
“It seems Penelope has a mission, one she is intent on seeing through. Do you know what that mission is?”
I shook my head.
“She wishes for you to be freed.”
The ground felt unsteady beneath me as Odysseus’s words sang through my veins, my soul. Freed.
“She…she does?” I breathed.
“She is rather insistent on the subject, and as I am sure you know, Penelope is a determined woman.” A glimmer of pride shone in his eyes. “Of course, I value Penelope’s opinion, and if she believes you deserve your freedom, then I am inclined to believe her.”
My chest swelled so much it hurt to breathe. I felt like I was dangling on a cliff side, clutching at Odysseus’s words as if they were the only things keeping me from tumbling into oblivion.
“Still, I wanted to do some investigating for myself, and to be truthful, Melantho, I have been left a little confused.”
“Confused?” I echoed.
“Well, first, for someone my wife supposedly admires, it appears you barely interact with her. I do not think I have seen you share a single word since you arrived here. And when I inquired with my kitchen staff, they told me they could not give an accurate estimation of your character for they know so little about you. Apparently, you rarely speak, and when you do, it is only to make inappropriate remarks.”
I stiffened, my hands balling into fists. Those rats.
“Not to mention your encounter with Agamemnon and, of course, the little mishap that occurred on my wedding night.”
He tilted his head, studying my slow realization with a smile.
“Mishap?” I feigned confusion.
“Please, Melantho, do not insult my intelligence.” He held my gaze for a slow, tense beat.
“At least you have not tried another disastrous escape since you have been here. That is a headache I truly do not need.” He said this with a chuckle, as if we were old friends sharing a joke.
“So tell me, Melantho, why is it my wife believes you so worthy of your freedom?”
My fists clenched tighter. “Are not all men and women deserving of such a thing?”
“No,” Odysseus answered simply. “There are those born to rule and those born to be ruled. It is the nature of humankind, etched into our blood.”
“Well, what if it were in my blood to rule?”
Silent laughter glowed in his eyes, making his lips curl wider.
“You are interesting, Melantho. I shall give you that.” He offered the insulting words as if he were offering food to a starving mutt, expecting me to wolf them down appreciatively. “Alas, I cannot grant you your freedom until I am convinced you are worthy of it. I am sure you understand.”
Fury shot through me, and I stared at his carving blade, now discarded on the floor. For a fleeting moment, I allowed myself to imagine it—grabbing the blade and jamming it into his throat, hot blood spurting out as that patronizing smile faded from his lips…
Is it still in your blood to rule if it coats my hands?
“I am sure you will find a way to convince me,” Odysseus continued. “And truthfully, I hope you do, Melantho. For Penelope’s sake. She seems very set on this.”
How I hated the way his eyes twinkled when he spoke of her.
“I’m sure I can,” I murmured, angling my body even closer. “I could think of many, many ways to convince you.”
I peered up at him from beneath lowered lashes. It was the kind of gaze that stroked egos and other intimate areas, the kind of gaze that was a promise and a secret and a dare all rolled into one heady glance. It was the kind of gaze that always undid Castor and his friends.
And I willed it to do the same now.
I wanted to undo the prince of Ithaca.
I wanted to reveal the pathetic man that lingered within him.
Let’s see how patronizing he is when he is begging for my body.
I dared to reach out, to trace that scar along his thigh. Odysseus stared at my fingers for a moment, and I could feel the desire flicker inside him, curious and light, his expression lost to thoughts I knew he would never share with me.
His hand closed around my fingers, halting them.
“You are a beautiful girl, Melantho,” he said, and I loathed how gentle his voice was. “But I have no such interest in slaves.”
“Perhaps you might like to try?”
His sigh ended in a smile. “What I would like is to go and see my wife. But she insists I wait until her sickness passes.”
“Sickness?” I snatched my hand away.
“Not to worry, Melantho. It is perfectly common and usually passes by the afternoon. My mother was the same when she carried my sister.” Odysseus studied my reaction with a frown. “You have not heard the news?”
“Penelope is…pregnant?”
“I thought all of Ithaca knew by now.”
Odysseus continued talking, but his words fell away as the realization roared through me. Penelope is pregnant.
“I did not know,” I finally managed.
Odysseus chuckled. “You sound a little jealous, Melantho.”
I flinched, eyes flashing to his. “I’m not—”
“It’s all right. It’s only natural. I know all women long for children. Perhaps, if you demonstrate your good behavior, I could find you a suitable companion as a reward.”
A feverish laugh crawled up my throat. How I longed to tell Odysseus I’d sooner take my own life than bring one into this world.
“Thank you, master,” I said instead.
He smiled, then turned to retrieve his carving blade. “You may go now.”
Head bowed, I rose quickly to my feet.
“And, Melantho? Please do find a way to prove yourself to me.” Odysseus’s voice caught me as I reached the door. “For I would be loath to disappoint my wife.”