Chapter 23
It was the dead of night when I finally returned to the slave quarters.
I was utterly spent, my body drained from battling an onslaught of emotions. There was still so much for me to process, but I forced that cacophony of thoughts to wash away in the currents of my exhaustion.
I needed to sleep, but hunger drove me to the palace kitchens.
I had not eaten since breakfast, and my gnawing stomach would keep me awake if I did not satiate it.
Unlike Sparta, the kitchens were not guarded at night, though I knew I would still be in trouble if I was found in there alone.
So I slipped silently across the stone floors, willing my rumbling stomach to quiet.
A heavy thud made me freeze, my eyes adjusting to the dimness to make out a familiar shadow slumped over a table.
“It’s late,” I said as I approached my brother.
His head was resting on the wooden surface, and he did not bother lifting it up as he mumbled, “Very observant, sister.”
“Where did you get that?” I motioned to the jug set beside him.
He looked up, moonlight catching in his dark, glazed eyes, making them appear even colder than usual.
“I borrowed it.” His words were sluggish and stumbling. “What? Don’t give me that face. I’m celebrating. Come on. Join me, sister!”
He held out the jug, and I took it gingerly. It was almost empty. I glanced around us, wondering what would happen if we were caught with stolen wine. I had not seen any slaves whipped since arriving here, but that did not mean our masters were not capable of such a thing.
I sat down on the stool beside him. “Shouldn’t you be tending the goats?”
“It’s my night off.”
“Is that what you’re celebrating?”
Melanthius gave a forced laugh. “You not heard? The royal baby has been born! Isn’t that wonderful news?”
“I…suppose,” I hedged, my fingers playing against the painted neck of the jug.
“I’m sure Odysseus is happy. Getting to meet his child for the first time, getting to hold him in his arms.” Melanthius stared at me with dead eyes. “Wonder what that feels like.”
“Melanthius…”
He snatched the jug from my hands and downed the contents.
“What, Mel? Go on. What’d you have to say to me?”
My throat felt tight, my eyes hot. I hated seeing him like this. It was as if the grief had eaten him from the inside, carving out all the remnants of the brother I had once loved so dearly, leaving nothing but this cold husk of a person.
“I know this must be hard for you,” I whispered.
Melanthius bared his crimson-etched teeth into a sneer. “Hard? Why’d it be hard for me?”
“Because it’s not fair—”
“Not fair? No, no, no. This.” He slammed his hand on the tabletop. “This is exactly how it all works.”
“Shh, please. Someone might hear you.”
He spoke louder as if to spite me. “They get to have everything, and we’re left with nothing. That’s how it always is. How it always will be.”
“We do not have nothing, Melanthius,” I said, placing my hand over his. “We have each other.”
“And what of Callias? What’s he got now?” His fingers tightened around mine. “What of Melitta? What of my child?”
“Stop it, Melanthius. That hurts—”
“What do they have, sister? Do you know? Do you even care?” His words jabbed at old, familiar wounds.
“Of course I care,” I snapped.
“Do you?” he spat with enough severity to make my heartbeat quicken.
“Just because I do not wear my suffering as openly as you does not make it any less valid.”
Finally, Melanthius loosened his biting grip, and I snatched my hand away.
“I know you are hurting, but you do not have to be cruel,” I whispered.
“This whole fucking world is cruel, sister.”
“But you aren’t, Melanthius. This isn’t who you are.”
“What if you’re wrong?”
I held his gaze for a long moment, until the emptiness in his eyes gave way, revealing the sadness beneath.
Such desperate, depthless sadness. I felt it clutching at my heart, mingling with my own, all those taunting unanswered questions that rotted within us both.
We would never know what became of our mother or Callias or Melitta or the baby…
That was the curse of being a slave, not being deemed worthy enough to be given answers, doomed to spend our lives with the weight of the unknown. That suffocating, shapeless grief.
There was no coming to terms with it, I knew. All we could do was endure it.
With a sigh, I placed my hand over Melanthius’s again. His fingers twitched at my touch. Then, a moment later, tears filled his eyes, softening them.
“The baby will’ve been born by now,” he murmured thickly.
The words cleaved my heart in two.
“I know.”
I squeezed his fingers, watching the moon-silvered tears spill down his cheeks as we sat for a moment, awash with our shared grief.
Melanthius then abruptly pulled away, scrubbing furiously at his eyes. They were still red and swollen as he flashed me a stiff smile. “Looks like I’ve had too much to drink again, eh?”
“You’re allowed to cry, Melanthius.”
He rose to his feet. “I just need to walk it off. That’s all.”
“It’s the middle of the night. You should sleep.”
“Sleep.” He laughed emptily at the word, then strode to the door.
At the stone threshold, he froze, his tall figure engulfed in darkness.
He did not turn as he whispered into the shadows, “Do you think they’re a boy or a girl?”
I stared at his back. If only I knew what to say in that moment, which words would soothe the open wound that festered in his soul.
But what could ever suffice?
“I wish I knew, brother,” I said.
He nodded slowly, and I cringed at the uselessness of my answer.
“Melanthius, wait—”
He was gone before I could say more.