Chapter 25 #2
“I don’t mean to say she did not love me,” I clarified. “In fact, she loved me too much.”
I began tapping a finger against my cup, the ting of bronze the only sound in the room, like a steady, metallic heartbeat.
The heat of the fire made my eyes feel hot and itchy, and I blinked a few times before continuing.
“They make it seem like a prize, you know. When they let slaves have babies. That was how they sold it to my mother: a ‘reward’ for her good behavior. She fell for the lie at first. But then my brother and I were born, and I think, in that moment, she realized what she had done. She finally understood. We were not her children but the king’s property.
She had not gifted us life but doomed us with it.
And she always regretted that. Regretted us. ”
Fat tears rolled silently down my cheeks, warmed by the firelight. I quickly dashed them away.
“I’m sorry. I should not have said anything. Forget—”
“I was never close with my mother,” Penelope said.
“Sometimes it feels like I never really knew her at all. I suppose, in a way, I didn’t.
My mother often took ill, so we were kept apart, and I was raised by her handmaids.
It was not her fault, though as a child, I used to be so angry at her for it—for being too sick to love me. ”
I watched Penelope’s gaze drift into memories, the ghost of that anger pressing between her brows, then disappearing behind a shadow of remorse.
“When she died, I did not cry. Not a single tear. I wish I had, for then maybe I might feel less guilty for not having loved her as I should have.”
I was quiet for a long moment, absorbing the rawness of her words.
“That is why you refuse any assistance. With Telemachus.”
Penelope said nothing.
“You know, it is all right to ask for help sometimes,” I said, tilting my head to try to catch her eye. “It won’t make you any less of a mother. You don’t have to do it alone.”
“I am not alone. I have you.” Her gaze slid to mine, and she smiled.
I was struck by a desperate desire to keep that smile alive, so I added with a slight smirk, “Well, maybe I could do with more help.”
Penelope considered that. “Do you truly feel that way?”
“Can you blame me? That baby is the most demanding master I’ve ever served. Stubborn too. I think you’ve birthed a tyrant.”
Her smile curled wider, eyes sparking. “Did you really just call my infant son a tyrant?”
“You’ve seen the way he screams and waves his fists around when he wants something. Tell me that isn’t tyrant behavior.”
Penelope tipped her head back and laughed, the sound like a burst of light chasing away the shadows. Lemons—that was what her laugh had reminded me of when I’d first heard it. So beautifully bright and sharp.
I had always loved lemons.
“I cannot believe you are calling my son stubborn,” she said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Penelope arched an eyebrow. “Melantho, you are the most stubborn person I have ever met.”
“I am not!”
Penelope chuckled, shaking her head. “It is a compliment.”
“I don’t see how.”
“Well, compliments are subjective, I suppose. But I meant it as one. I have always loved your stubbornness.”
Loved. The word stirred something inside me, making my pulse quicken and my stomach coil tight.
Penelope must have sensed this, for her eyes slipped away from mine quickly, as if embarrassed by the reaction she saw there.
Shame crawled up my spine, and I silently cursed myself for wearing my emotions so plainly.
Shooting to my feet, I tried to sound nonchalant as I said, “Speaking of the tyrant, I should get some sleep before his reign of terror continues tomorrow.”
Penelope only smiled faintly in response.
The door to the handmaids’ chamber was situated just beyond where Penelope was sitting. As I moved to walk past her, I mumbled a quiet, “Good night.”
Her hand shot out, fingers lacing around my wrist. I froze, every inch of my body becoming totally fixated on that small point of contact, on the feel of her skin against mine, as if her touch were a single flame in a starless night.
The heat in my cheeks intensified.
“Melantho.”
I tried to stare ahead, but that familiar tide pulled me to her once again, as it always did. When I looked at her, my heartbeat began to quicken, pounding so hard in my chest it felt as if my ribs had shrunk around it, squeezing too tight.
How did she always have this effect on me?
And why did nobody else?
“Perhaps your mother regretted that this is the world she brought you into, but I do not believe, not for a single moment, that she ever regretted you.”
My vision blurred as I lowered my gaze to the ground, trying not to let the tears spill again. I did not know what to reply, so I said nothing at all.
Finally, Penelope let go.
“Sleep well, Melantho.”
In the darkness of my chamber, I replayed that moment over and over in my mind, torturing myself with every minute detail as a strange, heated ache awoke in the pit of my stomach.
Eventually, sleep took me in its swift clutches, dragging me down to that dangerous realm where my thoughts reigned free.
I dreamed of bare skin kissed golden in the firelight, of slender hands gripping me tight, lips curled into a drowsy smile as they found their mark upon my body.
I dreamed of long, dark hair spilling around me like liquid night, of intense gray eyes staring up into mine as those familiar lips trailed along an expanse of bare flesh, inching down and down my body…
When I awoke with a start, I convinced myself I did not know who that person was. It was just a faceless figure, a vision of my own design, woven from the tapestry of my dreams.
It was a stranger. It must have been.
It had to have been.