Chapter 29
I found my brother waiting at the harbor.
Though “harbor” was perhaps too grand a term for the tiny structure stretching tentatively into the sea, its edges crumbling from years of disuse.
I could just make out Melanthius through the darkness, sitting on a large cluster of rocks by the water’s edge, face tilted up to the curved moon. All he had were the clothes on his back, and it made my heart heavy, knowing he had nothing else to take with him.
Except me.
Melanthius was quiet as I came to sit beside him, our tense silence eased by the sighing waves. I breathed in the salt-brushed air, watching the moon trace her silver fingers over the water like a lost lover’s ghostly caress.
“You’re not coming.”
It wasn’t a question, but still I answered, “No.”
I felt him shift beside me. “Is it because of…what I did?”
“No,” I repeated, softer this time.
I turned to look at Melanthius, but his face was tilted away, features wholly consumed by the night.
“I don’t understand.” There was none of the usual venom in his voice, just a suffocating sense of exhaustion. “I don’t understand how you could choose this life.”
I picked up a stone, turning it between my fingers as I weighed my next words.
“I rescued two women from the slave market today,” I said.
“How?”
“Laertes gave Penelope silver to purchase more handmaids and I—”
“So you didn’t rescue them. You bought them.” Disgust dried out Melanthius’s voice. “You paid a slaver.”
“I bought them their lives back,” I snapped. “I bought them another chance.”
“That how Penelope justifies it, is it?”
“It was my decision. I chose to save them—”
“That’s not saving them, Melantho! Not if they’re still slaves.”
I clenched my jaw, tossing the stone away. It skimmed over the silvery waves with a satisfying plink, plink, plink before disappearing beneath them.
“I saved them, Melanthius,” I gritted out. “Because I know they’ll be treated fairly in Penelope’s care, and that’s a far better fate than what awaited them—”
“They are—”
“No. Don’t interrupt me. I don’t want to hear it.
You know why? Because for the first time in my life, I feel like I did something right.
And it made me realize how sick I am of hating myself.
I don’t want to do it anymore, Melanthius.
I’m so tired of it.” I rubbed my face with my hands, willing the surge of emotions to steady itself before continuing.
“If I stay, I think I can help more people. Penelope wants to build something here, something important, and I want to be part of that. I want to be part of something I can feel proud of.”
Melanthius was silent for a painfully long moment, face still turned away, shoulders hunched as if he were shielding himself from a storm. I longed to reach out, to take his hand in mine. But I did not.
“So you’d rather be her slave than my sister.” The words scraped out of him, barely a whisper, yet they hit me hard enough to bruise.
“It’s not like that.”
“It’s exactly like that. I gave you a choice: a chance of freedom at my side or a life here as a slave. And you chose her.”
“I chose myself. And when Odysseus returns from war, he has vowed to free me. I believe I can convince him to free you too.”
Melanthius shook his head slowly. “You’re still so naive, Mel.”
“I’m naive?” I bristled, pushing closer, urging him to look at me.
“Tell me then, Melanthius. Tell me your grand plan. Do you believe you will sail to the mainland and freedom will simply fall into your lap? Do you think you can stroll into Sparta and sweep Melitta away? You will have no possessions, no shelter, no support. You will likely die on the streets from starvation or disease or—”
“Is this why you came here? To tell me I’m a failure?”
I sighed, head falling into my hands. “No. I just…I wanted to say goodbye. That’s all.”
Melanthius gave an empty, brittle laugh. “Well, you can save your farewells.”
Before I could ask what he meant, he finally turned to face me, letting the moonlight spill over his swollen features.
“Melanthius,” I gasped, instinctively reaching out to touch his bruised, bloodied face.
He recoiled from my touch, as if I had moved to strike him.
“What happened?”
“That sailor I told you about.” He smiled, and the fresh gash along his lip began to weep. “Turns out he weren’t interested in taking me anywhere, only my silver. I don’t even know if he was a sailor.”
“Melanthius—”
“No, no. It’s all right. You can laugh. He certainly did. It is quite funny when you think about.” He began to laugh then, the sound horrid and forced, choking out of him in convulsive shudders. “Stupid little slave, thinking he could simply sail away and be free.”
“Who was he?” I demanded. “The man who did this to you.”
“What does it matter?”
“I could tell Penelope. She could—”
“Penelope?” That hideous laughter died instantly on his lips, swollen eyes narrowing. “You…you told her about this, didn’t you?”
I swallowed. “It’s not—”
“It makes sense now. It was her. She must’ve told the sailor not to help me. She did this—”
“That’s not possible.” I fought to keep my voice level. “I only told her tonight—”
“She could’ve sent word.”
“She didn’t.”
“How can you know that? How—” Melanthius stilled, and it seemed as if his entire body were shrinking, collapsing in on itself as a realization struck him. “Don’t tell me you trust her, Melantho.”
Trusting someone had always seemed a terrifying thing to me, like leaping off a ledge and counting down the seconds until the ground would inevitably greet me.
But with Penelope, it did not feel like falling, not at all.
It felt like finally being caught.
“I do,” I whispered.
Even with all the bruising marring Melanthius’s face, I could still see the betrayal strike his features, making him wince and recoil. A familiar poisonous guilt seeped through me, but I forced it away.
I refused to feel shame for this, for being able to trust when he could not.
Melanthius rose silently.
“Don’t go.” I reached for him, but he was already too far away. “Please, brother—”
“Don’t call me that,” he hissed, turning into the night. “You are no sister of mine.”
***
The next morning, I woke to the sound of laughter filtering through the walls.
When I had returned to the handmaids’ chamber the previous night, they had all been fast asleep. But now the room was empty, their beds made.
I lingered in the doorway to Penelope’s central living quarters.
The handmaids were gathered around the large table, enjoying their breakfast. Thratta was telling a story with dramatic gestures while Hippodamia dished out food.
Something Thratta said had them all in fits of laughter, and I smiled as the sound washed over me like a sunbaked stream.
Eurynome spotted me first. “Come join us, Melantho.”
For a moment, I hesitated, familiar excuses crowding on my tongue, but then my eyes drifted to Hippodamia, and her words from the other night flickered inside me.
Whoever it is you’ve lost, don’t you think they would want you to be happy too?
Drawing in a breath, I approached and silently sat down beside Autonoe, who was fussing over a snoozing Telemachus. Hippodamia immediately moved to fill my plate while Thratta continued her story. As I gazed around the table, I was met with the strange sensation of…fullness.
“Penelope, there you are! We were wondering where you had gotten to,” Hippodamia called out.
“I apologize for my absence this morning. I needed to—”
Penelope froze midstep, her gaze pouring into mine.
“Is everything all right?” Hippodamia prompted.
Penelope’s smile was like dawn, slow to appear at first, then flashing all at once, its beauty setting the world alight.
“Yes,” she breathed, eyes never leaving mine. “Everything is wonderful.”
“Will you come join us?” Autonoe offered.
As she came to sit beside me, I couldn’t help but share Penelope’s smile, the edges stretching giddily wide.
“You’re here,” she whispered.
I was surprised by the emotion cradling her lovely face. But then I remembered all the people in Penelope’s life who were not here, who had left her behind, either willingly or not—her mother, father, sister, husband…
Was I the first who had stayed?
I couldn’t think what to say, so instead I reached out and squeezed her hand.
When I went to pull away, Penelope laced her fingers through mine, holding tight. She smiled, softer this time, and I felt a warmth blossoming inside me, one that had nestled into my heart long, long ago, its golden roots woven through my very core.
Something hard bounced off the side of my head and fell into my lap.
“You’re not listening to my story,” Thratta said, throwing an olive at me. It hit my nose.
There was a brief pause, then Hippodamia broke into peals of laughter, the sound so shrill it had the others joining in, even Penelope. I felt my own laughter bubbling inside me, tentative at first, then bursting forth so forcefully I could scarcely catch my breath.
Within that bright, infectious sound, I heard my mother whisper, All I want is for you to be happy, my heart.
And I realized, for the first time since I’d lost her, that I wanted it too.