Chapter 31
The queen of Ithaca looked bored.
I leaned against the stone doorway to the council chamber, watching Penelope feign interest in the latest argument the fat old men of Ithaca had descended into, as was the usual course of any of their meetings.
For a moment, I allowed myself the simple, secret pleasure of admiring her—that beautiful, striking face that consumed so much of my mind. Too much, perhaps.
I don’t know what you call them, those moments between breaths, the spaces between heartbeats, but Penelope seemed to occupy every one of mine.
“Something must be done about this matter,” Mentor was saying to nods of fervent agreement. The man, wrinkled as a prune, had been a close confidant of Odysseus and the only person he trusted to look after Ithaca’s council in his absence.
“More young men are leaving every day,” another councilman said, slamming a leathery fist on the table. “They believe they will find better opportunities elsewhere.”
Mentor nodded somberly. “It is the women’s fault. They refuse to relinquish control of their businesses and households, even though their sons are of age now. They are purposefully driving them away.”
Good riddance, I wanted to snap. The fewer entitled noblemen, the better.
“Perhaps it will be advantageous for the young men to leave,” Penelope mused mildly.
Her words were met with loud scoffs and shaking heads.
Still, she continued, “There is much we can learn from our neighboring kingdoms. If these men travel, they can gather a wealth of knowledge, teachings that will undoubtedly benefit Ithaca when they return. Not to mention the alliances they could secure for us.”
“And what if they do not return, my queen?” Mentor pressed.
Then the women can continue to grow. I saw the answer glow in Penelope’s eyes, but instead she said, “My husband believed that Ithacans will always be drawn back home, no matter how far they may wander.”
There was a grumble of reluctant agreement. Nobody could disagree with the word of legendary Odysseus after all.
“Now what of the graffiti in the harbor? How can we deter those scoundrels?” Mentor continued, and the men quickly dissolved into another inane disagreement.
Penelope caught my gaze in the doorway then, mouth quirking upward. With just a twitch of her brow, she managed to flash me a long-suffering look.
“Queen Penelope.” I gave a flourishing bow that had her eyes sparking with amusement. “Forgive my intrusion, but your presence is required urgently.”
“Perhaps this is a good time to adjourn today’s meeting,” Mentor said.
“An excellent idea,” Penelope agreed as she rose from her seat at the side of the room.
As a woman, it was deemed “inappropriate” for her to sit at the table with the men, but as a queen without her king, she was permitted to join these council meetings.
Whatever logic there was in that dichotomy, it made little sense to me. But I had never been one for politics.
“Thank you for graciously allowing me to observe your discussion today, gentlemen.”
She always said this at the end of every meeting, when the men should really have been thanking her.
If matters had been left to these cantankerous old farts, the kingdom would have fallen to ruin years ago, when Laertes relinquished his title as king and disappeared to his tiny cottage in the countryside.
Fortunately for Ithaca, what it lacked in king and council was made up for by its new queen.
Under Penelope’s rule, Ithaca had flourished.
During her first year as queen, she had streamlined farming cycles to yield greater produce, resulting in more trade and wealth for the land.
The councilmen liked to congratulate themselves on this feat, as they did for all Ithaca’s successes.
But that was how Penelope intended it. She ruled from the shadows, wielding her power with subtlety so as not to unsettle any egos and risk it being snatched from her.
She had always been an expert at planting ideas in men’s minds, nurturing them quietly until they blossomed into fully formed thoughts they believed to be their own ingenious creation.
It was an art form, really, one I loved to see at work.
“Make sure you take time to rest, my queen,” Mentor said. He always spoke softly to Penelope, as if she were a timid creature he might frighten away. “It is humid today.”
She smiled indulgently at him. “I will, thank you.”
Though she was not permitted a seat at their table, the councilmen still rose and bowed as Penelope glided from the room.
“Gods, listening to those men makes me sympathize with Sisyphus,” she murmured as we strode side by side down the hallway. “Every time I feel we are making progress, they fall back into some pointless argument. Tell me, is my presence actually required, or were you just saving me from my torment?”
“The latter,” I said.
She grinned. “What would I do without you?”
I forced myself to ignore the slight flutter in my stomach.
“There is someone I’d like you to meet though. I found her in the woods.”
Penelope arched a brow. “In the woods?”
“She had an arrow to my back for most of our initial meeting, and I’m pretty sure she was about to stab me with a bread knife when I took her to the kitchens.”
Penelope gave me a despairing look, though her amusement shone through. “She sounds…delightful.”
“I think she’d make a great handmaid.”
“Ah yes, the violent use of a bread knife is always a good indication of a competent handmaid.”
“Do I detect sarcasm, my queen?”
“Sarcasm?” Penelope placed a hand over her heart. “How decidedly unladylike that would be.”
“Truly despicable.”
Penelope mirrored my smirk, and though she was twenty-six now, the gleam in her eyes made her look like a child again, delightfully mischievous.
We walked along the colonnade fringing the central courtyard.
Pillars stood in a uniform row at our side, sunlight reaching between them like eager, golden fingers.
Out on the grass, a group of slaves were chatting animatedly as they enjoyed a spread of breads, cheese, and olives—all food they had worked hard to produce and that now was theirs to enjoy.
This was the culture Penelope had cultivated within the safety of the palace, one where slaves worked for the mutual benefit of everyone, not the few royals perched at the top. We all pitched in, and we all reaped the rewards.
As we passed, the group on the lawn waved.
“She will be the fourth slave you’ve brought home this summer,” Penelope said as she raised a hand in greeting.
I bit my lip. “I know you’re worried about overcrowding…”
“I’m handling it.”
My brows rose. “You are?”
“We have already begun work on building more homes. There’s so much vacant land Laertes was just sitting on.
” Penelope shook her head despairingly. “The homes should be ready by harvest time. Then we will start moving people in and freeing up space in the palace for new additions… What? What’s that look for? ”
My smile spread so wide it hurt. “Nothing. I just…I think that’s an excellent idea.”
“Of course it is. All my ideas are,” she teased as we cut left down a shadowy corridor. “So what is the name of our newest handmaid?”
“You’ll truly take her as a handmaid?”
“If you think she’s suitable, then why wouldn’t I?”
“I didn’t realize the queen of Ithaca was so easily swayed.”
Penelope laughed. “Only by you, Melantho.”
Her words were light and playful, yet they still caught in my chest, causing my heartbeat to stumble.
My feet followed suit, tripping over a step.
Penelope shot out a hand to steady me, and my entire body stiffened beneath her touch.
After so many summers at her side, one would have thought I’d be numb to Penelope’s effect by now.
If she noticed my sudden rigidity, Penelope did not comment; instead, she lifted her hand to my hair.
For a tense moment, I thought she was going to cup my face, and I felt an unbearable warmth rush into my cheeks.
But she merely plucked a twig from one of my curls, eyebrow raised in silent question.
“We were hunting in the woods,” I said. “Telemachus made his first kill!”
“I cannot fathom how he is already old enough to be wielding a weapon.” Penelope sighed, twirling the twig between her fingers. “Will you bring our new handmaid to our quarters? I would like to meet her.”
Our quarters. I always loved it when she called them that.
Before I could reply, we heard a clatter of sandals stumbling behind us. Penelope stepped away from me instantly, that queenly veneer falling like a veil across her features as Mentor came careening down the hallway.
I hadn’t known the old man could move so fast.
“My queen,” he gasped, doubling over to catch his breath. “I apologize…for…the urgency…”
“Is everything all right?” she asked.
“News…from Troy.”
Penelope stilled. “What news?”
“Achilles has returned to battle. Prince Hector of Troy is dead.”
***
That night, the palace came alive with celebrations.
We crowded together in the banquet hall, the atmosphere as intoxicating as the wine flowing freely between us. Once, this room would have been reserved for Odysseus’s esteemed guests, but these days, it was ours to enjoy as we wished.
As I filled my cup, I let my gaze drift across the revelry.
Autonoe was playing the lyre Penelope had gifted her a few summers back, her sweet voice weaving effortlessly through the crowd.
I could hear Hippodamia’s tinkling laugh as she recounted a story to a small crowd of besotted stable boys.
They flocked to her like moths to a flame, drunk on her light.
Thratta was seated with Actoris at one of the long wooden tables, playing some kind of ridiculous game that involved stabbing a blade between their splayed-out fingers while Telemachus watched, utterly mesmerized.
I would have despaired at the combination of wine and weapons, but my concern was bridled by the sheer delight on Actoris’s face.
She looked like a different person from the tiny ghost we had found in the woods that morning.
I even caught the cantankerous old Eurycleia almost smiling, though she would have certainly denied such an accusation. Mercifully, the old maid kept to herself these days, grumbling through the palace about Ithaca’s “loss of order.”
As I continued watching my friends, I felt their joy filling me to the brim with a delicious kind of warmth. But there was something lurking beneath it, a creeping sense of unease fueled by the words on everyone’s lips—Hector is dead! Achilles has returned! The Greeks will win soon enough!
And when they did, the war would be over.
Odysseus would return. He would take his rightful seat upon Ithaca’s throne, and what would become of our home?
For nine summers, we had been carefully building a haven within these walls, a place where people could feel safe, where happiness could grow and flourish.
What would happen to all that when the men returned to claim what was theirs?
“What’s that look for?”
I turned to find Eurynome at my side. Her eyes were hazy, her smile loose. It was nice, seeing her a little tipsy. She rarely let herself indulge like this.
“Nothing,” I lied, dousing my concerns with another mouthful of wine. “I’m fine.”
“That swineherd keeps watching you, you know.”
“Eumaeus?”
Eurynome’s smile was a mischievous thing. “He never takes his eyes off you.”
I followed her gaze across the room to where Eumaeus was leaning against a wall, listening distractedly to one of the kitchen girls. When he caught me looking, he tipped his cup to me and smiled.
“You should go and talk to him,” Eurynome urged.
“Why?”
“Because he’s handsome.”
She wasn’t wrong. Eumaeus was admittedly very good-looking, his rich, dark features accentuating every striking detail—the cut of his beard highlighting the strength of his jaw, thick eyelashes and brows emphasizing the deep hue of his brown eyes.
I knew a lot of the palace girls coveted his attention. The boys too.
“So?” I shrugged.
Eurynome gave an exasperated huff. “In all the summers I’ve known you, never once have you batted an eye at anyone. You’re a beautiful girl, Melantho. You could have your pick of the lot.”
I rolled my eyes, turning away from Eumaeus’s lingering gaze. “Have you seen Penelope?”
“You know what she’s like. She doesn’t wish to disturb the celebrations.”
“I’m going to go look for her.”
Eurynome made a noise that was somewhere between a sigh and a chuckle. “I’d ask you to stay, but I know I’d be wasting my breath. There’s no keeping you two apart, is there?”
“I just don’t think it’s fair Penelope misses all the fun.”
“I’m sure she’s fine, love.” Eurynome patted my arm. “Better than fine. I’m sure she’s elated. Her husband will finally be returning to her—at long last. Just think how romantic their reunion will be!”
“The war isn’t over yet.” I hated how defensive I sounded.
“No, not yet.” Eurynome’s smile widened. “But soon, my dear. Very soon.”