Chapter 36
“Melantho?”
I stood in the doorway to Penelope’s bedchamber, legs on fire after running all the way there from Athena’s temple. I hadn’t stopped to think, to breathe. All I knew was that I had to see her.
Penelope was seated at her loom, wearing the slightly distant expression of someone who had just been lost in thought. But now her eyes narrowed on mine, concern sharpening her features.
“Melantho, what is it?”
“My…my mother…” was all I could manage.
The tears came then, thick and fast. Penelope moved instantly, wrapping me in her arms, letting me weep against her chest. We had not touched like this since that night on the beach.
Though I was loath to admit it, a distance had formed between us, and I knew it was my own foolish fault for my behavior.
I had driven her away, all because I could not control my poisonous emotions.
But now Penelope held me tight, as if she never wanted to let go, as if the distance between us this past year had been nothing more than a bad dream. I wrapped my arms around her, realizing just how deeply I had needed this. Needed her.
“Tell me what happened,” Penelope murmured against my hair.
“My mother is dead.” Saying the words aloud was like a blade to my soul. “She’s been dead for all this time.”
Penelope pulled away to look at me, her hands resting at my shoulders, steadying me.
“How?” Her voice was barely a breath.
“Just after she was taken from me…a sickness broke out while the slaves were being held before being shipped away.” The words were a thick, tangled mess in my throat. “It killed all the women, those who had been taken from the palace. One of the market sellers told my father.”
Penelope shook her head. “How could he not tell you?”
“He told my brother, but Melanthius kept it from me. For all this time.” I spat the words, though my fury felt muted, suffocated beneath a wave of exhausted grief.
Gently, Penelope took my hand and guided me to her bed. I perched myself on the edge and watched as she moved to fetch some wine.
“Have you spoken to anyone else?” she asked, pressing the cup into my hand.
I shook my head. “I came straight to you.”
She sat beside me, and when I met her gaze, there was such unbearable love in her eyes I could scarcely breathe.
“I’m sorry…if I disturbed you,” I whispered.
“Never be sorry for that, Melantho.”
“But with the news of Achilles…you must’ve been busy—”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“But—”
“It doesn’t matter,” she said firmly. Then, “You look pale. Have you eaten?”
“No.”
She rose fluidly to her feet. “Let me fetch you some food.”
A small, vulnerable part of me wanted to grab her hand, wanted to beg her not to leave. But I forced the urge away as I nodded. “Thank you.”
“Rest, Melantho,” Penelope said. “I’ll return shortly.”
When she disappeared, exhaustion dragged me down until I found my head resting on Penelope’s pillow. It smelled so distinctly of her, and I felt myself relaxing into the familiar scent.
As I closed my eyes, I imagined I was a child again, my mother’s body curled around me, her warm breaths brushing my ear, easing me into the sweet release of sleep.
***
I woke with a violent jolt.
“Mama!”
The world was dark, I was in an unfamiliar bed, and all I could see were the remnants of my dreams swirling around me—my mother being ripped from my hands, her body wasting away, left to rot in the dirt…
“Melantho, it’s all right.” A voice found me in the darkness.
“Penelope?” I gasped.
She was beside me now, her hand on my back, rubbing in slow, soothing circles.
“It was a dream,” she told me. “Just a dream.”
“Why am I in your bed?” I demanded.
“You fell asleep.”
“I…I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t—”
“Shh. Melantho, it’s fine. Just breathe.”
I could just make her out through the gloom, kneeling beside me, her long, unbound hair brushing against my shoulders.
“I can’t. I can’t breathe.”
“You can, I promise. Just take your time.”
Gently, Penelope guided me back down to the pillow, then settled in beside me. She was stroking my curls now, her fingers like soft, soothing waves. I focused on the motion of them until my breathing finally steadied and the nightmare released me from its clutches.
“I’m sorry,” I murmured.
“Don’t be. It was just a nightmare,” Penelope assured me. “I get them too.”
“You do?” I could not imagine Penelope, always so calm and composed, ever being plagued by nightmares. “What about?”
She seemed to hesitate, though I could not discern her expression in the dark.
“Things that happened long ago,” she whispered as she began to sit up.
Instinctively, my hand shot out to stop her. “Where are you going?”
“Well, seeing as someone has commandeered my bed, I’ve been relegated to the chair,” she said, and I could hear the smile in her voice.
I didn’t smile back. Instead, my grip tightened.
“Will you stay here, just a little longer?”
I knew I was being childish, but in that moment, I couldn’t bear the thought of not being near her. I sensed Penelope hesitating again, but then she lay back down, the tension inside me easing a little as she did so.
“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked. “Your dream?”
I shook my head. “No. It’s all right.”
“But there is something you want to tell me, isn’t there?”
How could she read me so well, even in total darkness?
“I’m afraid…you’ll think less of me if I do,” I admitted.
“That’s not possible, Melantho,” she said ever so delicately.
I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to shape my thoughts into something coherent.
“When my father told me the truth today, the first thing I felt was…relief. Not sadness or anger or bitterness but relief. All this time, I’ve worried about her.
Every day, every night, every single second, I’ve wondered where my mother is.
If she’s safe, if she’s in pain, if she’s starving or cold or afraid.
I’ve worried about her getting older, about having nobody there to look after her. Over and over, I’ve worried. But now…”
I trailed off, the words lodging thickly in my throat like a sob threatening to split.
“Now you know she is at rest,” Penelope finished for me.
I nodded, biting my trembling lip. “Does that make me a terrible person?”
“Of course not, Melantho. If given the choice, we would all choose peace over suffering for our loved ones. Even if that peace could only be found in the realm below.”
“What if she’s not at peace though?” I whispered. “What if they didn’t bury her properly and her soul is trapped down there?”
“If that is the case, then when it is our time, we will find her on Hades’s shores, and we will ensure she crosses with us.”
“How?”
“Melantho, do you truly doubt I could outsmart some old ferryman?” Her voice glimmered like stars brightening the night sky.
I smiled, and another wave of relief flooded through me, lulling me back toward the soft edges of sleep. But there was still more I wanted to say, more unspoken truths weighing on my heart.
A quietness settled between us, and I shifted closer so that our faces were barely a whisper apart.
“Penelope?”
“Yes, Melantho?”
“I’ve missed you.”
She paused for only the briefest of moments before saying, “I’ve missed you too.”
“I know the distance between us was my fault—”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“It was,” I insisted. “Because I was foolish enough to try to kiss you.”
I don’t know why I said it. Perhaps it was something about the anonymous dark that pried such honesty out of me, honesty I would have never been brave enough to voice under the harsh eyes of daylight.
Penelope had grown tense beside me, and I tried desperately to read the collection of shadows that made up her face, wondering if I had once again stepped too far.
“It wasn’t foolish, and it wasn’t your fault,” she said eventually. Her voice sounded strained.
“How could it not be?”
“Because I encouraged you.”
It was my turn to stiffen now, clutching at words that suddenly seemed so flimsy and insubstantial on my tongue.
“You…you did?” was all I could manage.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
The silence stretched so taut I thought the entire world might snap in two.
“Because…I wanted you to.”
Her words did not hit me as I thought they might.
There was no sharp, shocking strike of realization but rather something quieter, something gentler.
A calmness washed through me, one that felt a lot like the comforting embrace of closure or perhaps the tentative beginning of something. I could not be certain.
I found myself inching forward until our mouths were dangerously close, so close I could feel the edges of her lips graze mine as I murmured, “Really?”
“Really,” she murmured back.
We fell silent, our faces unbearably close. Neither of us dared close that distance, but neither did we pull away, and though our lips never met, it somehow felt more intimate to let ourselves linger in this moment, suspended in that breath before a kiss.
This is enough, I told myself. Let this be enough.
So that was how we stayed as the night deepened around us, until we eventually slipped back into the realm of dreams.