Chapter 49
As soon as I escaped the banquet hall, Penelope pulled me into the shadows and her waiting arms.
Our embrace was desperate and fleeting, a too-brief gulp of air amid a raging storm.
“Are you hurt?” she asked, gray eyes wide as she reached for my face.
“I’m fine, I swear.” I took her trembling hands in mine. “Penelope—”
She shook her head, silencing me, then tugged me down the hallway, away from the raucous laughter that chased our every step. She did not slow until she pulled me into a small storeroom. The space inside was dark and cool, the smell of olive oil lacing the air.
Penelope shut the door behind us, then spun, seizing my face between her hands.
“What were you thinking?” She punctuated each word with a frantic kiss. “Why did you go back in there? Why did you promise yourself to him?”
“My brother,” I gasped against her lips. “I had to protect him.”
She drew back, growing horribly still. “They made him fight.”
I nodded. “It was the only way I could stop it.”
“His opponent?”
“Philoetius. He is alive…just about,” I added with a wince.
“They are monsters.”
“Monsters you said you would marry.”
Penelope nodded. “Yes.”
“Why?”
“I had no choice.”
“No choice?” I spluttered. “You should have just let him have me. You should have—”
“Don’t ever say that,” she snapped. “Don’t you ever sacrifice yourself like that. Not for me. Not for anyone. Do you understand?”
“You cannot tell me not to sacrifice myself when you have done exactly that,” I threw back, fighting to keep my voice lowered. “It would have been one night, and now you’ve damned your entire future!”
She kissed me again as if she could not stop herself, her lips soft and wild against mine, stilling my rage.
“Penelope.” Her name was somewhere between a gasp and an ache. “I cannot let you do this—”
“I do not plan on marrying any of them.” Her words were hot in my mouth.
“But you said—”
She drew back, eyes ablaze. “I will not hand Ithaca over to any of those pigs. The throne belongs to my son, and I will see no other sit upon it.”
I had never seen her like this before, burning with such pure, naked rage. I cupped her cheek, in awe of the power radiating from her.
“You have a plan,” I whispered.
Penelope’s smile was slow and beautifully fierce. “Of course I do.”
***
“A funeral shroud?” Autonoe repeated, doubt edging her voice.
“Yes.” Penelope nodded. “A funeral shroud.”
We were gathered in Penelope’s quarters, settled into our usual places around the hearth.
Hippodamia was draped across Autonoe’s lap, surrounded by blankets and cushions, while Thratta lounged in the chair next to mine with Actoris seated cross-legged at our feet.
Eurynome was nestled into the softest seat nearest the fire, with Penelope at her side.
“I’m lost,” Hippodamia admitted. “How is a funeral shroud going to help us stop the suitors?”
“Are you going to smother them to death with it?” Actoris snickered.
Thratta’s hand shot up. “I volunteer to do the smothering.”
“There’s going to be no smothering,” I said.
Thratta’s face fell along with her hand.
“What about strangling?” Actoris grinned, grabbing one of the blankets and wrapping it around her throat. She made a dramatic choking sound, sticking out her tongue. “I think that could work.”
I yanked the blanket from her. “Now you’re just being foolish.”
“Melantho is right.” Thratta nodded sagely. “Rope would be much better for strangling.”
“We’re strangling them with rope?” Hippodamia squeaked.
Eurynome shivered beneath her fur pelts. “This all sounds a little too violent for me.”
“Not to worry. I will strangle them for you,” Thratta offered.
Eurynome smiled. “Thank you, Thratta. That’s very kind.”
“There will be no smothering or strangling,” I sighed, rubbing my temples to try to settle my brewing headache.
“But there is a funeral shroud?” Hippodamia ventured.
“Just listen to Penelope’s plan, will you? All of you? Please,” I groaned.
Penelope’s eyes met mine, humor dancing in them as she read my exasperation. It was nice, seeing that lightness in her gaze, given all that weighed upon us.
A rare, attentive silence enveloped the room as Penelope rose and walked toward the loom we had carried in from her bedchamber. Absently, she plucked a thread.
“As you know, I have told the suitors I will take a husband,” she said.
Her expression was steady, but then it shifted, eyes growing misty, voice thick as she continued.
“But I shall inform them that Laertes, my dear father-in-law, is dying, and I cannot possibly think of marriage until I have completed a funeral shroud in preparation for his imminent departure for the realm below.”
Hippodamia sat bolt upright from her mound of cushions. “Laertes is dying?”
Penelope blinked, and the emotion in her face vanished, replaced by a small, cunning smile. “No. No more so than any other aging mortal at least. But the suitors need not know the details of his condition.”
“They will have no choice but to accept Penelope’s request,” I said. “It would incur the wrath of the gods if they denied her the right to properly perform Laertes’s burial rites.”
The handmaids shared a look, lips curling as understanding sparked between them.
“How much time will it give us?” Autonoe asked.
“As long as we need,” Penelope said, running her fingers over the loom. “Each day, I will make progress, and each night, we will undo it. Only a little at a time, so we do not arouse suspicion.”
Actoris snorted. “Those pigs will be too drunk to notice.”
Beside her, Thratta grumbled, “I prefer the strangling plan.”
“I do too,” I admitted. “But if we shed their blood, we could start another war. A war we cannot win.”
“But it is our right,” Thratta insisted. “These men have dishonored us.”
“It does not matter if it is rightful or not. If we take revenge, it will spark outrage across all of Greece,” Penelope pointed out. “The only person who could do such a thing is Laertes or Odysseus. And we all know Laertes is far too old and has no interest in the throne.”
“So if Odysseus were here, it would be his right to kill them?” Hippodamia asked.
Penelope nodded. “That is why I have sent messengers far and wide to spread word of the suitors infesting the House of Odysseus. My husband might have been beguiled by the promises of a goddess, but I know Odysseus loves this land and would be loath to let his throne fall to anyone but his own blood.”
“Do you really believe that will be enough to bring Odysseus home?” Autonoe whispered. “After all this time?”
“If he is still the man I once knew,—yes,” Penelope said, returning to her chair beside Eurynome.
“In the meantime, I have instructed Telemachus to secure whatever allies he can while we delay the suitors for as long as possible.” She paused then, taking her time to look each of us in the eye before continuing.
“It will be dangerous. The suitors will grow impatient eventually. There is only so much wine and food that will satiate them, and we saw last night what kind of brutality they consider entertainment. That is why I am going to temporarily rehome as many palace slaves as feasibly possible. I will place them with families in Ithaca until it is safe for them to return to their duties here. I would like you all to consider this option as well.”
I felt the others shifting around me, a mix of surprise and sadness staining the air.
Penelope’s smile was thin as she went on.
“You are all incredibly important to me. For the past seventeen summers, I have had the honor of living beside you, of building a home together. But now…” She swallowed, her voice catching as she admitted, “I can no longer guarantee your safety within these walls.”
“We can handle ourselves,” Thratta interjected, her tone softened by the sadness in Penelope’s eyes.
“She knows that,” I said gently. “Hear her out.”
Thratta nodded, signaling for Penelope to continue.
“If I placed you with another family in Ithaca, you would have some protection from the suitors…but I also have another offer.” Penelope paused, lacing her hands in her lap before proceeding.
“As a woman, I cannot give you your freedom, however much I wish I could. But I can secure you safe passage out of Ithaca. A boat that will take you wherever you wish to go. You will not legally be free, but you will have your freedom—as much of it as I can grant you.”
“You’re sending us away?” Hippodamia whispered, eyes shimmering.
Penelope reached out to take her hand. “It is your choice.”
A somber silence settled over us. Then Actoris announced loudly, “Fuck that.”
I choked on a surprised laugh. “Actoris, you should consider—”
“Nope. I’m not considering anything,” she said, folding her arms decisively. “I’ve been carted around on slaver ships since the day I was born. I’ve seen what it’s like for us out there. I’m not interested in any of it, and I’m not leaving.”
“Then what of staying with another household in Ithaca—”
“Nope.” Actoris lifted her chin. “Not happening.”
“She’s right,” Hippodamia said, her hand tightening around Penelope’s. “We won’t let those vultures drive us from our home.”
Home. I felt something thicken in my throat at the word.
“But I cannot protect you,” Penelope whispered.
“We protect each other,” Autonoe said, reaching for her other hand.
“I’m not sure what use my old bones will be.” Eurynome chuckled softly. “But no foolish boys will drive me from these shores.”
Thratta nodded emphatically. “I stand with you, Penelope. With all of you.”
“Think of what’s she’s offering, Thratta. You could return to Thrace.”
“I will return to Thrace,” she amended my words. “But not this day. Thracians do not run from battle. We stand and we fight.”
“But your people—”
“My people,” she scoffed. “My people sold me to foreigners to save their own hides. No. You are my people now, and I will fight at your side.” She paused as if considering something. “And as my people, I wish to give you a gift.”
Thratta rose to her feet then, and we all shifted a little closer, staring up at our friend towering before us, gilded in the firelight.
“Skaris.” Her voice hitched, eyes gleaming with pride. “This is my name. When I came to these shores, it was all I had left, so I held it close. Now, I give it to you in return for all you have given me.”
“Skaris,” we all said in turn, watching our friend blossom beneath the sound of her name.
“In my tongue, it means ‘quick-footed,’” Thratta—Skaris—told us.
“Thank you, Skaris,” Penelope said, bowing her head low.
I took Skaris’s tattooed hand in mine, unsure what words could convey my love for her in that moment.
“And you, my friend?” she asked me. “You will stay with us?”
“Always,” I said.
I met Penelope’s gaze and smiled. Of course, I would not leave her. Even if our world came burning down that very night, I would simply hold her closer and dance in the flames.
“Then it’s decided!” Hippodamia clapped her hands excitedly. “I think we should have a drink to celebrate. Don’t you?”
Without waiting for a response, she whisked around the room in a flash of golden tresses, handing out cups.
“What are we drinking to?” Autonoe asked.
“To the return of Odysseus?” Eurynome offered.
“To the death of the suitors.” Actoris grinned.
“To the battle ahead,” Skaris announced.
“To us, of course,” Hippodamia corrected them all.
I smiled, my eyes finding Penelope’s once again as I held my cup aloft. “To us.”