Chapter 52
Eurymachus demanded I stay the night.
I wish I could say he did not touch me again. I wish I could say the laced wine made him fall asleep instantly.
But the Fates are not so forgiving.
I had never been so desperate for the sun to rise. When it finally did, I slipped from Eurymachus’s chamber only for the hawkish eyes of Eurycleia to pin me against the door. The old crone was like a ghost, perpetually haunting these passageways and materializing at the most ill-timed moments.
“After all she has done for you,” Eurycleia hissed, disgust rotting behind each word, “this is how you repay Mistress Penelope? By crawling into bed with one of them?”
I opened my mouth to argue, but a wave of exhaustion slammed into me, stealing the fight from my lips. Wordlessly, I turned and walked away.
“The gods will punish you for this.” Eurycleia’s haughty voice echoed down the hall.
“The gods can get in line,” I muttered back.
***
I found Penelope sitting at her loom, working on Laertes’s shroud.
Our quarters were quiet; everyone was out enjoying the small window of freedom they had while the suitors slept off their nightly indulgences. Everyone except Penelope.
For a moment, I simply watched her work—those fingers that moved like water, so swift I had trouble keeping up with them.
Sensing my presence, Penelope turned. She smiled when she saw me, a rare sight these days, and the beauty of it nearly broke me. But I forced myself to walk forward and take a seat on the spare stool beside the loom.
“You were gone when I awoke this morning,” she said.
Penelope’s eyes were bruised with lack of sleep, her hair falling around her face in long, dark tendrils.
I loved it when her hair was loose like this, and I almost reached out to tuck a strand behind her ear, but guilt held me back.
I would not touch her when I still had the remnants of Eurymachus tainting my skin.
The seconds passed, and I wished I could hold on to this moment for a little while longer before I ripped it apart.
“There is something I must tell you.”
Penelope’s hands stilled. She turned to look at me, though I could no longer meet her gaze.
“What is it?”
“I know what the suitors are plotting.” I forced myself to speak slowly, glaring down at the faded rug. “Eurymachus has paid pirates to ambush Telemachus’s ship upon his return to Ithaca. He has instructed them to kill everyone on board.”
Beside me, Penelope seemed to disappear, shrinking somewhere deep inside herself. She sat so motionless I could not even tell if she was breathing.
“Penelope?” I prompted. “Did you hear what I said?”
“Yes,” she murmured. “I heard you.”
She inhaled a delicate breath, then, to my surprise, returned to her work.
I dared to look at her again, watching the quiet focus etched across her face, the steadiness of her strong fingers. I could tell she was plotting her next move, leashing her panic with plans for a solution. It made my heart lift to see her mind spark into action.
“How did you learn of this?” she asked.
“Eurymachus told me.” I watched as she absorbed my words, their unspoken meaning taking root.
“And why did Eurymachus tell you?”
Still, Penelope was focused on the loom, and I was grateful she could not see the shame staining my eyes as I admitted, “Because I made him believe I was an ally.”
Her face changed then, those beautiful features hardening to keep her emotions sealed in tight.
“How did you manage that?”
“I told him the truth about the shroud.”
Finally, Penelope’s hands halted, falling into a heap on her lap. Her silence was a horrible, suffocating thing, splintered only by the loom’s hanging weights clacking together.
“I’m sorry.” My voice trembled. “We knew this plan had run its course, and I had to gain his trust somehow, to make him believe I was on his side.”
She turned slowly to look at me. “Is that all you did to gain his trust?”
I could do nothing but stare at her.
I knew the truth would hurt Penelope beyond words, but I could not bring myself to lie. Not to her.
“Melantho?” Her voice was filled with such tentative hope. The sound of it almost destroyed me. “Is that all?”
“I…I did it to protect you.”
Penelope closed her eyes. “Please. Please tell me you didn’t.”
I swallowed down a sob. “I had to do something. I could not bear it any longer. I had to—”
“I told you never to sacrifice yourself like that.” Penelope snapped her eyes open, and I saw a fire raging within them.
“Someone had to gain their trust—”
“But why you?”
“Why should it not be me?” I shot back, louder than I intended. But that anger was swelling inside me now, fed by my pain, by her pain. “What I am to you doesn’t make me better than the others. I am still a slave, no matter what you feel for me.”
“Nobody should be forced to give themselves up like that.”
“No, they should not. But this is the world we live in, and this is the only weapon I know how to wield, and I was willing to do that for you. For Telemachus. For Hippodamia and Autonoe and Actoris and Skaris and Eurynome. For our home.”
Penelope opened her mouth to argue, but all that escaped her was a shaky breath.
“They’re going to kill him,” she breathed.
“They won’t,” I said, shifting closer to her. “We know their plan now. We can stop this. We can save Telemachus. That is why I did this. Don’t you see?”
She shook her head, twin tears streaming down her cheeks. “I did not ask for this. I would never have asked you for this.”
“I know. It was my choice, Penelope. I had to do something, and I knew I could handle this—”
“What if I cannot handle it?” she choked out, the words escaping her in breathless gulps. “I cannot bear to think of it, of him with you…like that.”
“Then do not. What’s done is done, Penelope. It is in the past now. We can leave it there.”
She stared at me for a long moment, her lovely, striking face hollowed out by pain.
“It meant nothing,” I whispered. “You must know that.”
I reached out to take her hand, but she pulled away, eyes lowered.
Since the moment I had met her, all that time ago, Penelope had never once recoiled from my touch.
The pain in my chest was so visceral I thought my heart might have actually shattered.
Tears blurred my vision, but my voice was surprisingly steady as I said, “Fine. Hate me if you must. It is a worthy trade for your safety and Telemachus’s life.”
Penelope said nothing as I rose to my feet and walked toward the door.
At the threshold, I glanced over my shoulder. Penelope had not moved an inch, hands folded neatly, spine stiff, bathed in sunshine so bright it seemed to mock her misery.
I turned and left her alone with my betrayal.