Chapter 53
My bed felt horribly empty without the warmth of Penelope beside me.
All night, I wrestled with the urge to go to her, to take her in my arms and beg for her forgiveness. A few times, my desperation almost won out, but then I remembered the way she had withdrawn from my touch. From me.
So I stayed away.
Now it was somehow morning again, though I was certain I had not slept.
Sunlight burned behind my closed lids, forcing me to pull my sheets over my head, burying myself deeper in the cocoon I had made.
Around me, I heard the handmaids buzzing about their usual business.
Gradually our chamber quietened, and I let out a sigh of relief when I was finally left alone.
“Melantho, are you all right?” came Autonoe’s voice.
I pretended to be asleep, hoping she would leave. Instead, I felt the bed dip as she sat down.
“You can talk to me if you need to,” she said after a time.
“I’m fine. I just don’t feel well,” I muttered.
“I spoke with Eurycleia.”
I peered out from my sheets, squinting against the light. “So?”
“She told me she saw you…leaving Eurymachus’s chamber yesterday morning.”
Hot shame pooled inside me, hardening quickly into something sharper, uglier. “And what if I did? Have you come to judge too?”
Autonoe’s eyes softened. “Of course not, Melantho.”
“Then why are you here?”
She reached out and took my hand in hers, her palm warm and dry. “How long have we known each other?”
I frowned at the sudden change in topic. “A long time.”
“Twenty summers. And never once have you asked about these.” She motioned to her scarred face with her free hand.
“I…never thought it was my place,” I said carefully.
“You must have wondered how I got them though.”
I gave a slight shrug. “I just hoped whoever did that to you got what they deserved.”
Autonoe hummed, her gaze drifting to the window.
When she spoke again, she suddenly seemed far away, as if she were speaking from some distant place inside herself.
“Pirates came to my village when I was very young. I don’t remember much of my childhood, but I remember that day.
Such a pretty face—that’s what they said after they murdered my parents and put me in chains.
The same exact words the brothel owner said when he bought me.
A pretty face like yours will do good business.
I hated that place, hated what they did to me, what they took from me—all because of that pretty face.
” Absently, Autonoe’s hand lifted to brush her cheek, toying with the groove of her scar.
“One night, I smashed my hand mirror, and I took that pretty face away. My master was furious, of course. What client wants to bed a disfigured child? They sold me the very next day. It was shortly after that I ended up here, in Ithaca. And nobody ever spoke of my pretty face again.”
Her words hung between us, and all I could do was grip Autonoe’s hand tighter.
“I…I’m so sorry.”
She turned back to me and smiled. “Don’t be. I am not. I would have done it a thousand times over to get myself out of that nightmare.”
“Where was it?” I asked quietly. “Your home.”
Her smile flickered at that, like a flame choked in darkness. “I don’t know. I only remember its ashes.”
“Autonoe…” I trailed off, wishing I knew what to say.
She let go of my hand to cup my cheek. “Please do not look at me like that, my friend. I am not telling you this to make you sad.”
I shook my head. “Then why?”
“Because I want you to know I understand.”
“Understand what?”
“That sometimes we must do the wrong thing for the right reason.” She held my gaze as she spoke, her dark eyes burning with a gentle intensity. “But that doesn’t make you a bad person. I hope you know that.”
Emotions knotted in my throat, so my words came out cracked and strangled. “What if it makes others think we are?”
Autonoe patted my cheek as she rose.
“Those who matter will always find a way to understand.”
***
Try as I might, I could not find comfort in Autonoe’s words.
I stayed in bed for most of the day, hiding from the world, from myself. Yet I could still smell Eurymachus’s body, hear his ugly panting as his sweat-slick flesh pressed against mine.
I forced those visions away, burying them deep inside myself, in that graveyard where all the other unwanted pieces of my past had been laid to rest.
I had told Penelope I could handle it, and it was the truth. However much I hated what I had done, I had known I could endure bedding Eurymachus. But I had not considered the one thing I could not handle—hurting Penelope.
I had known she would be upset, but I had hoped she would recognize this was a necessary evil. Perhaps it was heartless of me to have ever expected her to understand. I had been too blinded by my desperation to save her to really consider how deeply my betrayal would break her.
And the way she had recoiled from me…as if I were tainted somehow. Was that how she would always see me? My throat felt tight, my eyes hot as I thought of all the times Penelope had kissed my skin, her lips marking every inch of me with such sweet devotion.
She would never touch me like that again.
What if I cannot handle it?
I clutched my sides, fingers turning to claws. I wanted to peel away this flesh Eurymachus had touched, carving every inch of me he had claimed for himself so there was nothing left but bones and blood.
But Telemachus will be safe, I reminded myself over and over. He will return to Ithaca unharmed. Penelope will not lose him. That was worth any price.
It had to be.
I must have fallen into a fitful sleep at some point, because when I opened my eyes, there was a figure looming over my bed. I instinctively flinched away.
“It’s me.”
My heartbeat settled as I rubbed the sleep from my eyes. Penelope was staring at me with an unreadable expression, draped in gray afternoon light.
“What is it?” I asked.
She motioned to the door with a tilt of her head. After a tentative moment, I pulled on my gown and followed her.
I braced myself as we walked toward her bedchamber. I did not want to argue, nor could I stand the thought of seeing that hideous pain in her eyes again. But if she wanted to speak, then I knew I owed it to her to listen.
Inside Penelope’s chamber, a large metal tub had been set before the fire, sleepy steam curling off the water’s surface.
Wordlessly, Penelope took my hand and guided me forward. When we were standing beside the tub, she lifted a hand to the brooch at my shoulder.
“May I?” she whispered.
I nodded, watching her intently as she unfastened my gown and let it fall to the floor.
Questions crowded on my tongue, but I said nothing as she took my hand again and gently guided me into the tub.
The water was deliciously warm, smelling of sweet saffron and fresh pine.
I let out a hiss of pleasure as I sank into it.
Beyond the window, the sun had finally broken through the clouds, golden fingers reaching toward the water’s surface, making it glow like warm honey.
Penelope watched me for a moment, then slowly unclasped her own gown.
“What if someone comes in?” I asked.
“I told Skaris to keep watch.”
She stepped in, making the water rise and slosh over the edge. It was only a small tub, but Penelope managed to slip in behind me so I was sitting between her legs, my back resting against her chest.
Retrieving a cloth, Penelope dipped it into the water before running it over my skin, along my shoulders and arms. Her touch should have been soothing, but it seemed to make that tension inside me grow tighter.
“You cannot simply wash away what I did, you know,” I muttered.
“I am not trying to.”
We were quiet for a moment. Then I felt her fingers trace the scars on my back.
“Did he hurt you?”
I shook my head.
She kissed the tip of one scar, and the feel of her lips loosened that knot inside me, causing the tears to finally come. A sob ripped from my chest, and Penelope wrapped her arms around me, pressing her forehead against my back.
“Do you want to tell me about it?”
I could hear the hesitancy in her voice, though she tried to hide it. We both knew those details were the last thing she wanted to hear. Yet still, Penelope waited patiently, ready to listen should I need her to.
“No,” I whispered. “It’s all right.”
She kissed my shoulder before resting her chin there, her arms tightening around me. The silence was heavy yet soft, and within its depths, I could feel our love and pain mingling together, dancing in the light like the steam rising from the water.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
I turned to look at her and saw the tears streaming down her cheeks.
“It’s not your fault.” The words ached like a bruise. “None of this is.”
“But I should never have—”
“Penelope. It’s not your fault.” I reached out to cup her fallen face. “Just…promise me one thing.”
“Anything,” she murmured into my palm.
“Promise me this won’t change what is between us.”
Something fierce and beautiful flared in her eyes. “Nothing could ever change that.”
“Truly?”
Penelope smiled faintly, her gray eyes glowing a burnished silver in the sunlight. “You are a part of me, Melantho. Always.”
We held each other for a long while, until the water grew cold and the sun had set. Then Penelope guided me out of the bath and began massaging warm olive oil over my skin. She always touched me with such care, as if I were something frighteningly precious.
Once I was covered, Penelope took a small, curved instrument and began scraping the oil off, leaving my body cleansed and glistening.
“What are we going to do?” I whispered into our tender silence. “About Eurymachus’s plan. Will you send word to Telemachus’s ship?”
She was kneeling before me now, still devotedly tending to my skin. “No.”
“No?”
“You were right.” Her eyes met mine, and she rose slowly. “We have spent too long sitting by, doing nothing. I am tired of hiding. I am tired of living in fear.”
“What do you plan to do?”
Resolution glowed in her eyes, as bright as a blade speared through the heart of a flame. “I plan to end this.”