Chapter 62
I held Melanthius in my arms as his body grew cold.
I could not cry for him. I was beyond tears now, in some weightless, liminal space where emotions hung suspended within that crushing darkness of grief.
“Eumaeus, leave us,” I heard Telemachus say.
“Master, are you quite sure?”
“Do not question me!” the prince of Ithaca roared. He sounded like his father. “I said leave! Now!”
There was a brief silence, then the shuffling of steps that slowly faded.
Wordlessly, the prince of Ithaca walked forward and picked up the sword his father had discarded. I tensed as I stared at the boy I had helped to raise, the boy I loved as my own flesh and blood, the boy who was made from the person I cared for most in this world.
“Are you going to kill me now, prince?” I muttered.
Telemachus stared at the blade as if he were still deciding. Then he stormed toward Actoris and sliced her bindings.
“Help me free the others,” he commanded. “Quickly.”
Actoris spat out the rag Odysseus had used to gag her, then turned on Telemachus, her eyes filled with such hatred they made the prince flinch.
“You would’ve let us die,” she snarled. “You sniveling, spineless coward.”
“Please,” Telemachus whispered thickly. “We don’t have much time.”
Without saying another word, Actoris shoved past him and began untying Skaris.
I knew I should help; we might only have a few precious moments before Odysseus returned. But I could not bring myself to leave Melanthius alone with only the severed pieces of himself as company.
“Melantho.” A frayed voice came from beside me. A hand on my arm. Hippodamia. “We must leave now.”
“She went with him,” I choked out.
“Penelope did not have a choice,” Hippodamia reminded me. “She did it for us.”
I knew it was true. Penelope had recognized that she could not stop Odysseus with her rage; she could only pacify him as a wife to a husband. She had always known how to play him best. But that had not made it hurt any less to see Penelope embrace the man who had just butchered my brother.
“We must go, my friend,” Skaris said, limping heavily to my side.
I gulped down a panicked breath. “I cannot leave him like this.”
“You must,” she told me, her voice firm yet not unkind. “Your brother has left this place. So must you. It is what he would want.”
I shook my head, even though I knew she was right.
“Someone needs to tell our father,” I said, the words shaky and thin. “He should know. He needs to know.”
“I will tell him,” Telemachus said, standing before us.
Hippodamia brushed my shoulder. “Melantho…”
“I cannot leave her either,” I whispered. The tears had found me now, hot and desperate. “What if he hurts her? What if he—”
“He will not,” Telemachus insisted.
“He is a monster,” I snarled up at him.
“No, he’s not.” His voice trembled, like a child verging on a tantrum. “He is my father.”
“You saw what he did,” Actoris snapped.
Telemachus lowered his eyes to my brother’s mutilated body, then quickly glanced away.
“Penelope has given us the gift of time,” Hippodamia urged, her cheeks glistening with tears. “We must not waste it.”
“She prepared a ship for us,” Autonoe told Telemachus, her voice surprisingly calm. “At the abandoned harbor. That is where we must go.”
Telemachus blinked. “A ship? But why… How did she—”
“We don’t have time to explain,” Actoris bit out.
“It is time,” Eurynome whispered to me. In that moment, her voice reminded me of my mother’s, so soft with love and concern. “It is time to let him go.”
I held Melanthius a little tighter, willing the warmth of my body to somehow force the life back into his.
I wasn’t ready to lose him. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye.
But my brother was long gone.
With shaky fingers, I brushed a curl from Melanthius’s closed eyes, then leaned down to kiss his forehead.
“Telemachus.” I glared up at the prince. “Promise me you will bury him. Do not leave his soul to wander. You owe me that.”
The prince nodded, though he could not meet my gaze. “I swear it on the river Styx, Melantho. He will find peace in the afterlife.”
***
The moon-tipped waves danced before us.
A ship was waiting at the abandoned harbor, just as Penelope had said it would be.
A sailor was sitting in a small rowing boat, eyeing us curiously.
We were, after all, an unusual sight—a bedraggled collection of women with blood drying beneath our fingernails and tears staining our cheeks.
But mercifully, the man did not ask any questions.
Penelope had paid the sailors generously for our passage and their discretion, using a portion of the gifts the suitors had given her.
I stared at the glittering silver path stretching toward the horizon, then lowered my gaze to my hands, still stained with my brother’s blood.
Beside me, Telemachus was speaking in a low, urgent voice to the other handmaids.
“Father told me of an island—Aeaea. A sorceress named Circe lives there. She is feared by men, but Father said she offers sanctuary to lost women. Something to do with Circe not being able to help her niece, so now she helps others. He lived beside the sorceress for a year and saw all manner of women welcomed to her shores. That is where you should go.”
“Why should we believe a word your father says?” Actoris spat.
“Where else do you propose?” Autonoe murmured.
“It’s worth a shot, surely?” Hippodamia said.
“Who’s to say this Circe will welcome us?” Eurynome interjected. “You say she’s a sorceress? She sounds dangerous—”
“I admire any woman feared by men,” Skaris interrupted. “I say we find the witch.”
“Ask for her hospitality, and by our divine laws, she will have to oblige.” Telemachus motioned to the sailor waiting in the rowing boat. “I have told him the directions my father gave me. They should get you close enough.”
“‘Close enough.’ That’s reassuring,” Actoris muttered.
“You must go,” Telemachus urged. “Now.”
I had been half listening to their debate, my mind wandering listlessly, but now I turned, glare sharp.
“We cannot go yet,” I said.
Telemachus stared at me. “Why not?”
“Penelope is not here.”
The others shared a look, shifting uncomfortably.
“Melantho—” Hippodamia tried.
“She is coming,” I said. “I know she is.”
“We have to go—”
“Then go.”
An uneasy silence followed. It was Telemachus who broke it first.
“We can wait a little longer,” he relented. “But only a little while. The rest of you should board the ship now.”
One by one, the handmaids clambered into the small rowing boat.
Only Eurynome hugged Telemachus goodbye.
The prince tried not to look wounded by this, but I saw the tear he quickly dashed away as we watched the boat glide through the darkness toward the larger ship waiting just beyond the shallow waters.
“She knew, didn’t she?” he said to me after a time. “My mother knew of Odysseus’s plan.”
I sighed. “Of course she did, Telemachus.”
“And the pirates? Was that her doing?”
I said nothing, but Telemachus seemed to take my silence as confirmation. Through the silvery darkness, I could just make out five shadows in the distance, clambering onto the ship.
“Why did you defy your father’s orders?” I asked.
“Because I knew it was what my mother wanted,” Telemachus whispered. “And she is always right.”
A quietness settled between us, and I felt the seconds spiraling away all too quickly. The rowing boat was empty now, already turning back toward the shore.
But this could not be it.
Our final moment together could not be Penelope in Odysseus’s arms.
Come back to me.
I closed my eyes and saw my life swirling before me, memories eddying in rich currents of the past. Penelope beat at the core of each one, like an anchor tying me to this world, the pulse that thrummed at the very center of my existence.
How could I leave her? The idea seemed impossible, like severing a soul from its body and expecting both to continue living.
I heard the shushing of oars and opened my eyes to see the boat drawing up beside us.
“Melantho—” Telemachus began.
“No.” I shook my head. “I cannot go. I cannot leave her.”
“She would want you to.”
Tears stung my eyes, my nose. “Not like this. I cannot go like this.”
“You’re putting them all at risk by waiting,” he reminded me softly.
It was then that we heard it: a quiver of thunder in the distance. No, not thunder.
Hooves.
We turned in unison to see the queen of Ithaca breaking through the tree line, her gown billowing behind her as she galloped toward us, forcing her mount faster, faster.
My heart leaped as I dashed forward, crying out her name.
“Penelope!”
She dismounted and was running to me now, both of us stumbling wildly through the dark, reaching for each other.
“Melantho!”
We collided in a desperate tangle of limbs, breaths crashing into chaotic rhythm.
“I’m so sorry.” She gulped out the fractured words. “I never thought he would… I didn’t think… I’m so sorry.”
I took her face in my hands. “Did he hurt you?”
“No,” she said. Then her eyes lowered to my throat, tears welling as she traced the angry bruises blossoming there.
“Melantho—”
“I’m fine.”
She reached for my gown next. “The blood—”
“It’s not…” My voice caught. “It isn’t mine.”
She met my gaze again. “I’m so sorry. Your brother—”
“Please. Don’t. I can’t,” I choked out, shaking my head. “How did you get away?”
Penelope steadied herself before answering. “I gave Odysseus my sleeping draught. But it will not last long.”
“Telemachus told us of an island,” I explained breathlessly. “There is a witch there who welcomes wayward women—”
“Aeaea. Yes, I have heard of it. That is where you will go?”
“Where we will go,” I corrected.
Penelope stared at me with eyes so bright they made the moon pale in envy. She took my hands in hers, and I felt the weight of her pain within them.
“Melantho—”
“No. No, no, no. Don’t do this. Don’t you dare—”
“I cannot go with you,” she said, her voice achingly soft. “Odysseus will never let me leave Ithaca. He would not rest until he found me. I would put all of you in danger.”
“I don’t care,” I snapped, tightening my fingers around hers. “Let him come. Let him hunt us.”
“But what of the others? We cannot risk their lives too.”
“We will go separately. We will find our own way.”
Penelope’s gaze drifted to where Telemachus stood watching us from a little way off.
“You know I cannot leave him,” she whispered.
“Fine. Then I’ll stay with you.”
“If you stay, he will kill you, Melantho. Odysseus must believe you are dead. All of you. That is the only way you can be safe.”
A sob swelled in my throat. “You would really stay with that monster?”
“I would.” She nodded. “To protect you. To protect Telemachus.”
“What if he hurts you?”
“He won’t.”
“You saw what he did to my brother—”
“I know, I know.” She drew me to her gently, resting her chin on my head. “The war has made Odysseus sick, horribly sick. I cannot let him pass that sickness on to Telemachus. I must protect my son and the others beneath our roof. I will not let Odysseus destroy what we’ve built here.”
“But who will protect you?” I wept into her shoulder—furious, useless tears. “Don’t make me do this. Don’t make me leave you. I will never forgive you if you do. For as long as I live.”
“I know.” She pulled back and smiled at me. “But you will live.”
For a moment, all I could do was stare at her, draped in moonlight and shadows, just as she had been the night we met. We had been so very young then, so clueless about the world and all it would take from us.
“I can’t lose you,” I breathed.
Tears slipped down Penelope’s cheeks as she cupped my face, her touch filled with such torturous love.
“You won’t ever lose me, Melantho. I will come for you.”
“When?”
“When it is safe.”
I threw myself into Penelope’s arms again, holding her so fiercely, willing every inch of her body to imprint on mine so I might always feel the shape of her against me.
The sailor coughed loudly. We were taking too much time.
“You must go now.”
I knew she was right; she was always right. But still I held on tighter.
“Come back to me,” I gasped into her ear.
“I will,” she vowed. “Wait for me.”
As we drew apart, Penelope’s lips grazed mine, just the ghost of a kiss. It was all we could afford beneath the eyes of Telemachus.
Numbly, I turned to walk away, my heart an open, bleeding wound in my chest. Telemachus reached out a hand to help me into the rowing boat.
“Please, look after her,” I said.
He bowed his head. “On my life, I will.”
All too suddenly, the sailor began to pull at the oars, and I was swept away into the night. I turned to look back at Penelope, a spark of panic bursting in my chest. She was smiling at me, nodding her encouragement as tears slipped down her face. Telemachus took her hand.
When we reached the ship, a ladder was thrown down.
Slowly, I hauled myself up, each step feeling heavier than the last. As I reached the top, my body stiffened, my limbs refusing to move.
I could not do it. I could not leave her.
But then Skaris was there, helping me up on deck, with Hippodamia at my other side.
I felt the warmth of their bodies pressing into mine, holding me together.
Once aboard, I staggered to the edge of the ship to see Penelope still standing on that tiny, decrepit harbor. She lifted a hand as the giant oars groaned to life, heaving us toward the endless, beckoning horizon.
I watched until she disappeared into the darkness, the girl who held every piece of my heart.
I will come for you. Her voice echoed through the starless night. A promise. A vow.
Wait for me.