“It’s not because you’re afraid of Thratta, too, is it? Hippodamia and Autonoë said they were going to take shifts sleeping tonight.”
Penelope smiled, shaking her head. “They are only afraid of Thracians because they have never met one.”
“So you trust her? Thratta?”
“I do,” she said, moving to sit beside me.
I noticed she had a small bowl in her hands, though my gaze was caught on those wet tendrils of hair seeping into her gown.
“Thratta told me she owed us a life debt. Such things are sacred to her people.”
For a moment, we were quiet, our silence charged with the echo of all we had exposed earlier by the harbor.
“It was brave, what you did today,” Penelope murmured. “I know it can’t have been easy for you, dealing with the slaver.”
I shifted, awkward under the weight of her praise.
“I heard you talking to Thratta earlier,” I said, keen to deflect.“How is it you can speak Thracian?”
Penelope’s smile softened. “One of my childhood handmaids was from Thrace. She taught me Thracian alongside Greek—in secret, of course. I think it was her act of rebellion, to teach me her tongue. I like to continue speaking it, to keep that rebellion alive for her.”
“I’m sure that would make her happy to know.”
Penelope tilted her head to the side, and I realized she was staring at my cheek. “Would you let me put something on that?”
I brushed my face and winced. My brother’s fury had left its mark.
“I have an ointment,” she continued, motioning to the bowl in her lap. “It will help keep the swelling down.”
“I’m fine.”
She shifted closer to me then, and I could not help but marvel at the way the fire lit her freshly bathed skin, making it glow rich and golden. There were still droplets of water caught in her hair, sparkling like tiny, dripping jewels.
“Please?”
My mouth felt dry from her sudden closeness, so all I could manage was a tight nod.
She began probing my cheek, her touch gentle and lingering. She was sitting a little taller, so my eyeline was level with her neck, and I could do nothing but watch the shadows toying with that dip at the base of her throat. I watched her pulse thrum just above it. Had the beat quickened when she touched me?
She dipped her fingers into the bowl and gently rubbed the silky contents on my cheek. She was so close now, too close, seizing all my senses.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes,” I replied a little too defensively. “Why?”
“You look…uncomfortable.” She pulled away. “Am I hurting you?”
“No, no, I’m fine.”
“If you want me to stop—”
“No. I like you touching me,” I blurted out. “I don’t mean… It’s notthat Ilikeit. I just… I don’t…I don’tmindit.”
Hot shame rushed into my cheeks as Penelope watched me fumble for words, her mouth twitching upward. She leaned in again and continued applying the ointment, though I could still see that hint of a smile out of the corner of my eye.
“I just meant to say I’m fine,” I muttered. “Don’t worry about me.”
“I always worry about you, Melantho.”
