“This world is ugly, not you,” she whispered. “You are a good person.”
I shook my head, vision blurring.
“You are, Melantho.”
“You’re wrong,” I said thickly.
“I’m not.” Penelope spoke with such unyielding certainty.
“How can you be so sure?”
She arched a brow. “Because I’m never wrong. Have you not realized that yet?”
To my surprise, a rough laugh spilled out of me, but it quickly rolled into a sob, one hewn from my very core. Penelope shifted closer, folding herself around me as I wept.
I had only ever let my mother hold me like this. I had always loathed the idea of being so vulnerable, so exposed. But in Penelope’s arms, I felt an overwhelming sense of relief, like a great weight had been shifted from my soul, cascading out of me in a steady flow of tears.
Penelope’s hand lifted to stroke my hair as my sobs slowly subsided, and I realized I could not remember the last time I had felt like this…feltsafe.
“You are a gift to this world, Melantho,” Penelope whispered. “You are a gift to me.”
I pulled back to look at her, tears threatening once again.
“I have been so afraid of hurting people, I allowed myself to forget all the ways I could help them,” she continued. “You made me realize that today. You made me realize the difference I can make here.”
I sniffed. “What kind of difference?”
Penelope smiled, reaching out to wipe my damp cheeks.
“For so long, I have scorned the treatment of slaves, but what have I done about it? Nothing. It’s time I changed that.” Her face was set with a stoic determination. “The war has taken much from us, but it has also given us the opportunity to empower those left behind. To build something we can be proud of. I do not wish to squander that gift.”
I considered it: a kingdom ruled by Penelope, guided by her quiet strength, shaped by her unwavering compassion. It almost frightened me—how much I liked the idea, how it made me, for the first time in my life, feel a sense of eagerness for the future rather than impending dread.
“And you?” she asked, a sudden timidity creeping over her. “What will you do?”
I blinked, my eyes hot and swollen. “What do you mean?”
“Will you go with your brother? He leaves tonight, does he not?”
“You’d…let me go?” I felt a strange rush of disappointment.
“I cannot say I believe your brother deserves your companionship after the way he’s treated you, but I stood in the way of your freedom once, Melantho. I will not do it again.” She glanced away, shoulders tensing. “It is your decision.”
I said nothing, and the silence seemed to stretch thin between us, strained by the answer I was not yet ready to give.
“It is late,” Penelope said suddenly, rising to her feet. “I should retire.”
As I watched her walk away, a sudden desperation burst inside me.
“This will be the last time we see each other,” I blurted out. “If I leave tonight.”
Penelope froze, spine stiffening, hands fisting in her gown. Slowly, she turned her face to the side so I could make out the elegant cut of her profile, mouth thin beneath her long, sharp nose. She looked as if she were having to forcibly hold herself in place.
“I know,” she said quietly.
A stillness crept into the room. There was so much I wanted tosay, the clamor of words tangling together, forming a thick, burning knot in my throat.
“Good night, Penelope,” was all I managed in the end.
