“I chose myself. And when Odysseus returns from war, he has vowed to free me. I believe I can convince him to free you too.”
Melanthius shook his head slowly. “You’re still so naive, Mel.”
“I’mnaive?” I bristled, pushing closer, urging him to look at me. “Tell me then, Melanthius. Tell me your grand plan. Do you believe you will sail to the mainland and freedom will simply fall into your lap? Do you think you can stroll into Sparta and sweep Melitta away? You will have no possessions, no shelter, no support. You will likely die on the streets from starvation or disease or—”
“Is this why you came here? To tell me I’m a failure?”
I sighed, head falling into my hands. “No. I just…I wanted to say goodbye. That’s all.”
Melanthius gave an empty, brittle laugh. “Well, you can save your farewells.”
Before I could ask what he meant, he finally turned to face me, letting the moonlight spill over his swollen features.
“Melanthius,” I gasped, instinctively reaching out to touch his bruised, bloodied face.
He recoiled from my touch, as if I had moved to strike him.
“What happened?”
“That sailor I told you about.” He smiled, and the fresh gash along his lip began to weep. “Turns out he weren’t interested in taking me anywhere, only my silver. I don’t even know if hewasa sailor.”
“Melanthius—”
“No, no. It’s all right. You can laugh. He certainly did. Itisquite funny when you think about.” He began to laugh then, the sound horrid and forced, choking out of him in convulsive shudders. “Stupid little slave, thinking he could simply sail away and be free.”
“Who was he?” I demanded. “The man who did this to you.”
“What does it matter?”
“I could tell Penelope. She could—”
“Penelope?” That hideous laughter died instantly on his lips, swollen eyes narrowing. “You…you told her about this, didn’t you?”
I swallowed. “It’s not—”
“It makes sense now. It was her. She must’ve told the sailor not to help me.Shedid this—”
“That’s not possible.” I fought to keep my voice level. “I only told her tonight—”
“She could’ve sent word.”
“She didn’t.”
“How can you know that? How—” Melanthius stilled, and it seemed as if his entire body were shrinking, collapsing in on itself as a realization struck him. “Don’t tell me you trust her, Melantho.”
Trusting someone had always seemed a terrifying thing to me, like leaping off a ledge and counting down the seconds until the ground would inevitably greet me.
But with Penelope, it did not feel like falling, not at all.
It felt like finally being caught.
“I do,” I whispered.
Even with all the bruising marring Melanthius’s face, I could still see the betrayal strike his features, making him wince and recoil. A familiar poisonous guilt seeped through me, but I forced it away.
I refused to feel shame for this, for being able to trust when he could not.
Melanthius rose silently.
