“And what if you don’t?”
I nodded to my bow in her hands. “Then you can shoot me.”
“Melantho!” Telemachus yelped.
Suspicion sharpened the girl’s glare. “Why?”
“Why what?” I asked.
“Why would you help me?”
“It’s what she does,” Thratta said with a chuckle. “She likes to help little, lost creatures like you.”
The girl bristled at that. “If I’m acreature, what does that make you?”
Thratta thundered a laugh. “I like this one. She’s got teeth on her.”
To my relief, the girl finally lowered the bow toward the ground. “If I come with you, I’m keeping hold of this.”
I nodded, letting my hands drop to my side. “I assumed as much.”
“Are you sure this is wise?” Telemachus murmured beside me. “She’s insane! Look at her!”
“She’s desperate. There’s a difference,” I whispered back.
“I want you to know that if you’re lying about anything, I will gut you,” the girl warned. “And I’ll do it slowly.”
“Ah, she reminds me of me.” Thratta nodded proudly. “Yes. I like her a lot.”
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“What’s it to you?”
“Well, I want to know whose name I need to shout to the gods if you end up gutting me…slowly,” I shot back.
The girl seemed to like that answer; I could tell by the slight tilt of her lips. Though she quickly caught the smile and crushed it beneatha scowl.
“Actoris.” She spat it like a curse.
“Well, Actoris.” I grinned as I picked up my dagger. “Welcome to the family.”
31
The queen of Ithaca looked bored.
I leaned against the stone doorway to the council chamber, watching Penelope feign interest in the latest argument the fat old men of Ithaca had descended into, as was the usual course of any of their meetings.
For a moment, I allowed myself the simple, secret pleasure of admiring her—that beautiful, striking face that consumed so much of my mind. Too much, perhaps.
I don’t know what you call them, those moments between breaths, the spaces between heartbeats, but Penelope seemed to occupy every one of mine.
“Something must be done about this matter,” Mentor was saying to nods of fervent agreement. The man, wrinkled as a prune, had been a close confidant of Odysseus and the only person he trusted to look after Ithaca’s council in his absence.
“More young men are leaving every day,” another councilman said, slamming a leathery fist on the table. “They believe they will find better opportunities elsewhere.”
Mentor nodded somberly. “It is the women’s fault. They refuse to relinquish control of their businesses and households, even though their sons are of age now. They are purposefully driving them away.”
Good riddance, I wanted to snap. The fewer entitled noblemen,the better.
