“But she could have hurtyouif she discovered you were lying,” she said.
“I know.”
“So why risk yourself for me?”
I shrugged, but Penelope continued staring as if she were waiting for me to say more. I glanced around, trying to think of something.
“Why do they call you ‘Precious Penelope’?”
She sighed, lifting her face to the sky, and I feared I had said the wrong thing.
“It was Clytemnestra who started it,” she murmured. “When I was born, I was very sick. My cousin likes to remind me of that. TheSpartans aren’t fond of…fragile things.”
“She’s mean to you.”
“It’s the Spartan way. Clytemnestra doesn’t know any different.”
“That don’t make it right.”
Penelope smiled at that. “No, I suppose not.”
We stared at each other for a moment, and I felt a strange shyness creeping over me. Over the past five days, I had been desperate to see Penelope again, imagining all the things I might tell her, all the questions I could ask. But now that she was here, every thought in my head seemed to disappear.
All except one.
“Did I do something wrong? The other night?”
Penelope’s smile vanished. “What makes you ask that?”
“The king hasn’t summoned me again.”
She glanced away. “Well…I…I asked my father not to.”
“What? Why?”
“For the same reason you lied to Clytemnestra.”
I frowned, shaking my head. “But your father summons other girls. Why dotheyget to go and not me?”
Penelope winced as if I had said something hurtful. Her fingers were fumbling together, and I noticed she was picking the loose skin around her nail beds, which seemed very un-princess-like to me.
“I cannot win every battle,” she whispered, though it felt as if she were answering an entirely different question.
I was about to tell her this when someone seized my arm, yanking me backward.
“Melantho! What were you thinking? You’re such a—” My brother cut himself short, nut-brown eyes widening as he regarded Penelope standing beside me.
“Hello,” she said.
Melanthius bowed low, addressing the ground as he spoke. “Princess, please forgive my sister’s behavior.”
“This is your older brother?” Penelope asked me with a smile.“You look so alike.”
“He isn’tolder. We’re the same age,” I grumbled, irritated by this interruption. “And we aren’tthatalike. Melanthius’s hair is way more brown than red, and his nose is bigger. And uglier.”
My brother pinched my arm. “Melantho.”
“What? It’s true.”
