“I have little to offer the Goddess of Wisdom,” he admitted, a touch sheepishly. “But still, I pray she asks Hades to watch over their souls in the realm below. Your mother’s too.”
“What…what did you just say?”
There was a sudden stillness then, one that stiffened the air between us like that first spark of winter’s chill. Dolios turned to me slowly, face paling.
“Your brother never told you?”
“Told me what?”
Dolios looked away, his face shadowed by something timeworn and aching.
“I thought you knew,” he murmured to the ground. “I’m sorry.”
I grabbed his wrist, my voice taking on a harsher edge. “Knew what?”
“Melantho?” Eumaeus called from behind me. “What’s wrong?”
“Knew what?” I was shouting now, the words ricocheting around us. Somewhere, distantly, I was aware of a priestess shushing me.
Dolios flinched. “Y-your mother…”
“What about my mother?”
When he finally met my gaze, Dolios’s eyes were glazed with guilt.
“She’s dead, Melantho.”
36
“Melantho?”
I stood in the doorway to Penelope’s bedchamber, legs on fire after running all the way there from Athena’s temple. I hadn’t stopped to think, to breathe. All I knew was that I had to see her.
Penelope was seated at her loom, wearing the slightly distant expression of someone who had just been lost in thought. But now her eyes narrowed on mine, concern sharpening her features.
“Melantho, what is it?”
“My…my mother…” was all I could manage.
The tears came then, thick and fast. Penelope moved instantly, wrapping me in her arms, letting me weep against her chest. We had not touched like this since that night on the beach. Though I was loath to admit it, a distance had formed between us, and I knew it was my own foolish fault for my behavior. I had driven her away, all because I could not control my poisonous emotions.
But now Penelope held me tight, as if she never wanted to let go, as if the distance between us this past year had been nothing more than a bad dream. I wrapped my arms around her, realizing just how deeply I had needed this. Neededher.
“Tell me what happened,” Penelope murmured against my hair.
“My mother is dead.” Saying the words aloud was like a blade tomy soul. “She’s been dead for all this time.”
Penelope pulled away to look at me, her hands resting at my shoulders, steadying me.
“How?” Her voice was barely a breath.
“Just after she was taken from me…a sickness broke out while the slaves were being held before being shipped away.” The words were a thick, tangled mess in my throat. “It killed all the women, those who had been taken from the palace. One of the market sellers told my father.”
Penelope shook her head. “How could he not tell you?”
“He told my brother, but Melanthius kept it from me. For all this time.” I spat the words, though my fury felt muted, suffocated beneath a wave of exhausted grief.
Gently, Penelope took my hand and guided me to her bed. I perched myself on the edge and watched as she moved to fetch some wine.
