“Have you spoken to anyone else?” she asked, pressing the cup into my hand.
I shook my head. “I came straight to you.”
She sat beside me, and when I met her gaze, there was such unbearable love in her eyes I could scarcely breathe.
“I’m sorry…if I disturbed you,” I whispered.
“Never be sorry for that, Melantho.”
“But with the news of Achilles…you must’ve been busy—”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“But—”
“It doesn’t matter,” she said firmly. Then, “You look pale. Have you eaten?”
“No.”
She rose fluidly to her feet. “Let me fetch you some food.”
A small, vulnerable part of me wanted to grab her hand, wanted to beg her not to leave. But I forced the urge away as I nodded. “Thank you.”
“Rest, Melantho,” Penelope said. “I’ll return shortly.”
When she disappeared, exhaustion dragged me down until I found my head resting on Penelope’s pillow. It smelled so distinctly of her, and I felt myself relaxing into the familiar scent.
As I closed my eyes, I imagined I was a child again, my mother’s body curled around me, her warm breaths brushing my ear, easing me into the sweet release of sleep.
***
I woke with a violent jolt.
“Mama!”
The world was dark, I was in an unfamiliar bed, and all I could see were the remnants of my dreams swirling around me—my mother being ripped from my hands, her body wasting away, left to rot in the dirt…
“Melantho, it’s all right.” A voice found me in the darkness.
“Penelope?” I gasped.
She was beside me now, her hand on my back, rubbing in slow, soothing circles.
“It was a dream,” she told me. “Just a dream.”
“Why am I in your bed?” I demanded.
“You fell asleep.”
“I…I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t—”
“Shh. Melantho, it’s fine. Just breathe.”
I could just make her out through the gloom, kneeling beside me, her long, unbound hair brushing against my shoulders.
“I can’t. I can’t breathe.”
“You can, I promise. Just take your time.”
