As I gazed across the hazy sea, my thoughts reached for my mother. Her absence was a constant ache inside me, but today that pain was sharp and searing, refusing to be ignored. Could the spirits feel our grief down in the Underworld? Did our love haunt them as they did us?
How I longed to be a child again, wrapped in my mother’s arms, letting her steady hands guide my path, show me the way.
I can never be yours.
Of course Penelope could not be mine. How could I ever have been foolish enough to believe otherwise? How could I have deluded myself so completely? I had allowed my emotions to eat away at myrationality, driving myself slowly insane with this senseless dream.
“You and Mother are fighting.”
I glanced up to find a slight figure towering over me, gangly limbs etched in the late morning light.
“Hello, prince.” I sighed. “Would you like to join me?”
Carefully, Telemachus set himself down on the ground, crossing his spindly legs. He had recently shot up and was still figuring out how to navigate his awkward, lolloping limbs.
“You and Mother are fighting,” he repeated.
I kept my tone level. “What makes you say that?”
“She is upset. She is only upset when you argue.”
“How do you know she’s upset?”
He gave me a flat look. “Mother is easy to read.”
“You think so?”
“Yes. If you know how. Every person has their own tells. You just have to learn how to read them. Like understanding different languages.”
He was frighteningly smart for a boy of ten.
“What are my tells?”
“You’re theeasiestperson to read, Melantho.”
“Excellent,” I sighed.
“I think it is brave. You never hide.” Telemachus’s smile was so genuine it made my heart squeeze. “So what are you fighting about?”
He tilted his head in the exact same way his mother always did, dark curls flopping over his eyes.
“It’s complicated.”
“I like complicated.”
I laughed, and the sound eased some of the weight inside my chest.
“Do you?”
He shrugged. “Simple is boring. Complicated matters require thought, and that is far more interesting.”
“You don’t talk like a kid, you know.”
He considered that. “Perhaps that is why I prefer speaking with adults. I find children uncouth.”
I bit back a snort. “Uncouth?”
“It means uncivilized.”
