“I know what it means.”
He shot me a look, eyebrows slightly raised. “Then why did you ask?”
“I just… It seemed a funny thing to say is all.”
He shifted to regard the view, and I watched the way he turned my words over in that brilliant mind of his.
“I am not sure I see the humor in my statement.”
I laughed again. “Your mother was the same, you know. She never spoke like a kid either.”
“I cannot imagine Mother as a child,” he admitted. “What was she like?”
Memories flashed in my mind, of that gray-eyed girl with the secretive smile.
I found myself smiling as I said, “She was mischievous.”
Telemachus seemed to like that answer, repeating the word under his breath.
“I heard you were very drunk last night,” he suddenly said. “Is that true?”
I stifled a groan. “Who told you that?”
“Actoris.”
“Of course,” I muttered, tickling grass beneath my fingertips.
Telemachus watched my hands for a moment as if he were reading some secret code within them.
He lifted his attention back to my face. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why were you drunk?”
“I was…feeling sad.”
“And drinking wine helps that?”
“Sometimes,” I admitted.
He nodded as if I had said something very wise.
“Perhaps I shall drink wine too.”
I met his gaze. “Are you…sad, Telemachus?”
“Sometimes.”
He began playing with the grass as I had done a moment ago. I had the sense there was more he wanted to say, but perhaps he did not know how to.
“Because of your father?” I ventured.
He turned to look at the horizon, the answer lying plainly across his face.
“Achilles is dead. People say my father will be next.”
I drew in a breath. “I would not listen to what the people say. I would listen to your mother.”
