She threw me a flat look. “Is it because you were a drunken fool the other night? Worry not, friend. We are all drunken fools sometimes.”
“You were pretty funny,” Actoris chimed in from where she sat beside Thratta, gazing longingly at her weapons. “You tried to take your clothes off at one point.”
“Thanks for reminding me,” I muttered.
“Has Penelope forgiven you for what you did in her chamber?” Actoris asked.
Fear spasmed in my chest. “What?”
“For throwing up on her floor,” Actoris clarified. “Don’t you remember?”
“Oh. Yes, she’s forgiven me.”
I noticed Thratta and Actoris sharing a look as I returned to my pacing.
“Do you think it’s normal for a council meeting to last all day?” I asked.
Thratta shrugged. “Those old men love to hear their own voices.They talk too much.”
“Your pacing is getting irritating,” Actoris snapped. “What’s up with you?”
Before I could think what to reply, Hippodamia appeared in the doorway, her face slightly flushed.
“What is it? What’s happened?” I demanded.
“There’s going to be a public address. Everyone is to gather outside the palace,” she said, motioning for us to follow.
There had not been a public address in the ten summers since the war began. Perhaps there had been more bad news from Troy and Penelope wanted to reassure everyone. It was brave of her to face her people so openly, and I felt the dread inside me intensify.
The afternoon sun was hot on our backs as we gathered at the foot of the palace steps. It seemed all of Ithaca had come to hear Penelope’s address, and I gazed out at the sea of bodies shifting uncomfortably beneath the heat. Aside from the slaves, the crowd was predominantly women, with a gaggle of young men gathered at the front beside a smattering of elderly ones.
A cheer arose as Penelope emerged from the palace. Above, the sun hung low in the sky, bathing the palace in its honeyed rays. Penelope smiled at the crowd, her people, and it felt strange to think I had kissed those lips just this morning.
“Thank you for gathering on such short notice,” she began, her voice steady and clear. The voice of a queen. “Recently, we heard the unfortunate news of the death of Achilles, son of Peleus, prince of the Myrmidons. I know his passing has unsettled us all, but further news has raced on winds from Troy and reached us just this morning. The news is this:Troy has fallen. Queen Helen of Sparta has been returned to Menelaus. The war is over. Greece is victorious.”
I suddenly felt very far away, the world around me growing dull and muted. I could not hear the answering roar of the crowd, just the vibrations shuddering through my bones and the jostle of animated bodies as people danced and embraced. It felt as if I were watchingthe scene from some distant, unknown place, and though I could see everyone’s happiness, as vivid as the blazing sun, I could notfeelthe warmth of it.
I felt only coldness and that interminable dread expanding inside me.
“I have yet further news: that it was your king, Odysseus himself, who secured this victory,” Penelope continued. She did not falter over her words, not once. They were as smooth and perfect as freshly carved marble. “Through his cunning plan, Troy’s impenetrable walls were breached, allowing Greece to secure a swift and devastating victory.”
More cheers erupted, led by the young men in the crowd. They began stamping their feet, splitting their king’s name into short, sharp syllables they repeated over and over:O-DYS-SE-US!
They had spent their childhoods feasting on stories of the mighty man. To them, he was a living legend, a god in mortal form. Their idol. Their king.
And now he was finally coming home.
“Odysseus and his army will leave Troy imminently, once they have shared in her spoils.” Penelope’s voice cut cleanly through the din. “And our king will finally take his rightful place upon Ithaca’s throne.”
More chants began then, lifting in the air, syllables intertwining wildly—Penelope! Odysseus! Penelope! Odysseus!
My mind flickered to the night before, when I had gasped Penelope’s name in the heated dark, murmuring it over and over against her lips. Now, the crowd had snatched her name away, ripping its intimate beauty between their frenzied teeth.
They loved her, and a part of me hated them for it.
In that moment, swathed in the adulation of her loyal subjects, she had never felt more distant from me, as unreachable as the gods themselves.
Across the feverish throng, Penelope’s eyes found mine, and I sawthe unspoken apology burning inside her.
