I stared at him for a long moment, thinking of all the lies I would have told to keep him from breaking.
“I don’t forgive you,” I said. “But I do understand. I might evenhave done the same.”
Melanthius nodded, letting out a slow sigh, one I sensed he had been holding for a long, long while.
“Can I askyousomething?”
His directness unnerved me, but still I nodded.
“Why don’t you go back? To the palace? To Penelope?”
I tensed under the question, the same one that had haunted me night after night. Some days, the temptation to return to Penelope was unbearable. But in those feverish, fragile moments, I would remind myself of all that was at stake.
“All of Greece has been watching Penelope,” I said carefully. “They are afraid now, of queens ruling without a king at their side.”
“Because of what her cousin did?”
I nodded. “They’re waiting to tear Penelope down like they did Clytemnestra.”
“Clytemnestrakilledher husband,” Melanthius pointed out. “She got what was coming to her.”
“She was avenging her daughter, the one Agamemnonslaughtered,” I countered sharply. “He got what was coming to him.”
But blood was only deemed “justice” when it coated the hands of men. On a woman’s skin, it was labeled something far uglier, far more dangerous.
Melanthius frowned at me, shaking his head. “I don’t understand what this has to do withyoubeing here.”
Everything, I wanted to scream.
While Odysseus remained missing, Greece’s eyes were set on Ithaca, watching, waiting, wondering if its queen would prove as traitorous as her cousin. If Penelope stepped a toe out of line, if she did anything to bring her loyalty into question, to make people believe Clytemnestra’s traitorous blood flowed through her veins, then it wouldn’t just be Penelope’s queenly title in danger but her life too.
I could never risk that happening, not for something as selfish asmy own desire.
So I would continue to keep my distance, to keep Penelope safe.
“It’s better for me here,” I finally said. I could feel the skeptical edge of Melanthius’s gaze as he watched me. “What?”
“It’s nothing.” He shrugged, turning his attention away to the distant tree line. “It’s just…I know about what you did. All those slaves you took in. All those people you helped. I just wonder why you would’ve left all that behind.”
I tensed, an old defensiveness flaring up inside me. “Are you going to say I only care for myself again?”
I regretted the question immediately, hot shame pooling inside me as I watched Melanthius’s face fall. He stared at the ground for a long moment before replying.
“I said a lot of things back then,” he whispered. “Things that weren’t true.”
We sat in silence, the memory of that day weighing heavily between us.
“I used to watch you sometimes, you know,” he continued softly as he began shredding the bread between his fingers. “You and the other handmaids. I’d watch you with them, and I saw how…howhappyyou looked. I’d never seen you look like that before. You looked at peace, I guess. It used to make me angry. That’s an awful thing to admit, isn’t it?” He flicked a glance at me, then looked away again. “But after a while, I began to look forward to those times I would see you, catching a glimpse of your smile or hearing your laugh. I wouldn’t say it mademehappy, but it made me feel…something.”
A knot formed in my throat as I stared at my brother, seeing that familiar pain shift across his face like old scars catching in the light.
“What I’m trying to say is…you don’t seem happy like that anymore,” he murmured. “This place, this life—I don’t think it’s what you really want.”
“Sometimes it isn’t about what we want but what weneed.”
Melanthius continued tearing the bread into tiny pieces, histhoughts loud in the following stillness.
“You deserve it, you know? To be happy. Sometimes I think you don’t believe that. Maybe…maybeImade you not believe it.” His voice caught, but he swallowed and forged ahead. “Sometimes I think you try and ruin it for yourself. Like when you turned down Eumaeus.”
