“The councilmen—those still alive—are the fathers of the very suitors who roam these halls,” I pointed out.
“Melantho is right. The council cannot openly stand against you, as their loyalty is sworn to Odysseus. But neither will they support you.”
“Mentor will support me,” Telemachus insisted.
“Mentor is just one man,” Penelope countered. “Onevery oldmanwho has never lifted a sword in his life.”
A muscle in Telemachus’s jaw ticked.
“What if I announcemyselfas king?”
Penelope tilted her head as she studied her son. A rage had appeared inside him during his most recent flush of adolescence. It was his father’s rage, I knew. I recognized its quiet heaviness, like a stone settled in his core.
“You would take your father’s crown without his blessing?”
“My father is dead.”
Penelope arched a brow. “You have proof of this?”
Telemachus glanced away as he muttered, “I pray he is.”
Of course he would, for what was the alternative? A father who had abandoned his son for a better opportunity?
My heart ached for Telemachus as he stared at the floor, quietly suffocating beneath Odysseus’s unyielding shadow. How must it have felt to have only an intangible legend for a father?
I wished I could tell Telemachus how distinctly average his father truly was, how he was idolizing the wrong parent. But I knew he would never listen.
Slowly, the queen of Ithaca rose from her chair and moved toward her son.
“I will see youruleIthaca, not die for her,” she told him, taking his hands in hers. “You will be a great king, Telemachus. But only once you are ready.”
“And when will that be?”
“I wish I knew.”
Telemachus recoiled from her words, snatching his hands away.
“What doyouknow of such things?” he bit back at her. “You are just a woman.”
I rose to interject, but Telemachus was already storming away, robes billowing behind him with each furious stride.
“Let him go,” Penelope said, sinking back into her seat.
I moved to her, unable to keep the agonizing distance betweenus any longer. Standing behind her chair, I draped my arms around Penelope’s shoulders, resting my cheek against hers.
“Was I too hard on him?”
“You did what you had to,” I murmured. “To protect him.”
“And he hates me for it.”
“He will understand. Give him time.”
Penelope reached up to grip my arms wrapped around her, lips grazing my skin.
“I’m afraid for him,” she admitted, her voice so achingly vulnerable.
“I know.” I buried my face in her neck. “But we will never let anything happen to Telemachus. You know that.”
