There was a ripple of annoyance from the suitors as Philoetius halted his onslaught. The cowherd then pushed himself off my brother and rose.
“You are victorious, my friend!” Eurymachus told him. “Congratulations. You fought well.”
“Thank you, sir.” Philoetius bowed, his bloodied fists dripping onto the floor.
I swallowed back a sob of relief as I watched Melanthius stagger to his feet, using one of the long tables to heave himself upward.
“Brother,” I whispered.
Across the room, his gaze found mine, and I swear, in that exact moment, I saw the flimsy remnants of my brother’s spirit breaking, a red mist creeping over his eyes.
Melanthius flung himself forward, and I screamed as I watched him bury a knife in Philoetius’s shoulder, narrowly missing his neck. The cowherd howled in agony, but the suitors drowned out his pain with violent cheers as Melanthius tackled him to the ground.
“Make it stop!” I cried.
Eurymachus gave a shrug. “Seems they don’t want to.”
“Maybe it will be a fight to the death after all.” Antinous grinned.
I could do nothing but watch as my brother grappled with his opponent until he was sitting atop him. He began beating him then, slamming his fists into Philoetius’s face just as the cowherd had done to him moments before. Each wet thud made my insides roil, bile coating the back of my throat. At first, Philoetius struggled against the attack, but after a time, he grew horribly limp.
Still Melanthius struck him. Over and over.
He looked nothing like the brother I knew. He was a creature crawled from Tartarus itself, his broken face swelling into something monstrous, covered in blood that was only partially his own.
“He’s going to kill him,” I breathed before turning to Eurymachus, my voice growing frantic. “You must stop this.He’s going to kill him.”
The realization caught in Eurymachus’s face, and his smug smile faded as he signaled to someone. A moment later, five suitors were rushing forward, pulling my brother off the seemingly lifeless man. Melanthius thrashed like a frenzied beast, snapping his teeth, mouth foaming, blood dripping down his face, his hands, his neck…
“Well, well, well,” Eurymachus announced. “It seems we have a new victor!”
The sound of applause seemed to settle the wildness in Melanthius. He grew still, panting hard as he took in the sea of approval crashing around him.
“Come, take your seat, slave. You’ve earned it!” Eurymachus called.
Tentatively, Melanthius approached the table. He smiled as he sat, his teeth shining a deathly white against all that blood. Eurymachus then passed him a cup of wine, and my brother took a long, deep drink. Around him, the suitors began slapping his shoulders and ruffling his hair.
“Shall we go to my chamber now or later?” Eurymachus purred into my ear.
I said nothing, a numbness creeping over me as I watched a gaggle of slaves drag Philoetius away, his chest fluttering with shallowbreaths. I looked back to my brother, at the triumph in his eyes.
“You were going tokillhim.” My voice trembled.
Slowly, Melanthius’s gaze slid to mine. “He’s alive, isn’t he?”
I could do nothing but stare at him, at this stranger who sat before me, wearing the skin of my brother.
“What is the meaning of this?”
Penelope marched through the chaos like a king on a battlefield.
Her eyes instantly cut to mine, the color draining from her face as she surveyed the scene—Melanthius’s swollen face, the bloodstains on the floor, Eurymachus’s arm fastened around my waist.
“I require an answer to my question,” she said evenly.
The fresh silence was punctured by a few sniggers as everyone turned to Eurymachus.
“My queen, what a pleasant surprise,” he said smoothly. “We just had a little incident. Two of your slaves got into a fight. But not to worry. We handled the situation.”
