“To the battle ahead,” Skaris announced.
“Tous, of course,” Hippodamia corrected them all.
I smiled, my eyes finding Penelope’s once again as I held my cup aloft. “To us.”
50
For three summers, Penelope’s plan succeeded.
For three summers, we were locked in an endless cycle.
Every day, Penelope would work on Laertes’s shroud, playing the dutiful, pious daughter-in-law, and every night, we would gather around the loom and unpick her efforts by the light of the moon.
At the start, there had been a certain giddiness to our scheming. We were like the gods themselves, toying with the threads of fate, stalling the future with each unraveled pick. But as time passed, our plan began to feel more like a curse than a blessing, every loosened thread a marker of yet another day forced to endure life in this prison we had once called home.
During the first full turn of the seasons, the suitors had been eager to impress Penelope with their good behavior. But boredom had soon driven away their propriety, and before long, they were back to their usual vulgar ways.
“Keep your arms up, like this,” Skaris instructed.
We were gathered in a disused storeroom, a hidden space we used to teach defense tactics to those who were interested. Though we knew we could not risk harming the suitors, Skaris taught us maneuvers to help evade their drunken, obscene advances.
Recently, the number of those wishing to learn had swelleddrastically, most of them young girls.
I sat on the sidelines, my gaze drifting over the crowd as they listened intently to Skaris’s instructions. One girl caught my eye. I recognized her as one of the children we had rescued from the slave market. She had been scarcely five summers old when I had taken her hand and led her to the palace, promising safety beneath Penelope’s roof. She was around sixteen now, and my eyes instantly narrowed to the all-too-familiar pattern of bruises blossoming around her neck and arms.
A sickness slithered into my stomach as I beckoned her over.
“Where did you get those?” I asked.
The girl glanced away, her cheeks reddening.
“You can tell me,” I said as softly as I could. “Which one of the suitors was it?”
Still she said nothing, her eyes fastened to the floor.
I lifted my hand to touch her shoulder, but she flinched so violently I thought she might tear herself in two.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, lowering my hand. “I’m so sorry.”
“May I return to the training now?” she mumbled.
I nodded, a horrible weight settling in my chest as she hurried away.
Even here, hidden away as we were, I could still hear the suitors’ booming laughter ricocheting through the palace. I closed my eyes, trying to settle the acidic burn of hatred churning in my gut.
One day, I vowed silently.One day, they will pay.
***
When we returned to Penelope’s quarters, night had fallen.
Hippodamia and Actoris were seated at the loom, yawning as they unpicked threads. We had resorted to working in shifts now.
“How goes the training?” Hippodamia asked as we approached.
“Fine,” I said distractedly. “Have you seen Penelope?”
Hippodamia and Actoris shared a look.
