I gave a slight shrug. “I just hoped whoever did that to you got what they deserved.”
Autonoë hummed, her gaze drifting to the window. When she spoke again, she suddenly seemed far away, as if she were speaking from some distant place inside herself. “Pirates came to my village when I was very young. I don’t remember much of my childhood, but I remember that day.Such a pretty face—that’s what they said after they murdered my parents and put me in chains. The same exact words the brothel owner said when he bought me.A pretty face like yours will do good business.I hated that place, hated what they did to me, what they took from me—all because of thatpretty face.” Absently, Autonoë’s hand lifted to brush her cheek, toying with the groove of her scar. “One night, I smashed my hand mirror, and I took that pretty face away. My master was furious, of course. What client wants to bed a disfigured child? They sold me the very next day. It was shortly after that I ended up here, in Ithaca. And nobody ever spoke of mypretty faceagain.”
Her words hung between us, and all I could do was grip Autonoë’s hand tighter.
“I…I’m so sorry.”
She turned back to me and smiled. “Don’t be. I am not. I would have done it a thousand times over to get myself out of that nightmare.”
“Where was it?” I asked quietly. “Your home.”
Her smile flickered at that, like a flame choked in darkness. “Idon’t know. I only remember its ashes.”
“Autonoë…” I trailed off, wishing I knew what to say.
She let go of my hand to cup my cheek. “Please do not look at me like that, my friend. I am not telling you this to make you sad.”
I shook my head. “Then why?”
“Because I want you to know Iunderstand.”
“Understand what?”
“That sometimes we must do the wrong thing for the right reason.” She held my gaze as she spoke, her dark eyes burning with a gentle intensity. “But that doesn’t make you a bad person. I hope you know that.”
Emotions knotted in my throat, so my words came out cracked and strangled. “What if it makes others think we are?”
Autonoë patted my cheek as she rose.
“Those who matter will always find a way to understand.”
***
Try as I might, I could not find comfort in Autonoë’s words.
I stayed in bed for most of the day, hiding from the world, from myself. Yet I could still smell Eurymachus’s body, hear his ugly panting as his sweat-slick flesh pressed against mine.
I forced those visions away, burying them deep inside myself, in that graveyard where all the other unwanted pieces of my past had been laid to rest.
I had told Penelope I could handle it, and it was the truth. However much I hated what I had done, I had known I could endure bedding Eurymachus. But I had not considered the one thing I couldnothandle—hurting Penelope.
I had known she would be upset, but I had hoped she would recognize this was a necessary evil. Perhaps it was heartless of me to have ever expected her to understand. I had been too blinded by my desperation to save her to really consider how deeply my betrayal would break her.
And the way she had recoiled from me…as if I were taintedsomehow. Was that how she would always see me? My throat felt tight, my eyes hot as I thought of all the times Penelope had kissed my skin, her lips marking every inch of me with such sweet devotion.
She would never touch me like that again.
What if I cannot handle it?
I clutched my sides, fingers turning to claws. I wanted to peel away this flesh Eurymachus had touched, carving every inch of me he had claimed for himself so there was nothing left but bones and blood.
But Telemachus will be safe, I reminded myself over and over.He will return to Ithaca unharmed. Penelope will not lose him.That was worth any price.
It had to be.
I must have fallen into a fitful sleep at some point, because when I opened my eyes, there was a figure looming over my bed. I instinctively flinched away.
“It’s me.”
