I lowered my voice to a husky whisper. “Did I not prove my loyalty the other night?”
He gave a dismissive grunt. “Tell me your news.”
I masked a wince as I folded my arms. Eurymachus had grabbed me hard enough to bruise.
“Penelope will choose a husband,” I said. “Tomorrow, during Apollo’s festival. She wants to ensure every suitor is present to hear her decision.”
Eurymachus’s eyes widened. “I have done it. I have finally worn her down.”
“After you uncovered her little ploy with the shroud, she has no other option. She has admitted defeat. You have won.”
Eurymachus did not soften under my flattery.
“I heard the slaves talking. They said Penelope has dismissed them for tomorrow. Why?”
My heartbeat quickened.If he suspects something…
“Penelope always does so during the festival of Apollo,” I said neutrally. “It is tradition.”
“These slaves are disgustingly spoiled,” he spat. “Who will Penelope choose? Do you know?”
“No. But I know my mistress is drawn to wealth, though shewould deny it. She will likely choose whoever has been most generous in securing her favor.Ctesippus, I believe, has given the most gifts so far, but there is still time to remedy that before tomorrow…”
“We have given that bitch enough. Her treasuries are overflowing.”
I raised a brow. “Andwhosetreasuries shall they become once Penelope chooses a husband?”
A slow smile crawled across Eurymachus’s face. “Perhaps more gifts are in order then.”
“Perhaps.”
Without warning, he reached out to brush a curl from my face. His touch invited unwanted memories to claw their way up my throat, visions of his bare flesh against mine, his hands in my hair, his hot breath in my face…
“I must go,” I said abruptly. “Penelope is expecting me.”
Eurymachus blocked my path, eyes darkening.
“Penelopemustchoose me tomorrow,” he hissed. “No one else can sit upon that throne. Do you understand?”
“I understand.”
“Good.” He stepped aside. “Once I am king, you shall be amply rewarded for your…support.”
As Eurymachus sauntered away, I caught sight of a hunched shadow scuttling out of the hall.
Eurycleia.
How much of our conversation had she heard?
I went to follow her, but my attention was caught by an outburst of cheers. The suitors were gathered in a familiar ring with two men in the center. One was an old man I did not recognize, and the other was my brother.
I stormed toward the crowd as Melanthius began circling his opponent, drowning in mocking jeers. There was a coldness in his expression, an abject emptiness that made my chest tighten. His opponent appeared far older than him; his graying hair was thick and unruly, tangling into his beard like a foaming sea. His skin hadclearly been punished by the sun, which had turned it cracked and wrinkled. Given the state of his clothes and the smell that clung to him, he must have been a beggar. How the suitors loved to prey on desperate individuals.
I did not want to watch my brother fight again, yet I found I could not look away. A small, ugly part of me was relieved that Melanthius’s opponent appeared old and weak. At least the match would be over quickly.
My brother threw out a jab, his movements more controlled than the last time I had seen him brawl. I flinched, anticipating the impact on the poor man’s face. But the hit never landed. One second, Melanthius’s fist was sailing toward his opponent, and the next moment, my brother was on the floor. The beggar had felled him with one swift maneuver, grabbing his fist and using his momentum against him to bring my brother crashing down. The old man landed a punch straight to Melanthius’s nose, then again to his jaw before pulling my brother into a headlock. After a brief struggle, Melanthius tapped his opponent’s arm, and he released him instantly.
The beggar offered his hand to Melanthius, but my brother shoved past him and stalked out of the hall, chased by the suitors’ mocking laughter. The old man watched him go, his expression unreadable beneath all that wild hair.
