I shook my head, forcing my temper to settle. “I’m here because I want to make you an offer.”
His swollen eyes narrowed. “Whatoffer?”
“To go back to Sparta,” I said carefully. “Penelope will send you as a gift to her cousin, Helen. You can return to the palace.”
Melanthius scoffed. “So you want to trade me from one prison to another? Is that it?”
“If you return to Sparta, you will be able to see Melitta again,” I pressed. “To meet your child.”
His gaze hardened. “You can’t know that. She could be dead or sold for all you know.”
“That is why I never made you this offer before,” I admitted. “I did not want to send you to Sparta unless I wascertainthere was something there for you.”
“Then why make it now?”
I could tell Melanthius was trying to mask the nervous anticipation in his voice, flattening it to a dull, dead note.
I stepped toward him, my movements placatingly slow.
“Telemachus just returned from Sparta. Before he left, I asked him to look for Melitta and for your child.”
My brother glanced away with a wince, as if he could not bear to hear my words. I pressed on anyway.
“He found them, Melanthius. Melitta still works at the palace, and so does your daughter.”
His eyes widened, though the rest of him seemed to shrink, as if this realization had him collapsing in on himself, unable to bear the weight of it.
“A daughter,” he breathed, something small and fragile flickering in his voice.
I nodded, throat burning as I said, “Yes. You have a little girl, Melanthius, and you can go to her. You can be with your family—”
“As a slave,” he interrupted.
“As afather,” I corrected. “Please, Melanthius. Consider what Penelope is offering. Consider what this could mean for you.”
He lowered his gaze, staring at the ground with such intensity I thought he might scorch a hole through the very earth between us.
“I will not meet my child as a failure,” he whispered.
“Melanthius—”
“Eurymachus will make me a free man,” he continued, firmer now. He lifted his face to mine, a cold determination setting his features. “If I help him get the throne, he’ll give me my freedom and let me take my winnings. Then I’ll go to Sparta, and I’ll buy my daughter’s freedom. I’ll return as the father she deserves, as a savior, not a slave.”
I shook my head, those sharp talons of desperation sinking into me. “How can you believe a word Eurymachus says? He is—”
“What?” Melanthius pushed off his pillar, swallowing the space between us in one firm stride. “Our master? Our superior? Entitled and rich? All the same things Penelope is, and still, you trusther. Butyou think me the fool for trusting Eurymachus.”
“It’s different and you know it is,” I snapped, jabbing a finger into his chest.
To my surprise, Melanthius reached out and grabbed my hands, clutching them firmly between his.
“Melantho, listen to me. Please. This is it. Our path to freedom. To mychild.” His voice was low and frayed, but his eyes were clearer than I had seen them in years, lit with that desperate, feverish hope he still clung to. “If you care for me at all, then you’ll help me put Eurymachus on that throne. That’s theonlyway we can be free. Don’t you see? Penelope is a woman. She can’t ever free you. Eurymachus can.”
I winced, crushed beneath the weight of Melanthius’s misguided faith.
“If Eurymachus sits upon that throne, he will kill Telemachus,” I whispered. “I cannot let that happen.”
Melanthius let go of me, stepping backward. “You would choose her child over mine? Over your own flesh and blood?”
