“Of course he can. He is the king.”
“He hasn’t been a king for twenty years.”
“Melantho.” Penelope reached for me, gently uncurling my fingers so she could slot hers between them. “I am not saying any of this is fair. It is simply the way of things.”
My eyes prickled—with tears of sadness or anger, I couldn’t be sure. All I could see was the way Odysseus had looked at her, that desperate longing in his eyes. As if she were his salvation, his hope, his future.
“What do you think he is going to do?” I whispered.
“He’s going to kill the suitors.”
I gaped at her. “Hetoldyou that?”
Penelope toyed absently with my fingertips. “He spoke in riddles, but his intentions were clear enough. Though I do not think he has a plan of any sort. I cannot tell if it is arrogance or insanity that makes him think he can take on a hundred men alone.”
“But what ofourplan? What of the pirates?”
“Our plan will go ahead. It is too late to change course now, and Odysseus will need the assistance if he truly wishes to defeat the suitors.” A strained smile pinched Penelope’s mouth. “However great the legend of Odysseus is, he is still only one man. I think perhaps he has forgotten that.”
“What if he discovers it was our doing—”
“He won’t,” she said firmly, her hands tightening around mine. “All threads tie Eurymachus to the pirates. Odysseus will believe it was a deal gone sour, as everyone else will.”
“And if he tries to take on the pirates himself?”
Penelope’s gaze grew heavy, drifting toward the shadows. “I cannot say what will happen.”
“What of Telemachus?”
“I believe he already knows of his father’s return. He has spent the day with Eumaeus at his home. That is where Odysseus has been staying.”
“I think Eurycleia knows too. She recognized him.” I hesitated. “Should we tell the others?”
“In the morning. There is no point worrying them tonight.”
“So what do we do now?”
Penelope drew in a slow breath. “Nothing. There is nothing we can do but wait for tomorrow.”
Tomorrow.The word had never seemed so daunting, filled with too many unknowns. Mere hours before, I had been anxiously counting down the seconds until we would be free of the suitors and finally have our home back. But now, even if our planwassuccessful, this palace would never be ours again. It would be Odysseus’s.
And so would Penelope.
“I shouldn’t be here.” I pulled my hands free from hers, a cold panic chasing me to my feet. “It’s not safe, not when he’s lurking in the palace—”
“He’s not,” Penelope said, rising with me. “He has chosen to continue to reside with Eumaeus.”
“It’s still too much of a risk.” I strode across the room, shaking my head. “I can’t put you in danger like this. I won’t.”
“Melantho.”
The strain in her voice halted my steps.
I turned back, and we stared at each other, the reality of our situation hanging, unspoken, between us. I looked to the door, knowing I should go while realizing with equal certainty that I would never be able to leave her.
If this were to be the last night we shared, then the gods themselves could not drive me away.
We both moved at once, our lips meeting like a crash of lightning, a sudden strike of brilliant light, ripping open the darkness around us.
