But Skaris was right: If the suitors were armed, it would change everything. Telemachus could die. Odysseus could die. And then what would become of us?
Melanthius was at the door to the banquet hall now. I hurled myself at him, but he shoved me aside with ruthless force.
“Walk away, Melantho.” It sounded more like a plea than a threat.
The tip of his blade was poised against my heart, so I could do nothing but watch as he heaved the latch off the doors and pushed them open.
For a moment, Melanthius and I simply gaped at the nightmarish scene before us.
Bodies were strewn across the floor, arrows protruding from their skulls and throats. In the center of the room, Odysseus was standing on a table, his bare body drenched in blood as he fired arrow upon arrow into the horde of panicked suitors around him. Telemachus and Eumaeus fought at his side, slicing down men with the swords they must have smuggled into the hall. But even unarmed, there were clearly too many suitors. They swarmed the three of them like a mighty, crashing wave, threatening to drown father, son, and slave in their violent current.
The sound of the doors opening had caught Odysseus’s attention, and he now stared at my brother and me, his eyes narrowing on the sack slung over Melanthius’s shoulder. He then shouted something to Telemachus, though I could not hear his command over the hideous din.
Melanthius’s face was pale as he beheld Odysseus standing before him. He had thought the king long dead. But here he was, looking like some vengeful god in mortal form, enacting his brutal judgment upon the world.
“It’s him,” Melanthius whispered, letting the weapons fall to the floor, blades spilling out of the sack. “It’s really him.”
The suitors had noticed us now, and they surged forward,frantically reaching for the scattered swords. Once they were armed, Odysseus, Telemachus, and Eumaeus would stand no chance.
They would be like lambs to the slaughter.
Across the carnage, my gaze clashed into Telemachus’s. His face was filled with such panicked confusion, eyes widening as he regarded the weapons at my feet. I wanted to call out to him,It isn’t what it looks like, but what use were such excuses? I had failed to protect Telemachus, failed to stop my brother.
And now we would all die because of it.
The prince of Ithaca straightened his spine, readying himself to face his final moments with courage, to fight to the bitter end. He looked so like his mother in that moment—a brave, stoic leader.
But then a noise sounded from behind me, an ominous rumble of thunderous feet, followed by a torrent of masked figures pouring through the doorway, whooping with fierce delight as they shoved Melanthius and me aside.
Penelope’s pirates.
They had come.
I staggered to the sidelines as the pirates collided with the now-armed suitors. The clash of metal made my very bones quake, yet my body felt shackled to the ground, paralyzed by fear. Everywhere I looked, blood sprayed in violent arcs of crimson as stomachs and throats were sliced open. I sensed death’s cold hand brush over me as it reached to pluck the souls of fallen men, and I knew with a gasping lucidity that if I did not move, I would surely join them in the realm below.
I looked to the doorway, which was now completely blocked by clashing bodies. The only way out was to run directlyintothe fighting.
Come back to me.
It was Penelope’s voice that spurred my feet forward, forcing me into the fray.
The chaos swallowed me in one brutal bite. It was like jumping into a raging sea, having the currents toss me this way and that,spinning me over until the sky and earth bled into one disorienting blur.
It was all soloud: the smashing swords, the roar of attackers, the cries as men fell around me. I wanted to cover my ears, wanted to scream, but all I could do was keep moving toward the doorway, toward safety.
Toward Penelope.
A suitor stumbled into me, blocking my path. He held my gaze for a beat, a brush of recognition filling his eyes before a blade emerged between them. Hot blood sprayed across my face, and I choked on a silent cry as his body crumpled, revealing a grinning pirate behind him.
“You look lost, little mouse,” the pirate chuckled.
I veered sideways, colliding with another body. The force knocked me to the ground, sending me sprawling across a suitor’s lifeless corpse, his flesh still warm with the life so recently taken from him. I tried to push myself upright, but a foot landed on my back, then another on my arm, and a third narrowly missed my skull.
Frantically, I began scrambling on my hands and knees, but something caught my gown, tugging me backward. Turning, I found myself staring into the cruel face of Antinous, an arrow protruding from his neck. He gripped my gown tighter, his mouth opening as he tried to speak, but only blood escaped his lips. His eyes were more alive than I had ever seen them, and he looked so much younger, just a boy terrified of dying alone.
I ripped free from his grasp and continued crawling forward.
An upturned table was the only shelter I could find. I threw myself behind it, gulping down fractured breaths as I watched the pirates and suitors continue their brutal dance of metal and blood. My heart was a wild, panicked beast in my chest, my body drenched in sweat, every inch humming with a sickeningly fierce adrenaline.
