I strode toward Eurymachus, every single thought lost to the blinding wave of fury crashing over me. The pathetic man did not even have the strength to stand, and I savored the sight of him kneeling before me, struggling for breath. Eurymachus’s eyes lifted to mine, and I saw such boundless hatred rotting within them.
I planted my foot on his chest and kicked him to the ground.
“Melantho—”
I ignored my brother’s gasp as I bent down and closed my hand around the arrow jutting out from Eurymachus’s throat. He triedto stop me, but the fight had leaked from his body along with his lifeblood.
“Look at me,” I commanded. “I want you to know thatthiswill be the last face you see in this world. The face of a woman. The face of a slave.”
With that, I ripped the arrow free.
Hot blood spurted over me as Eurymachus spasmed on the floor, his eyes locked on mine as he gulped for air that would not come.
As I watched him die, I felt nothing, just the residue of that blinding rage simmering in my veins.
Once his body was still, I turned to my brother. Before either of us could think what to say, footsteps sounded down the hall, and I turned to see Eumaeus sprinting toward us, determination hardening his features into something cold and unrecognizable.
“Melanthius, we must go. Now,” I hissed.
But my brother would not move. He remained slumped against the wall, such abject defeat weighing on him as he stared at Eurymachus’s lifeless body.
“Melanthius! We have to go!”
But it was too late. Eumaeus was already beside us, blade poised at my brother’s throat.
“You must face your king and answer for your crimes,” he commanded. “Both of you.”
“Not her,” Melanthius murmured. “Take me, but let her go. She had no part in this.”
“The king will be the judge of that,” Eumaeus snapped, forcing him to his feet. “He will decide all our fates.”
60
The king of Ithaca was dressed in nothing but the blood of his enemies.
He paced before us, indifferent to the corpses strewn at his feet, heavy steps fueled by an agitated energy.
I did not pity the suitors; they had deserved to die. Yet as Eumaeus marched us toward Odysseus, it brought a chill to my bones seeing all those bodies littered throughout the banquet hall, piled in hideous mounds of twisted flesh.
“Master, I have the traitors here,” Eumaeus called out.
Odysseus raised a halting hand, turning instead to where Telemachus approached him. My heart lifted to see the prince, alive and unharmed. He was handing Odysseus a robe, his emotions sealed tightly behind a blank stare.
“What did you just say to me?” Odysseus growled as he dressed.
“I said we’ll take our payment now.”
I recognized the voice behind the mask, the soft roughness that toyed with every syllable. The pirate was lounging against a table, fingering one of the twelve axe heads.
“Payment?” Odysseus bit out.
“We helped with your little rat problem, didn’t we?” the pirate drawled, motioning to the bodies around him.
“I did not ask for nor need your help,” Odysseus retorted, the tendons in his neck bulging. “You cannot invade my palace and expectpayment for such a crime. You are fortunate I am letting you leave here with your lives.”
I held a breath tight in my lungs, panic rising on a tide of nausea.
If they exposed Penelope now…
